Category: Fusion Poetry

The Oracle Speaks

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Freestyle, Fusion Poetry5 Comments

 

 

The Oracle Speaks

 

The  masses follow false prophets/profits and naked Emperors bearing gifts of fools gold. Yet the one who has stood the test of time silently stands awaiting with faded hope for the tides to change.  Emperors oozing pus and blood leaving contamination desecrating sacred lands. Lavishly framed lies adorn a corpulent corpse.

Whilst distending belly’s cry out hunger pangs. EcleTrick forms of strangulation. Minefields populated by moronic maws spouting soiled vile sewer filth. Regurgitating carnage for breakfast.

Smudge. Sweep house. Sanctified Sweet Sage Do Your Work. Seer Circles unbroken.

Ancient ones shall have the last say.  Those who have an ear. Let them hear. Listen as the forest, woods, rocks and stones whisper cosmos secrets.

Pulling verses from the Akashic tribal scrolls.  Weaving braille dots upon stalwart stone.

The rocks cry out but who is listening.  Caught up in nondescript fluff. Know you not that even a found feather has a message to share? Pulling dreams and visions from limited senses. The Forest Speaks. The Forest yields. Ever sensitive to the clamber and clatter of hiking feet. Not tuned in but turned by external quests.

Once it was marching boots. Till Johnny came home. Till Custer had his day. Here is where the Blue and The Gray gave utterance. So many maimed, gutted and left by the roadside.

Oak, Fir, Spruce, Evergreen We have seen the dead from many a bloody battle and buried the fallen with our leaves and moss. Their blood coursing through multiple root systems transmitting nourishment and stories. The Griot speaks.

There will be no medals given here my friend. There will be No Medals given here. Only a few stones to mark the spot.

War. Riches man’s Fake bluster. False pride. Poor man’s duty.

Cassandra My Raven haired Fiery Sepia toned beauty. Who will believe your report?

There was wailing and weeping across the land Rachel sobbing for her children because they are nought.  The time of mourning is now at hand.

There is a Zephyr moving through the land.

 

 

 

 

Secrets of a Decaying Socialite

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry

 

Secrets of a Decaying Socialite

Broken is who and what I am. Every day I see the pieces of my armor falling to the floor. I am that tragic secret whispered among the thorns. An embalmed mannequin morphing into a rotting corpse.  A piece of trash waiting for Sanitation to pick me up and deposit me on the refuse heap. The Reaper comes for his Harvest as the Char Man makes his daily delivery to Sanford & Son. Elizabeth I’ll see you soon.


Homicide

When did the explosion happen? Who knows? Because I think it was really an implosion. Being a Nightmare waiting to be born. Somebody put a  dent in my universe which I don’t know how to repair.

Save your prayers. Save Your Prayers for stones on the ground. Each prayer causes me to die a little each second of every day.  Wash away the guilt and shame so embedded that you need to kill parts of your brain to live.  

Documenta Dementia.

Let me go back to the nobody I’ve always been. One with nothing to prove.

I am not mortar and stone.  I am bubbling flesh bursting at the seams. In my dreams I’m someone else. Somebody else. An important person. A person with a mission, passion and purpose. Going up in the air ready to crash into the next mountain peak. Brought low. Brought back to earth. Reality.

Birthing a mummified child. Dear Dead One How long were you within me? He just kept stabbing at my web of lies whilst becoming entangled within its sticky threads. Pain Follows even to the most secret hiding places.

Thank you and please enjoy my Triggers.

 

 

 

 

A Disfigured Soul

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Rag'n'Bone Man, Uncategorized5 Comments

 

 

A Disfigured Soul

Something inside me broke. Perhaps because I have so much internal conflict and when I’m with Stephen I can take off the mask. But then again I’m broken. I’m a Nightmare the gods

For several weeks something within me has been breaking, collapsing, pieces falling apart. Rolling across the earth. Some swallowed up. Whatever Control I thought I had is long gone. Tiredness and exhaustion have stolen my immortal soul. When you’re lost you no longer know who you are.

As I try to erase and blot out the voices of those telling me who I should be and how to get there. But I know to ask why. Don’t Put Your Chains on me for I’ve Made My Bed in the Land of Other.

Because I don’t want to join your journey………… For I’m Only a Few Steps Away from Grace….

 

For Mable Palmer who did not survivor cancer but lives on in our collective memories.

20170630_135243

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gaia Reclaiming Her Land

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Fulton Street, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Photographs, Photography, Poems, Poetry, This Land is Your Land - Woody Guthrie, Uncategorized1 Comment

 

Land formerly wood, concrete and metal of long forgotten torn down buildings must give way to Queen Gaia as she Reclaims Land abandoned whilst She Festooning it with wild Beauty.

No. Not weeds to Her. But cordial Flora, Plants, bushes, sapling trees, flowers finding a home plus phenomenal growth where no man can pass allowing birds and small animals sanctuary during spring into summer.

Dancing happily flowing with gentle breezes. Tonight the woodland Nymphs shall dance with abandon around and through dusky moss green covers.

All Photos taken along Fulton Street in Brooklyn, NY.

 

Bertie Died……………2014

On By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized

 

I must have ran 40 blocks after I got the news. And that damned parrot would not shut up! Aunt Beatrice came and got him while me flying down the streets with no coat, hat, gloves or even a scarf on a cold freezing pre-Christmas day.  Down Fulton Street. Decomposition. A Rotted Christmas Gift. Which Morgue? I’m assigned to find you.

To this day I still hate Christmas and always will.

Fulton’s Folly redux.

Oblivious to cars, speeding past rickety boarded up storefront churches, racing around and through stagnant pedestrians.  Cars honking. Screeching to an unexpected halt as fleet form weaves speed through traffic Loom gossamer spider webs.  If I run fast enough to the morgue maybe I’ll still have a chance to remind his body to arise for the Tree Lightening Ceremony.

The Forest. I’ll run into the woods. There I found the magnificent corpse of a Unicorn. Majestic but I didn’t know what to do with it. Wasps had made a home inside the stomach cavity. Carrying life from death. I could smell syrup and honey mixed with Holiday Candy Canes. My dreams, goals and plans for the future. Disemboweled.

The Way of Wings is to fly. Where Sweet Harbor lies.

She Triumphant Playing Parlor Games exuded Vibrato from wild god’s Olde Apothecary Shoppe.  When a Heroine falls. She dies alone. Forgotten and lost to the ages.  She had only a passing acquaintance with sanity.

Each Day Jesus Cries for those condemned to the altars of bloody sacrifice.

Simon says. You learn quickly to do what Simon says or you’re out of the game. For Simon is Jigsaw.

This world done. Ready to implode.

 

This Old Soldier will fade away……

Disconnect………..Disengage………Disappear……..Retreat…….Off Grid……..