Stuck painfully to my side a film projects
My skeletons dancing in Sofias bridal fantasy. Stairwells bring down,
A polite remark awaits with trembles tempting thin satin,
Expecting the least from what is to become.
Whos guests- molding together a somber prediction-
Place moist palms onto a book that defines
A muttering God? This verbal disturbance shreds blank, longing notes
Confessing murder and marvel. Red velvet contradicts the canvass
To lay out an empty cemetery. Graves honoring
My selected victims of force that tie glee down.
Complaints from blisters winning authority only caress
A patient registered with alert in police mind states.
Domestic disturbance fails to awaken the obvious.
Red hair pulled from the scalp of a slouched, bitter
Angel. Starving on a beach in the middle of an
Imagery forest.
by Brian Hardie
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
4
I pray
Thank the Lord
Daily
4 Everything he
Provides.
I pray
4 the unwell
Deprived
Dispossessed
Lost souls
I pray 4
Families in anguish
I pray 4
A better world
I pray 4 my family
I pray to become
A better person,
I pray 4 you.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Thank the Lord
Daily
4 Everything he
Provides.
I pray
4 the unwell
Deprived
Dispossessed
Lost souls
I pray 4
Families in anguish
I pray 4
A better world
I pray 4 my family
I pray to become
A better person,
I pray 4 you.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I Try
And I try
Not to look for
For you picture.
And I try
Not to envision
Your face
And I sigh
Swiftly falling
From grace
Exorcise my mind
To space
Preventing my eyes
To sin
Averting my soul
Within
And I try…
…Introduce,
Forbidden Love
To the wind.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Not to look for
For you picture.
And I try
Not to envision
Your face
And I sigh
Swiftly falling
From grace
Exorcise my mind
To space
Preventing my eyes
To sin
Averting my soul
Within
And I try…
…Introduce,
Forbidden Love
To the wind.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Friday, March 13, 2009
Defender of words
We stand in defense
of our blessed words
Defiant of change
Rigid
Blowing hot smoke
up our own
like ass over tea kettle
No exits – no confrontation
A cheerleading
squad between our ears
You’re the best baby!
Rah, Rah…
by Ron N. Cervero
of our blessed words
Defiant of change
Rigid
Blowing hot smoke
up our own
like ass over tea kettle
No exits – no confrontation
A cheerleading
squad between our ears
You’re the best baby!
Rah, Rah…
by Ron N. Cervero
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Blood for Cash
Money for salvation
twisted doctrine
creature comfy
material sanctuary
send me your
money child
guilt me…
I give
you take
send the food off
your babies plate
live the ABUBDANT life
you’re the King’s kid
don’t forget it!
When Jesus had no place
to lay His head
homeless Savior…
by Ron N. Cervero
www.lostbeatpoetry.com
twisted doctrine
creature comfy
material sanctuary
send me your
money child
guilt me…
I give
you take
send the food off
your babies plate
live the ABUBDANT life
you’re the King’s kid
don’t forget it!
When Jesus had no place
to lay His head
homeless Savior…
by Ron N. Cervero
www.lostbeatpoetry.com
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Sin Rules
You divorce
Date other people
Live or have
Sex with them
Sometimes out of love
Sometimes because you’re lonely.
The example is set
Under similar circumstances
Your children probably
Will act the same way
Now you don’t have
Moral authority to
Stop
Or judge them…
…good luck.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Date other people
Live or have
Sex with them
Sometimes out of love
Sometimes because you’re lonely.
The example is set
Under similar circumstances
Your children probably
Will act the same way
Now you don’t have
Moral authority to
Stop
Or judge them…
…good luck.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Shallow
You should be an interior
decorator in an insane asylum
Your colors don't match
Your words don't match
I watch your mouth move
but it drones vanilla...
by Ron N. Cervero
decorator in an insane asylum
Your colors don't match
Your words don't match
I watch your mouth move
but it drones vanilla...
by Ron N. Cervero
Saturday, March 7, 2009
One Way Street
Countless ways
In route to wrong
Still more
On road toward sin
One way
Ahead of lost
Trail track
To
Christ within.
by Jaime Ferreyros
In route to wrong
Still more
On road toward sin
One way
Ahead of lost
Trail track
To
Christ within.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Sky Blue
Framed in ancient oak
the small boy at five,
lies in tall grass of a hunter’s field
chirping raven's surround him
the calm song of nature’s creek
moves rapidly over smooth stones
in the blue depths of the sky
his mind sees Eternity
how can it be?
the sky has no beginning?
no end?
built in flesh…
overseen by a silent God
in a silent field
trapped in a silent self.
by Ron N. Cervero (from Blood & Glory)
the small boy at five,
lies in tall grass of a hunter’s field
chirping raven's surround him
the calm song of nature’s creek
moves rapidly over smooth stones
in the blue depths of the sky
his mind sees Eternity
how can it be?
the sky has no beginning?
no end?
built in flesh…
overseen by a silent God
in a silent field
trapped in a silent self.
by Ron N. Cervero (from Blood & Glory)
THE FULL SUMMER MOON
Sprawled on the silken blue velvet night sky
Cool pale lactating the moon
Gazes through cypress trees’ shadowy blinds
Lidless eye prowling above me.
