Great, it re-peopled from their arms the august masters of camps,
To each other, fluid, a transparent lakes, thy errors, perturbations of smoke of new ways and left hand Walt Whitman!
Longer than you? or my poems would not mere
Every room alas the less than thine and named fancy names?
What historic denouements are not of coal and still, for railroads,
Liberty, without ever in the
Steer then I act divine infant where she carried hither we.
I turn the wars, markets,
There shall watch the charge that he have meaning,
Just as they not say now and all I see you that tremulous, manly timbre!
Of the tuft and customer,
Embody all the dark that sail from lands did not from my city!
All Is this globe, with your sonorous voice will
clank of commerce and drinking? fluids perfect;
When breeds of the water,
whole round on the pride which appears to him pasturage sweet love you, dweller.
(Written in the style of Walt Whitman) Leaves of Grass is one of my favorite collections of poetry).
Strangely grotesque beneath the shimmering clouds
We speak to green spells within the sky
Take cover! The devil is gone
All scary on the water
You dream of tiny spirits beyond the virgin
Damn! The Knave will come again
Evil and happy on the dream
I transform lustful fangs near the fog
Be wary! The warrior is over
at a crossroads
all his wounds in front
In whose heart
never knowing how
I am luminous over the wind
Sinister and luminous beneath the dream
We condone quaking eruptions in the mud
We Reach! The King is going
Strangely lustful about the ground
We lick splintering women against the flock
Beware! The inspiration is coming
I am luminous over the wind
You dispel entrancing disasters on the trees
Awaken! The bastard will go
a phone ringing somewhere
In whose heart
stop for a while
trying to remember
Whose crocodile is that? No one knows.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch him frown. I cry hello.
He gives his crocodile tail a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The crocodile is merry, fun and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
Until then he shall not sleep.
He lies in bed with ducts that weep.
He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.
Arcana Lionbattler was a warrior poet who traveled the road between The Deadly Imp Alehouse and the The Vulgar Emperess’ Hall, two run-down inns on the edge of the borderlands. She would sing for her supper, and The Spirit of Intense Sorrow was one of her most-requested songs.
The Spirit of Intense Sorrow
I magnify as if in a decadent depth
and the tryst to its sweetness
and among the beds the parenthetical one,
the child covered by serendipitous law?
A snow of maps
like vigils ignoring among
The fire dashing granules are abducted.
The celestial love cracked
tenacious whispers and whirlwinds of aberrations,
Did they imprison it with rambunctious books?
Exciting the miracle of her magnolia full of tiredness,
I could preserve womb, wasteland, and lonely road
from doves and roses
with a black guitar.
With pigeon holes!
In my hips
of a blood-colored
the astronaut that imbues leaves
and you promise like a fragrance of strawberries.
This poem, entitled A Trio of Angels Dancing Upon the Waves, was penned by the Dark Elf Fomadeun. He wrote it after making several unsuccessful attempts at generating a High Loop Destabilization upon the cliffs overlooking the ocean.
A Trio of Angels Dancing Upon the Waves
You are the grape of my arcane hips
you see hand as nocturnal as the drizzle
showered and then blushed in the jungle
a sensual drizzle of railroad tracks
and the salt to its foam
and among the clusters the decisive one
the daughter covered with noble window
the vertical elder.
Pacifies in the delicious morning
enchanting the crown of her echo full of tiredness
A farm upgrading will blossom
the starry lava of a planet
I saw how juices are half-opened
by the brandishing momentum?
With the thick sea water, many secure books
excited and then played in the field,
reflecting from naked glass
the water clear doves are trusted,
indicates the time’s developing hips.
In my universe at afternoon you are like a home
You light in the vicinity as in a handsome moonlight evening
delicate, gold kiss!
Sinful and Mournful Within the Sky was thought to be one of the lost poems of Warden Chaosbattler. But then he found it. It was right where he left it.
Sinful and Mournful Within the Sky
Sinful and rabid beneath the ground
You breathe hot hands on the air
Awake! The sin has come
So sticky against the light
I prod splintering goats in the air
Awaken! The sin is hard
Sinful and mournful within the sky
You envision lustful rubes beside the rain
Way cool! The King is gone
trying to recall
memories of water
Under what skies
unlearn his past
before help could come
I am Heavy Beside the Flowers was one of the first poems written by Jester Ravenreaper in his tome called, appropriately, My First Poems. Sadly, Jester Ravenreaper’s writing career was cut short when he insulted the demon Ulesralae by a babbling brook in the forest.
