Borders of the Mind

On January 14, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Border, Hypnos, Hypnotize, Midnight Marauder, Mole People, Morpheus, Nightmares, Phantaso, Phobetor, succubus, The Daily Post, Twin Peaks Dancing Dwarf, Uncategorized, Walls and Memories

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/border/#like-249996

Oct 7, 2016

Border

Walls and Memories

Yesterday is another country. Borders are now closed.

TEDDY BUTLER, Midsomer Murders, “Vixen’s Run” (2006)

But Sometimes the Past Memories come back to haunt you. The borders are permeable. There are holes in the fenced bricked walls. Thoughts within the intricacies of the mind have no fear of protective barbed wire. They weave over and around like ghosts through cemetery gates.

As much as you attempt to put the past behind you it hangs onto your coat-tails and sticks like fly paper. Where you move it goes. Forever your shadow real yet intangible daring you to leave it behind because you both know it, they, the memories, flaws and failures will always be a part of your life like skin to bone. Muscle to fiber and tendon. You can never forget. Swift Rivers carry bodies downstream to surface with the Spring thaw. Sacrifices for the Funeral Pyre.

The Immolation of Brigadier Jaynes

Brigaider Jaynes. He went insane.

Not all at once. But in bits and pieces.

Dying upon tracked grill. For the rats to get there fill.

Leftovers charcoal broiled. Pigeons, Roaches and rats gather for a feast.

He once went for Reyna Angelica. Ms. Lady who did a pole dance with a tracker trailer at the intersection of a State of Insanity. Stopping traffic for miles around.

Bodies stacked like cord-wood.

Behold the Char Man Cometh

His Fiery Frame set to blazing coals.

His disembodied entrails offerings to the Underground rat-tail gods.

Char-Man ~~ A Jumping, Jaggling, Waggling, Corpse doing a Macabre Jig inside the tunnel.

A Sign Shouted Danger/Peligroso! For Gotham is a Bi-Textual Town.

Another of the Mole People succumbs to the savageries of Life.

At Dusk when the warmth of the Sun has ceded to Night’s chill, Char Man comes to me offering to turn my bed into a living breathing fireplace with me as one of the perpetually burning logs. His eye never quits straying from my side. The Eternal Inferno Burning Spectrum infests my dreams like creeping ivy and mold. I am just an observer. If he can’t have Laura will he take me?

And so it begins once more.

Oh Laura! Where have you gone?!

Twin Peaks Dancing Dwarf

Hypnos, Morpheus and Phantasos mock me!! Phobetor, god of nightmares is my Deity.

I’ve suffered from Nightmares, Insomnia, Night Terrors and as an adult Sleep-walking. When I was younger I used to see demons at the foot of my bed and felt some type of demon or evil being sitting on my chest! Thankful that finally went away. However Sleep has rarely been peaceful or restful for me!

The Man from Another Place is Waiting for you!! For at Midnight all Black Cats are Grey and Dying men sometimes transmigrate into lesser animals. For you see I am not from Gentleness but from War. I am the Midnight Marauder a Succubus come to steal men’s souls as they sleep!

Cloud Mists ~ For Lucy

On September 28, 2014April 24, 2016 By dancingpalmtreesIn Delusions, Hallucinations, Hypnos, Memories, Memory, Memory Lane - Minnie Riperton, Morpheus, Nightmares, Phantaso, River Styx, Uncategorized1 Comment

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fog/#like-245700

DAILYPOST

Apr 20, 2016

DAILY PROMPT

Fog

Foggy Misty morn over Central Park in the ball field

Cloud Mists ~ For Lucy

Mists Cloud your face yet never your smile, laughter, your cheerfulness, your precious spirit. Life moves on but there will always be an empty space where you once stood. You were a sweet and gentle soul. All the world is passing by and I want to shout, Stop! Wait a minute! Don’t you know a melody has ceased playing? A familiar song is now silent? Here I remain stoic yet crying inside wishing I could reach through this veil of tears and take your hand once again.

