Destiny Inhabits the Soul


 

 

 

 

 

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

Inhabit

 

Let me take you on a Phonetic Poetic Photo journey via pictures and Verse.

Black is not something I do. It is who I am.

It is the place I inhabit and that which inhabits me.

Black is the space where ancestral spirits find place within my soul. It’s music inhabits my every thought and deed. From Be-Bop to Hip-Hop it’s all there never to be displaced no matter my current accommodations.

Calling me Journey. Sojourning for Truth.  Ain’t I a Woman strong and fierce.

Calling me Traveler for I have inhabited many shores. I strode forth without ever leaving my home.

Home is the place that inhabits me. Every cut corner ragged edge begs to be filled. Silence inhabits uncharted symphonies of mindless cacophonies. Symphonic Blasts inhabit the Universe.

Museum paintings and sculptures inhabit three planes: Past, Present and Future. Transformation begins via viewers lending voices to long forgotten pasts. Silent Interiors speak Volumes but only the selected of the masses can hear its voice.

The butterfly leaps from Chrysalis thrust into Arboreal fields. In tune with Eternal Firefly beings.

Street Urban Art Inhabits dreary dry brutalist streetscapes revamping the atmosphere paying Silent Verbal Homage to fallen heroes kept from whited sepulchral one-sided gallery spaces.

The past inhabits the future while dullards look askance on those not like them. The past inhabits the present whilst clinging to a more hopeful future.

Past and current inhabitants on a collision course with destiny. Destiny inhabits the storm.

The Great Soul inhabits All Souls at birth yet flees from the wicked. Let Grace Abound.

Yes We Inhabit a strange land mystically inhabiting three spheres. Counterclockwise orbits inhabiting galaxies.

 

 

 

A Love Supreme in Search of Me.

 

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Mirrored Objects are Closer than They Appear


 

 

Mirrored Objects are Closer than They Appear

 

Welcome to Floozy Fridays at the Asylum

 

Stay Tuned for the next Meat Grinder Edition

 

When the smoke clears the Conflagration will arise

She an Elliptical Orbit floating on Clouds

Enter the Meat Grinder

Play me some Sleep Dance music an Ode to the Great Cathedral Mausoleum

Building those Great Cathedrals in the Sky

 

Red Lips. Cloudy Eyes.

 

Watch the Closing Doors

Shouting Out the Kewl Breeze Shysty fiesty One

Two pages stuck together with Lust Juice

Hairy Arms and Bare Legs Tussle

And Then a relaxation of bed covers

All is Finished. All is silent except silent snores piercing blustery night breezes

Whilst TaiQuai watched him sputter and gasp his way into eternity. Her sardonic smile belied the Trickster Elixir that sent him into permanent exile. Away from his many serial wives he wooed and lost.

 

Max Headroom, The Best Bits Ever!

Chuckle berries are being served up now

 

Sprocket Rocket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Oracle Speaks


 

 

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


 

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


 

 

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.

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