Friday, July 4, 2014
Poems of Peril
Poems of Peril
And other Poems
The Immortal Wine
He is sitting on a rock looking beyond the mountains and the
Rivers, out into the ocean.
It is near twilight—
Beyond him the mountains are purple and white, with a yellowish
Light cast down and out from the twilight, and the river’s blue, shows the
The breadth of the moon, where there are shades of red…
His mind is as if drunk with wine
He is stepping into another world, perhaps another time—imaginative, yes,
Who’s to say…?
The moon to him, airless, is liken to gray Tartarus.
Shapes are dancing—
He will wait for the sun to set, as it will come from the sea to him—
Until then he will draw to him the ocean’s winds
And get lost into Satan’s gloom and night, and sway
Along with the pools of bats and silent ghouls, witches,
Even the flies this evening are radiant, gleam,
Leap as the ocean’s waves turn red and un-resting, —
This is his Immortal Garden.
He can even envision cave lights, deep in the sea!
The snakes’ bellies are lit up,
They sway to the music of some unseen flutes.
Women are in purple robes, dance!
Everything is splendid.
And within this world, lustrous rivers run, and monsters roam.
A woman kneels, — she seems to be of interest to him.
Here, are mountains and kingdoms,
It is as if he has journeyed to Atlantis—
Even poison has a home here.
And he can see inside of rubies, the old Titans, lost.
When he steps outside this immortal garden, Pluto is nearby.
His vision is as unstable as the foam of the sea.
He sees demon alters, fiends, Hell’s fires—
And the hours pass by, and by and by…
And his lantern has turned cold.
Fiery spiders crawl out of old hidden skulls—
The gibbous moon, is now talking to the muttering waters.
Here anything, and all things are possible—
The girl is now on a dragon-worm, a harlot, but enchanting.
He can even hear demon talking about their sins.
And he watches the wench, in the direction she is going:
As she turns about with a gratified smile.
No: 4429 (July 1, 2014)
Curse of the Suns
(Subtitle: Armageddon’s Stellar Doom)
The grayness of winter, the silence inside the stars, this is when God will
have blinked his eyes; how the evening stars will have trembled, no longer in a solitude of rest! And balance.
For man, earth, and star, will face cosmic tides of chaos.
“How deep is this abyss of night?” will be asked.
They will ask and seek, as the seas ebb and sway—
Perhaps with oblivious life, who’s to say? But seek they will—
Whomever they are, and in this deep, Armies of eternal night cold and bold
soldiers from the ramparts of some remote garrison, inside some far-off nebula…approach!
Seek to storm beyond the immortal lights of Orion!
They now gaze upon the gulfs that burn, and they talk of stellar doom.
These armies, immense, should they not be hidden from earth,
Bulks of dark and wrath would they bring—
They would create a battle path of menace that would sway irrevocable
Wars for a generation—
Call it, if you please: Armageddon’s stellar doom: a deep blood splash,
not so unlike the far and dim past, wherein lies the unbegotten.
How narrow the change between then and now—
It is as if modern man has set his orbit to them; and to them the path to
the untrodden dens of the cosmic strange…
Lo! The brief yet cunning evil kept in suitable shape for this gloom filled
day, prophetic doom, so approaches—
Marked by annexed darkness, these who come, come with dread, one
among them is like thine unchanging sea: unstable; and he carries his
throne of fire—
No silence will rush these ghostly hours
There will be no sonnets to write no human sleep—
Orion’s tower of light, belted with suns, will sower chaos (firmamental
Men of earth will even march into the menace…
The whole universe will be of a high unrest—; in a darker darkness, than
that of an enclosed mausoleum; stars sunk into pits of dark cosmic
space, sinking into immense black holes!—
All the devils and all the demonic forces, like lions caught in a fiery quarry,
Running in a maze, swaying in execrably, ramming the walls of its abyss
Lair, to escape those fatal days —
Man and devil and cosmic foes, ere, their doom filled, as the axles of earth
break and consume, into an eternal enormousness of dark and a hushed
Who will be able to withstand the swift sword and hand of Elohim, that
night, and the following day?