Remembrance

Though we be in the Autumn of our lives we still beam the Girlish Dreams of Youth. When the cord is cut mid-stream will our dreams be cast into the raging seas…..ashes scattered to the prevailing winds blanketing the Earth like so many strips of confetti after the parade has ended?

Are our dreams lost forever or merely transferred to future generations. When death stills earthly dreams do they take wings and fly towards the Heavens. Do our Ancestors dream of those yet to join them? Are we the living dreaming Lineages cut short who seek a bloodline vessel?

Girlish dreams beckon faded broken bodies. Minds kindled by the flames of youth —- yet the structure could not hold. BOOM!! And ever so slowly and softly one million photographs gently wafted to earth to be gathered by the Memory Gleaners and placed in the gallery of Lost Souls.

Minnie Riperton: “Memory Lane”

http://youtu.be/2-Z2z5a4mQ4

Do Heavenly dwellers have earthly memories? Can Memories transpose the veil? And we, if we be close enough or strong enough then death will hold no obstacle. Essence travels freely no longer bound by fleshly concerns.

The Workers Leave No Footprints

On July 12, 2014January 18, 2015 By dancingpalmtreesIn Abuse, Acceptance, African American Queen, African Goddess, African King, Bad Breath, Battle, Black Orpheus, Body Odor, Body Snatchers, Borg, Broken Angels, cacophony, Catharsis, Craving, Creativity, DeBorah, deception, Deliverance, Delusions, Dissonance, Dreams, Ethiopian Goddess, Expectations, Explore, Fantasy, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Hallucinations, Innovation, Inquisitive, Knowledge, Koyaanisqatsi, Limbo, Loss, Lost Souls, Malevolent, Morpheus, Museum, Negritude, Night Sweats, Nirvana, Oneiroi, Optical illusions, Phantaso, profane, Purgatory, Recovery, Refuge, Rejection, Rescue, Riders on the Storm, Ritual, Sacred, Sanctuary, Scars, soul, Spears, Spider Web, Spinning, Spirit, Spirituality, Stereotypes, Stigmata, Stinky breath, Suffering, Surrealism, Taijhena Mona Lisa Ormand, Thánatos, The Twilight Zone, The Walking Dead, Under belly, Understanding, Unloved, Unwanted, Vision, Visions, War, Wasteland, Wicked, Wisdom, Woman, Zombies4 Comments

Dreams Never Die

Youth said “Dreams Never Die.” Twenty years passed then Recession kicked in. New Realities were born. Twelve hour workdays became the norm.

Like a drowning man Dreams surfaced again and again only to plummet down to the watery deep. All the while knocking at 1% door watching them through one-sided window laugh, play, drink and party with no thought for the ‘Morrow’. We the unseen only imagining free time for our dreams.

Dreams that must wait until Social Security beckons if death does not reach us first. Fore bread, water, warm clothes and a place to live cry louder. Goodnight Sweet Dreams. May you one day resurrect to a New Dawn.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The Working Poor Leave No Footprints

Surrounded by a plethora of people who seemed to surface like bloated corpses after spring thaw. Worker bees we are all meaningless specks of dust being recklessly scattered by blustery winds. Modern day Robber Barons throw battle weary soldiers back into the battle while they sit sipping tea in Ivory Towers. Thirty-seven years a professional, now placating rot breath Sabbath suits long in tooth, visions of Mammy dancing in their heads. Limestone Liver spotted wrinkled bone bags befoul the air with endless demands. Dontcha know Miz Daisy learned to drive herself and the Help all went to the French Rivera.

I am Hagar cast out of my prosperous household, denied by the Master and Mistress I once served. Thrown out of my protectors’ house my Dream-child and I await Our Avenging Angel of Salvation.