Maybe Endymion saw the same shape
Hovering outside the cave
Mouth where he lay in the senna and aster
Naked to breezes massaging his
Damp skin and muscles exhausted from labor.
Hypnotized by the curved white
Melody silent in second-hand pomp
Dripping in dew on the leaves,
Cradled he lay in the white blanket sleeping
Numb to the kisses that spun
Dreamless web fantasies summer night endless
Falling about him in moonshine.
‘The Laurel,’ ‘The Dream of the Light Book,’ ‘The Flower of Corruption,’ ‘Gypsy Rain’ and finally ‘The Full Summer Moon.’ all excellently written by Santiago del Dardano Turann
Cool pale lactating the moon
Gazes through cypress trees’ shadowy blinds
Lidless eye prowling above me.
Maybe Endymion saw the same shape
Hovering outside the cave
Mouth where he lay in the senna and aster
Naked to breezes massaging his
Damp skin and muscles exhausted from labor.
Hypnotized by the curved white
Melody silent in second-hand pomp
Dripping in dew on the leaves,
Cradled he lay in the white blanket sleeping
Numb to the kisses that spun
Dreamless web fantasies summer night endless
Falling about him in moonshine.
‘The Laurel,’ ‘The Dream of the Light Book,’ ‘The Flower of Corruption,’ ‘Gypsy Rain’ and finally ‘The Full Summer Moon.’ all excellently written by Santiago del Dardano Turann
GYPSY RAIN
It was past midnight when the rain,
For so long absent from the city,
Revisited my window pane
And tap danced like a gypsy
Announcing that their caravan
Of covered clouds had crossed the stars
And winds cried out as they began
To set up misty wet bazaars.
I watched the belly dancing shimmer
That writhed upon the glass and caught
Stray ambient light’s sedated vigor
The coin tossed out with which I bought
A peek at streams dressed in the cloth
Of night air’s mercury that blows
In pearly black wave wings of moths
Which all about sleep’s candle flows.
For so long absent from the city,
Revisited my window pane
And tap danced like a gypsy
Announcing that their caravan
Of covered clouds had crossed the stars
And winds cried out as they began
To set up misty wet bazaars.
I watched the belly dancing shimmer
That writhed upon the glass and caught
Stray ambient light’s sedated vigor
The coin tossed out with which I bought
A peek at streams dressed in the cloth
Of night air’s mercury that blows
In pearly black wave wings of moths
Which all about sleep’s candle flows.
THE FLOWER OF CORRUPTION
A ransacked neo-classical hothouse crumbling
From fetid twisted strands of giant vines
With thorns of steely rounded points that pierce
The spattered walls and cavities of windows
The Congress has become the dwelling of
Black feral cats that shriek against he satyrs;
A vision like that which Isaiah saw
Of Babylon alone upon the desert.
Inside the cracked rotunda too ashamed
To fall least Heaven see inside, the vines
All gather blooming to a sickly flower
From out of Clinton-Bush’s single mouth.
Phlegm petals open crushing all the space
There with faces of the Wall St. trinity
Of Paulson, Geitner and Bernacke deflated
From swarms of lobbyist flies sucking their moisture.
From fetid twisted strands of giant vines
With thorns of steely rounded points that pierce
The spattered walls and cavities of windows
The Congress has become the dwelling of
Black feral cats that shriek against he satyrs;
A vision like that which Isaiah saw
Of Babylon alone upon the desert.
Inside the cracked rotunda too ashamed
To fall least Heaven see inside, the vines
All gather blooming to a sickly flower
From out of Clinton-Bush’s single mouth.
Phlegm petals open crushing all the space
There with faces of the Wall St. trinity
Of Paulson, Geitner and Bernacke deflated
From swarms of lobbyist flies sucking their moisture.
THE DREAM OF THE LIGHT BOOK
From a dream of November 1, 2008
The forest blended with the foggy night
Whose dark in pools lay round the ancient trunks
Damp with a slinky cool mercurial light,
Sweat from a moon in black-dyed cotton sunk
Above the branches fixed in gothic arches.
