Time Zones

On December 5, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Alternate Vignettes, Bells of St. Mary's, Childhood, Churches, Count Basie, Dizzy Gillespie, Dreams, Earth Zones, Genetic Memory, International Date Lines, Lands, Lost Souls, Miracles, Scripts, Temples, Time Travelers, Venues, Visions, Zig Zag2 Comments

Time Zones

We are Time Travelers in different Earth Zones crossing the International Date Lines using the Internet. World Wide Wide = World Wide Access. Ah! The Miracle of Technology! Oh! But let me sleep to enter into a world of dreams. Dreams, Visions, a Retinue of Lands, Places, People both living, dead and imagined.

Creatures known only to the human mind. Woodland nymphs, satyrs, centaurs, Elves and pixies dance to the music of the Count Basie band Dizzy Gillespie on horn. I see you as you see me wandering through ever shrinking childhood homes. The Bells of St. Mary’s change hands.

Island of the Damned -- Bocklin — Island of the Damned by Bocklin

Venues carelessly slipping into alternate vignettes. Our minds edit zig-zag scripts with the Fates cutting the cords at whim’s notice. Wandering souls find peace through concourse as the Bells of St. Mary’s ring out Praises in Temples and Churches Worldwide.

The strangest affairs happenstance twixt Twilight and Dusk. All Affairs of the Heart are pondered. Memories adjust through the perspective lens of time. Portals of Pleasure and pain. Times Zones with doors revolving opening into more doors, more rooms, secret chambers waiting to be explored.

Sometimes a Wild God

On December 3, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Uncategorized

Breathtaking, beautiful words that create forest beings, cottages, and concepts that before only had thoughts. Free expression.

Coyopa : words by Tom Hirons

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

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Requiem for Bertie

On December 2, 2014December 2, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Bones, Cadaver, Castanets, Charon, Crypt, Death, Decomposing, Dirge, Earth, Fates, Ferry, Fester, Fetid, Flesh, Frankincense, Gangrenous wound, Morgue, Mortuary, Myrrh, North Star, Potters Fields, Putrid, Requiem for Bertie, River Styx, Soil, soul, Specter, Stench, Threescore and ten, Tomb, Vultures, Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe

Requiem for Bertie

A walking cadaver feasting yet never full. Hollow sunken cheeks. Fetid breath. Mortuary bones clacking like castanets signal a dirge for a being hanging onto life yet bound for the grave. More specter than man. A rambling absurdity. Vultures patiently await thy final fall. Ye reek of the morgue. Thy entire body festers as a gangrenous wound. He beckons! He beckons! Rub him down with frankincense and myrrh! Ready thy flesh for winding sheet and cooling board. Turn back all covered mirrors! Face thy head to the North Star. Every road ye tread leads to the crypt. Thy Tomb awaits thee and bids thee step in.

The smell of death accompanies thy uprising and approach. A stench emanating from thy despoiled core lingers in every room. Onlookers vainly swing their heads in disgust trying to dislodge tastes of putrid flesh invading their tongues. Youth and health have been dispersed to the gale like leaves whipped by the windstorm then fallen to soil. Leaves decomposing returning to the earth from whence they came. No potions, brews or concoctions from Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe can save thee now. Threescore and ten shall not be thine for the Fates are poised to cut life’s cord.

The Pale Horseman rides for thee. This night thy soul is required. Ferry passage has been booked and Charon awaits you dockside for thy journey across the River Styx. Once shiny obsidian bursting with life now ye become dusty white-grey urn ashes. A tree that once stood tall in the forest has fallen never to rise again. Strong saplings are pine boxes for many Potters Fields.

Once to the bazaar now to the funeral. Maggot courtiers await the beck and call of thy rotted corpse. Hypnos wicked opium dram shall deliver thy harvest ready soul gathered unto Thanatos sickle and scythe. Journeys fueled by alcohol, cigarettes and sugar end much too soon. Yonder cemetery will be thy new home.

A PORCUPINE WARRIOR

On December 2, 2014 By dancingpalmtreesIn Uncategorized

I respect the quills of the porcupine for her pronged quills write messages carved deep within flesh!! Bravo!! Hands clapping and two thumbs up for this stupendous poem by Ms. Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia!!!