My Dreams now dead buried under work obligations, mountains of rules and regulations that I seem to constantly violate just by being. No miracles exist for me. Only years of mindless drudgery ahead. Millennial Overseers govern my every move with their remote control mind games. Freedom lies dormant within my imagination. My brain has been put out to pasture because intelligence is not needed or wanted and creativity has become a sin. Automaton Me clad in nondescript dull uniform easily replaceable by the next set of hungry hands yearning for the pence dispensed from the rich mans table. Hey!! Who’s next up on the Auction Block?!! Come lock step into the Plantation Mausoleum filled with objects which are valued more than drones who guard them. We be Aliens in our own Land. Serfs never reaping a hard earned Harvest.

Yet soon a New Day will Dawn, Dreams will bear fruit and Visions be reborn.

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams

On June 19, 2014September 30, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn 50+, African American Queen, Black Unicorn, Cornucopia, Creativity, DeBorah, Deliverance, Dreams, Edward Palmer, Ethiopian Goddess, Eva Gordon Palmer, Explore, Family History, Family Tree, Fantasy, Female Divinity, Feminine Divine, Folklore, Genetic Memory, Goddess, Hallucinations, Hattie Finney Banks, Hypnos, Innovation, Inquisitive, Insomnia, Jacob's Ladder, Kinky/Nappy Hair, Lyrical Family Memories, Mable Elizabeth Palmer, Mable Palmer, Maternal Heritage, Maternal lineage, Matriarchy, Memory, Mid-Life, Midnight Marauder, Morpheus, Mystical Creatures, Negritude, New Age, Night Bird, Nirvana, Oneiroi, Optical illusions, Orpheus, Poems, Protean, Quilt, Sacred, Sages, soul, Spirituality, Stigmata, Surrealism, Thánatos, Tree of Knowledge, Vision, Vision Quest, Visions1 Comment

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/planet/

Evolution of Childhood InterPlanetary Dreams

Grandmas Reign Quilt

Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer -- Grandmother — Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer — Grandmother

Epoch Heydays beat rhythm time Tempo bringing Glory Days and Golden Age into Earth, Space, time Continuum alignment around my being. Spiritual Discernment begins the convergence of planets, Moon-Womben Star-gazers endlessly birthing heavenly bodies and floating orbs.

Mother Africa as Creator Goddess singing Reign Blessings upon her children.

My World, the ones I saw in my Grandmother’s Quilt and the ever expanding Galaxies beyond Earth, Sky, Sun and Moon-Daughter Wishes, Hopes and Desires.

Ancient hand stretching finger Ancestor Dimensions reaching forward into time and eternity bringing revelation knowledge of history long past yet made fresh daily.

Troubles beating bloody fists upon my pate.

Belladonna into Nightshades.

Tethered by an unholy umbilical cord to a dead albatross. Dreams deluge. Green metal Frigidaire Fan blowing air opposite it’s promised heat relief. Stub toe late shift Dad curses Castro and his Convertible. Bucolic heat wave summer in the city. 25 cent Ice Cream salvation dispensed by Mr. Softee. Martha Reeves and her Vandellas gyrating to Dancing in the Streets while kids follow her Piped Pipers.

Kool-Aid libation sugar screams ensue while transistor talking heads Ralph Kiner and Lindsey Nelson called Shea play by plays. Bygone days of Tri-Corn braids. Fletcher’s Castoria Beef Iron Wine cocktails. Childhood freedom beckons signalling release from adulthood chain gangs. Teeter-totter bring unbalanced superimposed idealized memories to double-doubted times past. It’s 1964 and my Dixie Peach anointed head snuggles with Panda pillow transcending time once again in the loving arms of Grandma Eva’s patchwork quilt.