Behold, not even the stellar strongholds in Orion, with their cosmic
besieging armies, and their legionaries; nor the supreme armies of the Abyss;
Nor the Armies of Earth.
All will hear the conclusive triumph trumpets of infinity, as they are
brought down to infamy; and should not those days be shortened all
that would be left would be a cosmic tomb, for man and alien, demon And devil…
Should not Christ Himself appear, there would be no ideal peace, nor part; For he will bring deep ranked archangels chanting praise, and save the
little hope man has finally willed.
In these not so far-off days, the sun will be powerless to illume the moon, now dwarfed—; the time of sorrows.
Denial of this end, this perfect and final war of wars, will not serve man will,
it will come all the same, and the Godhead will mutate man’s rule, and Christ will appear like a comet’s blaze, and to them who wish to destroy,
and to them that will not kneel, be thrown into a fiery mote;
Thereafter, he will hold back the sun’s predetermined doom.
Christ himself, more than its perfect equal.
Those who profane, from the divine’s breath: death to death!
Now the vision has passed, all that was, is now expired; once again to be
hidden into the unfathomed, stalls of mystery; should God decide to
link another race.
Now man and beast and all that was and still is, must cover all with dust,
and live in the new dynasties of change… by the altars of eternal light.
No: 4430 (July 2, 2014)
The House of Perils
(Subtitle: The Eden Orchid)
Did God forget his dream for mankind?
Do we sit on a haunted Hill in intergalactic space?
And the unwanted demons and devils, cast into caverns underneath this
Hill, what about them?
Who’s to say?
We live from twilight to twilight of the moon,
In the house of perils—
Ye, are we corrections by the author?
The One long ago, who made us short like grasshoppers, with fragile
Who was the Seraphim that morn in Eden’s Garden, when the gates were
He too was one who brought in the New Age—
Leaving the mystery behind, for man to find, to the zephyrs beyond Eden.
Eden but an evanescent garden—
Now in the dark!
Ah! The Seraphim wept that day I do believe, for mankind.
Now man must face the vampire-bats, in human form, with phantom hearts,
Man must now face Man in his baleful iron stare, muffled in a cloud of air,
as not to be detected;
Incased with some mottled moth from Hell.
This is what the common man ends up with forever, and evermore, from
the Evanescent Garden—God’s pearls cast out!
Lilith, once a pearl of Eden, now Queen of Hell, could she, she would have,
bound thee eve by thy own hair—
But the Serpent beat her to it, took the crown from Eve’s brow, and ah—
gave us this, —other life.
Now the garden is swept clean, and open to anyone to wander in—
Yet, one must admit, how marvelous the lure of old Lucifer—
Ye, gave the devil wings, Eve!
But let us not forget, the heel of the Immaculate Conception!
No: 4431 (7-2-2014)
(Subtitle: from the Orchard, Apothecary)
We are like melancholy moths, drawn to beams of gaudy light—
Such dim sight man beholds, abiding each hour, building up venoms
To withstand God’s grace!
Praying for omnipotent evil to rise in its place:
To rise out of its agonizing mesh, to produce death.
All purchased with the gold dusts of Tartarus;
And the apothecary of the gods of Hell.
And each recipient to his Lord
The veil of awe—
Each such man has a price, for his sense and will…
To be repaid, once in Hell:
With pain and scorn, and no anodyne!
He thinks, the henchman’s face will not haunt him,
In the house of the dammed… What a mistake!
No: 4432 (July 2, 2014)
The Orchard, Apothecary
The Uncaged Condor
(Subtitle: In Place of the Eagle)
The condor hears the wind afar—
He soars on its pathway, that shadow him,
—to the rising dawn.
