Fall from Grace

On January 7, 2018December 2, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Angel, Broken Angels, Fall from Grace, Fallen Angels, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Jeremiah 12:5 New International Version (NIV), Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Rag'n'Bone Man, Uncategorized, WERE IT NOT FOR GRACE by LARNELLE HARRIS3 Comments

Fall from Grace

We are All Fallen Angels

Awaiting our Replacement Wings Home

Broken Angels awaiting repairs

Living fractured Lives Under the stairs

Broken Rib Compositions.

Melted Molten Sun burnt Icarus no longer flying high. You should never laugh at the Sun.

Who are the Guardians for the Ministers of Peace? Where and when will they appear? Is there no shoulder for we who have offered our shoulders wet with tears? We seek our Lighthouse out of the storm.

Like you I too am lost. Wandering 40 years in the Wilderness. Every day looking for manna from Heaven. I’m No Prophet, Messiah or Savior. Only a fractured fragmented human. I am only a mirage in the merciless sun of endless desert.

My best friends are the birds and beasts of the field.

Save your sermons. No sweet sounding incantations. Searching for the Root of Conversation. Do not weep for the lost. For I await the baptism of dirt.

The Queen of Heaven Welcomes Me Home.

Jeremiah 12:5

New International Version (NIV)

God’s Answer

⁵“If you have raced with men on foot
    and they have worn you out,
    how can you compete with horses?
If you stumble in safe country,
    how will you manage in the thickets by^[b] the Jordan?

Dust

On January 6, 2018December 6, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn AL STEWART "Time Passages", Bones, Broken Bones, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Kansas - Dust in the Wind, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Uncategorized6 Comments

Dust

Particles like snowflakes fall upon people, animals, flowers, trees, plants, homes, houses, trains and cars

Skin particles from living beings. Cremains from those who have gone on. Skin cells. Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.

Ashes of the Disintered

Gatherings of Flesh, Feathers and Fur.

I am aware of my skin because they tell me so. But one day skin tones won’t make as we proceed from flesh to dusky ashes for then we will all be equal.

In the greater scheme of the Universe we are nothing and return to nothing but memories. Time passes and soon we are done. Graveyard markers, memorials, tombstones and gravestones. The Bonfire of eons and eternity eat away at our existence.

Rheema began to form and energy expression. Commencing the mixing of bloods, bone and tissues.

The Chatty Grim Reaper: Nocturnes for the Soul

On January 4, 2018November 26, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, The Chatty Grim Reaper: Nocturnes for the Soul, Uncategorized5 Comments

The Chatty Grim Reaper: Nocturnes for the Soul

A City on a Rock besieged all around by infidels and invaders.

Raging battles lasting in to the night and well into the next day. It would seem that the chaos would never end. But as the Wise Sage expounded A City on a Hill Cannot be hid.

Stalwart Warriors All We fight on through desolation and isolation Courage and Bravery never ends. In the midst of conflict appears the Delirium Room. Then I realized that this was not my room any more and I needed to be transported to a Brand New Room. Amidst the two natures of man were two doorways Repulsion and Attraction.

Please Forward me a Small Studiolo Fully Furnished which I will name the Studio of Despair. I caught wisps of ghosts and they need somewhere to stay for just a fortnight.

Treacherous wild climbing Ivy Kudzu unraveling flower like tentacles encasing the living into the dead.

The Struggle of the Two Natures in Man George Grey Barnard (American, Bellefonte, Pennsylvania 1863–1938 New York)

Obsidian gave way to Dayforming Gold Rays

A City on a Rock

Massacre of the Innocents

Gamepiece with a Dead Heron (“Falconer’s Bag”) Jan Weenix

The Chatty Grim Reaper: The Thickening Darkness of Blank Pages

On January 3, 2018November 25, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Struggle Dance, The Chatty Grim Reaper: The Thickening Darkness of Blank Pages, Uncategorized6 Comments

The Chatty Grim Reaper: The Thickening Darkness of Blank Pages

A world teeming with Virtual Minutiae

Augmented Faces

Neural Networks

Mutilated Mannequins

Naked Apartments and Gypsy Housing

Soul Transporter + The Splattering of feet and ideas

You espied my Loneliness as a Thickening of the Darkness surrounding my soul

Pages Intentionally Left Blank

I can hear the screech of seagulls in the distance cruelly circling scavenging viscera from my nightmares

Struggle Dance

Packs of rats that eat anything and everything in their way including each other.

Finding her broken battered sliced up body parts he put her in a box labeled No Return

I lay there atop the early morning dawn beach. Sand in my hair, face and mouth. I spit out some grains as I slowly and painfully tried to raise myself up to at least a sitting position whilst waves of nausea assaulted my digestive track sending me onto the Vomitus Express. Vomit make it’s way up into my throat alternately gagging and heaving in full effect. Nightmarish odors entangled my olfactory system worsening my hold on this world and imperiling me towards the next.

Propping myself up on the heels of my hands I could then see that the stench came from horribly mutilated bodies scattered all across the beach some not more than a few inches away. Bodies once human now a mangled mashup of guts, brain matter, blood and feces decomposing along with rotting undigested remnants of their last meals.

Horrid stench but even worse how did I get here?

Gamepiece with a Dead Heron (“Falconer’s Bag”) Jan Weenix

Psycho Barn House

Decorated or Defiled

On January 2, 2018November 25, 2017 By dancingpalmtreesIn Decorated or Defiled, Fusion Poetry, Hodgepodge Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Prose and Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Decorated or Defiled

An Old Year Happily Discarded

Slate fresh clean Brand New

Last year’s implosion old news

Broken, Battered and Beat Up 2017 has left the building

And We Danced. And We Danced. And We Danced. Until the Dream was over.

What we run away from is what may save us

That being Moxie and Mystery

Tapestry pulled into the murky underbelly of a concussion

Pain, sorrow and death are are bosom buddies Boon companions following your every step. I kissed a rose and bled deeply and profusely through the thorns.

Muddy Murdered Mannequins being dragged though slimy red clay

Bashed in heads semi-attached to conflicted torsos. Splattered blood pointillism across the magic carpets

There is a bird inside me pecking out my innards screeching release.