My verses in the 21st century

The child had his head to the ground listening to for the sound of sight...

Only to listen to the cold wrasp of of the broken parts of dreams, drifting down the stream mankind named history!!!


He grew up to get closer to dyeing,
making the same mistakes of the same men time after time,
breathing into the hearts of sin,
its like we just cannot help ourselves,
breathing into the wind,
hot or cold we find ourselves breathing...



Yet since our rainwashed history is full of damp disease we demand more then breath,
we demand the pearls and glory's of the gluttony of ROME...

We no longer listen,
we feel,
and react to the stimuli,
not the draft coming from the darkness,
or not the squeaking coming from our broken dreams,
nah we are drunk in the wine,
poured into our glass from the sacrifice of our sins,
we are not living our lives...

We are drones feeding of the prosperity of a dividend one mastered within the equation, unfortunately if we do not listen, we will lose to the complexity again..

Calling out the the streets,
The dogs are barking at the mist coming from the barrels deep with the farrows of their mysteries,
we call them the sewers, where the reptiles full of teeth slither within our lives,
waiting and dreaming to eat our flesh and gourd upon our souls nectar...

cut...

He found the jewel,
he stared into the dark past the midnight's last marks,
it was chiseled in the dark,
above the place where Venus left her heart,
within the vertigo,
the stretch beyond the zenith of the time before light,
he found it,
it was flailing within the heart of a woman,
trapped into the life she did not decide,
yet it was born,
and as usual it was found in this strife without a mind,
just the instinct..........

Its like we just cannot help ourselves from even the beginning and the end...

finding the birth of the girth of the fossilized tusk within my grasp,
just tells me I can understand,
the words from the medicated men who have numb hands,
preparing themselves for the padded walls,
as their minds turn reality over and over into something it really is not..

Yet opening our eyes to see,
past our nose,
hurts our pupils,
as the stress drags our weak muscles,
into hue....

I am beginning to get to old to chronicle this or draw the maps with straight lines,
the distance from madness and sanity, arise in the depth of one face,
the focus of the man or woman you see in the mirror....
No matter how we stack the deck,
we still draw the spade of a king who had it made,
or a club stolen from a jack who had a queen and king who were hacks,
or the dream of queens drawing hearts in the waves of the riches of diamonds and gold dragged to life,
by knight's of their delight...

Now is my time....


Time for me to listen to the choirs left to love my heart....

good night...

They climbed out of the ravine,
only to burn in the steam,
coming from the vent,
that hissed a sound sublime to even time,
where the notes artichoke'd the texture of taste giving space a place in a sense, beyond the vibration of man's voice!!

A Loud hollow echo was heard from the bellow of a raised voice given to man one day long ago,
coming from afar where the shallow wallows of the gallows sang their long good byes on a wild west noose that was in a knot to set loose the madness of fear!!!

Yet I still sit near you,
as the sounds of death scream louder,
in words unheard,
and untrue,
screaming at the top of the child's lungs begging for the time to slow down,
as he witnesses his Father's dream's scream at the whims of deceit,
the placidity within the plateau of simplicity derives from the complacent and matricidal souls,
that lie within the grasp of.... Gravity...

Your desire for complexity in my sound,
will come with a price...

Your demand in more,
will eventually be paid..

As your eyes trace across these words,
your debts will be seen in my dreams...
As being won...


For I am speaking for everyone...

The child arose,
with the bloom of the rose,
that was born in the gloom of the moonlit shadows of the dark,
as the kids danced in the candle light within the cathedreral of sounds coming from the arms of their fathers washing the mysteries from their sleaves, they were children brought on from the arms of love, a magic, before the coldness of war, made the syndicates blind, leaving the deaf, listening trying to tell us when it was time, a DJ, spinning the grapes on the vines making the wine, killing the children lost in our alleys and in the streets, as they listen to me, an hear men, speaking in a pulse of heart beats that Disrail to their idealism of time..

Then the puritan spoke...
the Lutheran...
I was part of the children taking part of confirmation years ago,
and dare adhere the defamation of discoloration!!!!!
I found myself at that time listening...
I will remain seeing calico's and stray's telling me what I was suppose to see,
during a time I saw a woman, she dazzled me,
leaving me bewildered in the arms of love.....


Its nice and cold...
Surrounded by cheats..

This is the final chapter.. Due to my professional life, I just have time for Ats's guilty pleasures.. I hope you enjoyed these poems, verses etc. etc. I enjoyed ats's company, I just do not have time anymore. I will of course peek in from time to time, but Feb. 1st 2012, is the end. God bless you all, and may you find all the answers you seek...

take care....

Bicent76...

Trouble travels fast, when your suppose to crash,
look at all these conversations..
Watch it from you in my burning bed,
another face, behind the mask,
holding the ring of keys...

going above I got stuck in the twist of the channels,
So then I found myself having to go on...

I was swinging to branch to branch, learning about the freedom of swinging,
and feeling the breeze holding me up happenstancing me past the branches, looking down watching you,
slowly drifting away... Going on as I drift further up the path... I remember the moment where we had begun to start...


I try to see the perfect lie, in the surface of the clouds,
I have been walking on with my feet,
as I soar high with the eagles,
staring down at the chickens bellow...

I go on...

there are still so many things I want to say to you...