O’ver chilled mountains, and granite walls,
Faithful to the few, his wings spread out—
Long and wide,
In the eternal blue he glides,
To the ageless eye of the Pacific Coast.
The Southern Ocean foaming below, the condor is circling
Waiting for the full vista—
His mind silent from the enduring night’s flight.
Now, here at the sea:
The curious, careless mountains left behind…
Vultures have companioned, far behind:
Along the coast, cloudy Lima below, the condor
Descends, his wings have voices,
Like the many waves, that shadow the shore—
Sunlight in its strength, now shines:
His journey has ended.
No: 4435 (7-3-2014)
The Poet’s Rose
(Subtitle: In the King’s Cage)
All the king’s maidens, and all the king’s men—:
Soldier and archer, blacksmith and prince—
Sang one night long-ago, of the glories they had done—
In light of the king, and the victories they had won;
Now all long dead…!
And the poet of the estate, wrote that date,
Of the China rose in the court’s gardens!
—that lived but a day.
And still its roots lay, centuries thus far, thriving
In that same courtyard,
Fashioned with a new rose, every day.
No: 4434 (7-3-2014)
(Subtitle: The Watch Breakers)
May there be light to all the faithful, on:
Sea or land, and in the seven heavens…
To the sentries on guard posts the world over:
Alert and true throughout the night!
For roars the war trains, along, in the dark—
To stammering towers, the enemy have marked!
Thus, may there be light for the faithful sentries
—at night; in lieu of: a sleep full night.
No: 4436 (7-3-2014)
Lilith, drink not her wine,
She is man’s title wave:
She makes man unwise!
Her beauty is a disguise,
And so are her enchanted,
And mysterious eyes.
She is Paradise Lost!—
She smites the seeing blind!
Her kiss is pealing one’s skin
There is no hope, whoso drinks
No: 4437 (7-3-2014)
The winds are far, faraway,
Here from the Southern Hemisphere.
I watch the sea-gull soar,
The hour is full of peace.
Evening by the Pacific
The shores ring with foam.
In my heart there is no blemish
My thoughts are melodious
To-night I will fare alone. I am
Unmoved by the tranquil moon!
Thinking of days long-gone,—
Thus, I know the flow’r sleeps,
As the Nightingale sings his song.
No: 4439 (7-3-2014)/ the Breakers
Some woman, are liken to the
Deathless Lily, grown in Paradise!
We capture them,
Take them to the halls of dreams
Passionate their wings
Radiant in thy song!
Taught in the pains of love!
But necessitous to man.
Haughty like dust—
Hell’s red choirs rejoices when a wise
Man marries such:
When a seed from the Deathless Lily,
—an outcast from Paradise—
Ordinary Life Studies (Poem)
While the flesh burns I write: I have learned like the narrow seas, how to Shift from one to the other, as from the Pacific to the Atlantic,
Through the Drake… Even through the cold sunsets—;
And so, I always find that there is always one who will find his own
Tree-stump to freeze by? Instead of cuddled in a group.
This person is like the king of the crabs—
So he thinks, until the lion’s paw enters the picture!
He is like the young witch who took the veil of the nun
And thought: “How are they to tell?”
As if they were Siamese Twins.
One must be like the birds who sit upon bare branches;
Here great companies of birds are seen
For which to them, the world is watching,
Even if the world is not!
Hence, they are ready for flight. True to the lion-heart.
Hence, they sit seated and clothed in silence:
Face to face, — for the space is small.
They ask for nothing, and seem to have all.
They see themselves as others see them:
No teasing, no fury, not fault, no forewarning—they live
As if bound in a mystery, if not conspiracy!...
Should the earth tremble, they are like the shooting star!
And then they go back to how things were:
Unanswerable for the causalities of nature or man’s wars.
They live in a world of: that before was before, but now is now.