Before writing poems, Jester Ravenreaper enjoyed a short but distinguished career in the field of graphic zoology.
I am Heavy Beside the Flowers
Strangely scary over the grave
I battle luminous gems above the ground
Awake! The Fool will be born
Weird and angry in the towers
I summon vaporous weirdness against the air
Heavy! The devil is going
I am heavy beside the flowers
You stone desirous graves beside the light
Ahhh! The stink has died
a backward glance
Out of whose dream
unlearn his past
not knowing why
The poem All Luminous Over the Rain was penned by Jasmine Seeker as she walked the long roads to the Tin Sun Kingdom and set her eyes upon the Night’s Slave, a notorious pirate vessel docked in town.
All Luminous Over the Rain
So dark within the fog
I enjoy damp vampires about the air
Alass, Alack! The feeling will go
All dazzling on the wind
We divine wanting bugs before the sky
Ahhh! The thought is dying
All luminous over the rain
I breathe red gems below the earth
Awaken! The Fool is going
blurring at the edges
an unreliable map
In whose arms
chase his dream
not knowing why
A list of some fabulous colors seen on the walk to the Tin Sun Kingdom.
- Antet – The yellow of charisma and of amber in one’s fears.
- Nedemsyta – A bleached green. Used to write about sloth.
- Jatiraun – A vibrant blueish-green. Paintings using this color stop insanity.
- Runorpe – The orange of amber that can only be imagined. It is the color of things that cannot be put out of your mind.
- Ande – The red of disgust and of rust.
- Ochse – A sickly reddish-orange. Paintings using this color invite happiness.
- Elve – A sober yellow. Ink of this color is used only for forbidden occult writing.
- Plea – The green of laughter and of lied about seaweed.
- Cofreiene – A washed-out yellowish-orange. Used to write about doubt. Things written in this color can be seen out of the corner of your eye after you read them.
- Iute – The yellow of sunlight. The color of both unforeseen insights and of forgetfulness.
Jasmine Ravenrange is a force to reckon with.
This antisocial lady has almond-shaped purple eyes that are like two windows on the evening sky. Her fine, straight, green hair is short and is worn in a severe, simple style. She has a feminine build. Her skin is china-white. She has knobby ears. Her wardrobe is businesslike and plain, with a mostly gray and white color scheme.
Jasmine is best known for her epic poem, There is No Imperfect Marble.
There is No Imperfect Marble
You are the mango of my wounded eye
a fog of rituals
man of the depths of my finger – your shining!
Stills your steady regard as though it were lightning
not the deep brown moment
when the sunrise preserves the bells,
if you were not the cheesecake the somber moon
cooks, sprinkling its orange across the field
This insatiable defender and treading snow prosecutes me
with it’s resolute clusters like nose and brain
and red pencils like hand and dew,
a current of celestial old warrior’s medal.
That does not know why it flows and blossoms.
A cinnamon necklace attracts
as if to crush or promise or pitty!
Pockets of rusted nail converted into saphire
and you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetry,
light of pencils and farms
and the homogeneous corals of his native land?
Come with me to the shadow of wounded soldiers
the cordial waves petrified
The rectum rises on its bitterest mare.
Rustling transparent threads over the land.
I shared some Hilton Vazquez poems last month. Here are a few more.
Stormy, clear seashells swiftly love a sunny, big sun.
The big seashell calmly fights the wind.
The captain waves like a big mainland.
All doors buy fast, misty windows.
Grimy, small cars loudly desire a grimy, noisy girl.
Dry, hot cigarettes calmly shove a dead, cold cigarette.
…Buddha switched places with Mao Tse Tung?
…Harun Al-Rashid was connected to Cormac Mac Airt by forbidden knowledge?
…Lee Harvey Oswald had access to androids?
…the ‘British Invasion’ of music involved novelists?
…the Spanish Revolution involved virtual reality?
…the fall of Mankind from the Garden of Eden had never happened?
…the fall of Rome involved radio?
…the fall of Satan involved forbidden knowledge?
…the first transatlantic flight involved interstellar travel?