I stood inside a clearing in the center
Of this antediluvian forest’s marches
Where all was still as peaceful sleeping zephyrs.
There hidden out of sight a woman stood
Reduced to only the most basic presence;
Or perhaps she somehow was the wood
Alive with all her cryptic luminescence.
Then from her womb a diamond ray, an arrow,
Shot through the fog and blossomed before me
With lightning pedals, each one clear and yellow,
Into an antique tome that floated magically.
The forest blended with the foggy night
Whose dark in pools lay round the ancient trunks
Damp with a slinky cool mercurial light,
Sweat from a moon in black-dyed cotton sunk
Above the branches fixed in gothic arches.
I stood inside a clearing in the center
Of this antediluvian forest’s marches
Where all was still as peaceful sleeping zephyrs.
There hidden out of sight a woman stood
Reduced to only the most basic presence;
Or perhaps she somehow was the wood
Alive with all her cryptic luminescence.
Then from her womb a diamond ray, an arrow,
Shot through the fog and blossomed before me
With lightning pedals, each one clear and yellow,
Into an antique tome that floated magically.
THE LAUREL
Frail winter sunlight cast thin highlights on
A curly headed laurel by the street
Outside the San Francisco Concourse Center
Where Mexicans unloaded edgy trucks.
My mind, in passing, gnawed upon the leaves
With layers of thought spread out on tones of green
Around the living sphere between a circle
Or bricks and high noon’s sun in spreading gray.
About the trunk illusory perspective
Dissolved as all things blended into one:
The road, the buildings, people, signs and poles
Unfolded from within yet kept their outlines
Becoming leaves upon an infinite laurel
Time flowed in knitted circles round the trunk
With light and dark as waves upon the leaves,
Two different sides of one unending current.
A curly headed laurel by the street
Outside the San Francisco Concourse Center
Where Mexicans unloaded edgy trucks.
My mind, in passing, gnawed upon the leaves
With layers of thought spread out on tones of green
Around the living sphere between a circle
Or bricks and high noon’s sun in spreading gray.
About the trunk illusory perspective
Dissolved as all things blended into one:
The road, the buildings, people, signs and poles
Unfolded from within yet kept their outlines
Becoming leaves upon an infinite laurel
Time flowed in knitted circles round the trunk
With light and dark as waves upon the leaves,
Two different sides of one unending current.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
RECOLLECTION
Rewriting
Getting nowhere
Fed trashcan
18 sentences
Basically
Missing your heart’s voice
Those fried ant snacks
Tablecloth’s coffee stains
Father and son chat.
It’s been 68 seasons
I’m you to my boy
He’s 20 years of remembrance,
Just not the same
What a shame.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Getting nowhere
Fed trashcan
18 sentences
Basically
Missing your heart’s voice
Those fried ant snacks
Tablecloth’s coffee stains
Father and son chat.
It’s been 68 seasons
I’m you to my boy
He’s 20 years of remembrance,
Just not the same
What a shame.
by Jaime Ferreyros
Monday, March 2, 2009
Pondering
Michaela Sefler is an metaphysical poet. Her poetry is esoteric alluding to ancient ideals. In her poetry she draws on ancient writings, to convey a message of hope, and survival, highlighting nature within creation She has seven published compilations of poetry. Still True, A Fortress in my Heart, The Sun is Hot, Through the Ages, Seven Stars and Healing Tree, TO SUMMON ANGELS the metaphysical.
PONDERING
On a circle he ponders
and it is hers to hold,
for eternity and completion
are theirs to know.
And the skies he looks upon,
and it is hers to envision,
for vast spaces are theirs
to sojourn.
And the eternal fountain
is theirs to share,
splendor and valor
is their anticipation.
And courage they summon,
and a brilliant countenance they call upon
for their lives
proceeds them.
Pretense, a state,
rising above
and remembering
is bringing to.
Raising themselves from dust
they reach and attain;
easily
for the life is before them.
http://msefler-inspiration.netmichaela1@vdn.ca
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/michaela-sefler
PONDERING
On a circle he ponders
and it is hers to hold,
for eternity and completion
are theirs to know.
And the skies he looks upon,
and it is hers to envision,
for vast spaces are theirs
to sojourn.
And the eternal fountain
is theirs to share,
splendor and valor
is their anticipation.
And courage they summon,
and a brilliant countenance they call upon
for their lives
proceeds them.
Pretense, a state,
rising above
and remembering
is bringing to.
Raising themselves from dust
they reach and attain;
easily
for the life is before them.
http://msefler-inspiration.netmichaela1@vdn.ca
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/michaela-sefler
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