Somehow man has lost that ‘whole number’ we can see this
In disorder; more often than not, s/he will cede control
To the tall demon, for warm sheets.
In this new age, there are too many vultures rocking high in the air
Thinking everyone is like them…
That frees their senses for dared, wide-eyed, limitless
Wisps of horror.
The blind are their own brothers, fathers and mothers: whom like
Owls, live in a world of half sight.
But the rule of nature is this: he who gives less than nothing will be left With
Less than nothing.
On the other hand, he who gives a child everything, do not expect
A loving something.
No: 4427 (July 1, 2014)
(To a Soul Enduring)
To seek, but not to find, for once found and loved the seasons behind will
Worthy or unworthy, the dream is done, no longer to dream on.
For the time comes when the search is over; the vine you have placed
about your brow, that will not let you forget, must fall.
That thing once called youth, is gone…
It is greater than the truth—
For the season is upon one.
Thus, gather yourself, time is short!
Soon the shadow will leave our face and all that will be left is your naked
No: 4440/ July 4, 2013
And Other Poems
Evils of the Times
The world watched us across the serene topless ramparts of the seven seas, for decades; we were the deaf, cigarette smoking, thumb finger licking generations. Our women were stepping into the unbelievable rapidity of the decades, the changing ways of, the: ‘50s, ‘60s, which might have belonged to anybody for the taking. When the ‘60s came around, it was a decorous turn; although for some folks, harsh and sharp. From Elvis to the Beatles; from the Beat Generation, to Aquarius; from the slanting shades of the moon, to complete blindness of the sun. The Beatnik, to the Hippie. The conservative girl, to the daisy loving couples of San Francisco (where I lived for a year in 1968-69), New York City, across the globe (lost were the days that female teens learned modesty, virginity, industry, a crown to their future hubs) ( now were the days, the clergy put away the old stint, ‘For the Greater glory of God’). From the Korean War, right onto Vietnam. The devil owned the earth, he became rich, because he had two peers trying to outdo the other: hence, he only had to wait and see, not even see, he knew when he stirred the pot of crickets, the turnout; let me explain: the ‘40s, don’t count, the devil had that in his back pocket, ever since WWI; that is to say, they were either preparing to go to war, or actually going to war, or one was ending and another was gearing up. You see, the devil took WWI, testing the water for WWII. Then came the Korean War, then the Vietnam War, which was a simple task (we learned from Japan, China, and the Philippines, we could fight in Asian Waters): war creates jobs, millionaires become billionaires, the farther away from home the better: in devilish dialect: it is called: prosperity (or the new invention of evil, to create more and better evil), the very thing Christians and Muslims, Hindus, and let’s include all the other religions of the world: sway towards, sooner or later. These last two wars (Iraq and Afghanistan), were a steppingstone of more evil to be: one war for oil, also called black gold, with its prosperity, the other out of revenge and again, for industry, which also was used to push manufacturing back into high gear, calling it ‘Reconstruction’, making more tycoons: all this beyond WWII, is part of the steppingstones to WWIII, otherwise known as Armageddon. You see, the Devil (the brown lean lizard) thinks like King Nimrod who was building the Tower of Babel: a brick, one brick, one single lousy is worth more than a human life: “Therefore,” says the Devil, “give them bricks of gold, shinning or black, it don’t matter, that’ll turn men into beasts, I`ll have their souls.” Today is the devil’s harvest, it has come to that. Men marrying men, women marrying women. Remember how we all were surprised when they passed the abortion rights, in the ‘70s, the so called in-between decade. Because none of us thought it would come up so soon. Then came Evolution, took over Creationism in the schools: when that happened we all sat with our heads bent a little. The Devil crackled: tittle-tattle with his ears, dancing like geese do. Obama hid behind Christendom so skillfully, that when he became president, he did everything antichristian, that is: he did what any true Christian would never do, under a Christian flag; we all were quizzical—what happened? Well, all