A Building at Rest ~ Goth Holiday at the Museum

On December 8, 2013August 16, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Abuse, Ambien, Battle, Black Unicorn, cacophony, Death, DeBorah, deception, Delusions, despair, Dissonance, Dreams, Evil, Expectations, Fallen Angels, Fantasy, Fears, Grim Reaper, Hades, Hallucinations, hell, horror, Hotel California, Hypnos, Icelus, Insomnia, Instability, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Koyaanisqatsi, Limbo, Loss, Lost Souls, Malevolent, Manufacturered Reality, Memory, Midnight Marauder, Mind Altering Substances, Morpheus, Museum, Mystical Creatures, Night Bird, Nightmares, Oneiroi, Orpheus, Phantaso, profane, Protean, Purgatory, Rejection, Ritual, River Styx, Scars, Skeptic, sorrow, Stigmata, Suffering, Suicide, Surrealism, Swords, Thánatos, The Twilight Zone, The Walking Dead, Trifecta of Terror, Vampires, Visions, Walking Wounded, War, Werewolves, Wicked, Zombies6 Comments

A Building at Rest

The museum Thanksgiving Day 2012 –
the museum is populated by a wonderful yet mysterious quiet & peace undisturbed by the frenetic masses. Silences punctuated only by flowing water, the endless hum and shifting of building machinery.

Even normal noises can be unsettling. Especially those associated with people. The building has become a living breathing organism Uttering creaks moans sighs groans from nearly 150 years of footfalls, voices, radios, songs, cantatas, the chiming of clocks, exclamations of awe & wonder. Whispers from an Archaic Victorian century long past to digital diversity.

Oh what secrets lie transfixed within these silent walls yearning for release. The Hunger has been unleashed upon the populace.

The immortality of brick, mortar & steel record the march of ethnicities & nations who roam free these hallowed halls.

Sometimes the sudden interruption of footfalls becomes ominous, invading the sanctity of the Holy Sanctuary. Even the sound of my own steps is somewhat menacing. What spirits accompany me on perambulations among the saints and sinners?

The feeble burbling of the fountain stream’s half-hearted attempts to empty its essence, struggling to pollinate magnificent coins.

The day is at end, the light has faded. Now the night crew enters to continue the evening melody.

Reflections Goth Holiday 2013

Cadaver Mind A.D.D.

Heaving sighs and moans. Creaks, chrupping of brick, mortar, steel and glass pane windows. Blood oozes and drips from open wounds in Laymen’s red brick walls. Elevator doors open and a thousand wailing, howling, grieving souls swoop through the air and into the Medieval Court crying for revenge. Flight of the Valkyries. The Martyrs avenge their unjust and untimely deaths. Swirling and whirling like profane dervishes from netherworld’s portal of the undead.

Hail Mary Echoes from thousands of Knights, monks, Nuns, bishops, and church saints racing through Byzantium corridors. Spirits of Reliquaries issue forth warnings and admonishments to modern day savages. Reliquary Fingers of Blessing Inflict Pain Yanking Opening Death’s Door breaking off bits and pieces of flesh, bone, teeth and hair for deposit into ossuary banks.

Slats opening and closing mindfully as though giving some secret Morse Code. Dioramas of Death act out murderous suicidal dramas. Eagle slays Dragon plucking out blinded eyes from empty orbs.

Medieval castle built long ago by invaders long forgotten. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Kali goddess of the sarcophagus raises her many arms in Victory. Subterranean pipes hissing steam clanking unrest.

Secret panels opening up to Mausoleum subterranean chambers containing overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.

Abruptly Angels on the Christmas tree come to life and like ravenous vampire bats attack unsuspecting visitors. Reanimated Reliquary Arms reach out to throttle throats of fleeing patrons. Fang toothed Egyptian mummies arise and break through display cases to satiate their ancient eon hunger upon frenzied victims. Their desert saliva spreading infection causing festering vile pus filled carbuncles to captive prey.

Emptiness and Futility of Life — Life’s ignoble Ending

Desire run rampant as sacrilegious effigies coupled and reached radiant necrophilia orgasm stone bodies now made supple. Mystics and Monks glowered lecherously all the while reciting Gregorian chants, dirges and cries for absolution filling the room with the intensity of their mating.

Gargoyles descended from illicit trysts with human females and warlock man beasts gave into the licentious behaviors’ anointing themselves and fleeing clienteles with seminal fluid oily slick.

Orgasm became an exceptional obsession.

Viscous gleaming blood, shimmering with glided preternatural flakes of light. Black Iris her breasts like soft fragrant pillows.