the Christians were anyway. …we found out the holy can be fooled, by the sinful quickly, quicker because they are holy. No, the engagement was over, Satan had his full, that being, no more waiting and down came the towers in New York City, now called 9/11. We had all thought America strong enough to stop this, it was like we were all asleep! When it happened; we were like an anonymous child lost in the post office. God stopped playing watchdog for America. It was not good, but perhaps, as the old saying goes: no pain, no gain, or why rake dead leaves. It was all quite sudden, we were all surprised, but is it not true, the more evil we become, the more evil we are susceptible to, and become even worse, we pile it high enough, we don’t even feel the evil we dish out. It was like America was helpless against sin, now God was not giving her any aid. “Tick, tick,” goes the clock. A country without God’s grace, is a dead country, like those dead leaves. Was it a trial, American’s punishment for having been too lenient with her morals? I doubt the punishment is over if indeed it was a punishment: Satan’s main harvest is yet to be; in other words, hell has not even left Hades shores. Have we not learned by the itches of Babylon, and Greece, and Rome, most all the great powers of the world, who were great powers of the world at one time or another, they all became paupers: who never learned modesty; forgetting Godliness, and God’s grace, is not a healthy thing, and America has lost her destination, her destiny, somewhere along the way: “Tick, tick,” goes the clock.
No: 1023 (1-8-2014) Poetic Prose
The Black List Doctrine
((A Spiritual Plague in the People of my time) (in Poetic Prose))
CERTAIN men hate God, hate Jesus Christ, and hate the Virgin Mary, despise the saints, the Pope, and would-be saints: they mock them, making satire in their own satanic way.
“Do you really think people hate God?” A radio commentator asked me once. Why would someone ask that question when it is so viciously obvious. She couldn’t believe such a thing existed. I don’t know if anyone is innocent at the age of fifty, but she’s sure unaware.
I know, God forgives the foolish, the hard hearted, but he has no restraints when it comes to great wickedness, and sin against Him! (Gen. 39:9): God punishes such men with one sin on top of another: he allows him to sin against Him like unholy mud from hell, and leaves the wilful sinner, the God hater, willfully lay within his own dung. —so is the ‘Black List Doctrine’ brought forward: as the Jew has said: men are punished for one transgression, by being therefore, given unto another. It is liken to a fire that blazes and sizzles back onto one’s self.
This is not a dazzling mystery? …but if it be, we can unfold it, let us try: the God hater, scourges at being punished for their sins; no different than an arrow thrown at God: he blames God. Avenging the Lord (Ex. 9:14) But the Lord says he will send plagues upon this person’s heart and soul. You see, some sins have consequences, which become bound to that person (Isa. 6:10). What has taken place is this: God has given up to a vile person, unbelief. They are shut up in ureases, as in the utter darkness of a prison, because they have refused the Lord, the messiah; now, he must lay in wait, until the time of the gathering.
The degenerate mind, is not made by God (Psalm. 83), as some would have us believe, although, God may order the effects, through punishment for evils done; sin has its own gravity, its own seriousness, severity, magnitude: such instruments have been put into place to keep the rhythm of life, with the rhythm of the universe, I do believe. Had not God done so, by his grace, restrained sin, such as the rage of Original Sin, in the hearts of men, this world would have been, rushed upon with the most outrageous impieties man could think of (Psalm 76:10). But there is more to this: in punishing sin with sin, it keeps the world in order, otherwise man would eat man; as in the days before the flood. Likewise, if God cannot look at sin, how can he then, invent it?
It is said: one who hates God, burneth like fire burneth wood and his hate is as the flame setteth the mountains on fire; and in the end he perishes and becomes as dung for the earth, and he is made as debris before the wind. As sin causes sin, thus, it is liken to a moth driven to cotton: this kind of man has no common restraints of grace, such as the conscience in him.
2-15-2014/ Written 2-15-2014/No 4186 (Galilean: 553)