No matter how hard I try to drift apart...

I find myself thinking I am but a fortunate fool...

then I remember how I got here...

hungry, lost and confused for about Thirty years...

Then he looked in the mirror, when the cnn anchor, explaining to him how simple is life was in the background, and for a moment as he analyzed the wrinkle in his brow, he saw, for the first time the idea...
The moment, the substance of his breath, the capture of thought of a angel eons before his life, caught in the confusion of an idea of who he was......

Silence is the absence of truth, that is reached each and every time,
then guilt and the feeling of being ashamed is the baptism,
that reaches this man's soul each time he walks outside after reaching so close within his soul...

Each night I stare at a man tying himself in knots in the snow storms, the blizzards of one color man seems to see in his dreams in each night,
as he trips and falls on the ice, he is yelled at over and over again by men in uniforms demanding he holds in all his pain in....

Pausing to find some spare parts....


It seems the clock is the one thing that has not broken down today or yesterday...

I just do not know what to say about that, considering I am sure many have lost allot today...

I fell in love with the stone, that shone dimly at the left side of the shade that shadowed,
the pretty young girls brow..

back down,
in a ditch that kept the rain water or tears from the weak,
from flooding the streets of gold of the meek..

as I thought about it,
I found the bed sheets on a old man,
drenched with drunken sweat,
filled with dreams of broken hearts,
and broken arms of trying to hold up the perfection of a dream, of a life...

As I wondered on for many years I found many steps taking the same steps on the same wooden floors, whispering and creeping in a language, lost,,,
in a language from a record played during a time our elders spoke,
in chords... So much sweeter...

As i lay and dream,
I start up the engine,
to take the air,
ahead of the smartest men's dream..

Such warm air...
making the music of longing..
as i watch the movements.... So many wish to be there...

I am stealing time to be here...

I will do my best to make it rich,
in this thick salty air tonight...

I dug deep into a gully,
I found the man holding the unknown in a tower bellow the soul,
as the children of decay played dancing with the baptisted, screaming at the clean spots...

I found many women naked in the cold sun,
underneath the sound of a broken wind,
calling it the end,
they were buried in the the feathers of the eagles coming from the leaving son of man,
as we listened, no one cared about the spreading flames engulfing soul...

I listen to the spring,
it was crisp with birth,
and carried no undertow...

then I found the temple,
that stood beyond the sound,
where the crows beak reeked such an echo,
it was derived from a taste of waste of a long echo ringing in a man,
that washed ashore on a beach we let wash ashore,
and let be ignored......

Yet we augment further,
into a blasphemy where the chords discord the scorn,
that wonder on each and every man that looks up beyond the sand,
up to the sky trying to understand,
trying to stay awake seeing the shapes past our ancestors grace...

Then I at last grasped the pilgrim,
plowing a dry land,
he was floating down all his sound into the sow,
as he met the space between the fields, he was letting go of his dreams,
saying goo bye to the past,
as he wandered into her dreams he held in her frail hands,
she looked up,
giving him his hand,
she screamed aloud "take my dreams",
plow them into a place,
that makes a shape...

Such a misplaced shape,
as the crops starved themselves for heroes shuffling upon broken streets,
as they gave away their graces to the whores from down below...

Then he shook and grasped the staves,
to contrive the the wild flowers from a wallow of sour souls dying in the broken vows,
of broken men,
who seeked the wallows wallowing in the shallow tides,
as I sought out the source of the cheap smoke,
Finding no love,
I found the wounds,
where the children of strife constrict the rip tides,
only to delay the last page that man has left to write upon,,,,

I found the freak underneath the circus tent,
he was fawned with the paste on his face,
as he struck the nail into the sound of truth once more...

Then I heard the birds say,
as I awoke.

This is the new day,
they sang,
louder and louder,
until, I found myself higher, into the blue,
as I watched them take apart the times many who have forgotten the sound of the clock,
I was washed in the blue......

I fell to the ground with no fear,
I felt the wind tickle my eyes,
and numb my ears,
as I saw the ground spell out my name,
as I fell down to the cavity of a place,
where man, left me standing alone in the rain....

Then she came, kissing my face,
and wiping the blood from man's face...

The scribe is running from the next chapter,
as the carrier holds the notes close to his heart...

the Rapunzel, was left astray,
as his daughter, was met with a cat that was led astay,
she found the sheath,
and also the scrawl,
that covered the old young man's brow..


It was a past half the midnight,
where the chandelier, stood hanging from the left past satchel of masquares where their faces left themselves in place, beyond the fist true face...

The blood was died,
and caked with contours of dead men's faces,
he found her once again,
past the parked radiant base of marble,
beyond the drift or rift that panned out the space..

Another chapter comes to be lain to waste tonight..

I am spiked with love..
A whisper unheard of is heard atlas tonight..

A love born in strife..

The Bastions, called upon the rows that stood in unison within the winds of the golden fields....

That blew,
past the blue skies,
that were colored with echoes of light,
and yelled at by the Gods afterwards,
all begging for the Heavens to wake back up...

Then she kissed my cheeks,
and he remembered how she was born within the tides in the sea's,
he once again could see, no longer blind..

He saw her frail life,
and begged the diseases of strife to save her cherished life,
He stood in the shadows,
once again called out in the dark..

He looks at his rusted chains,
as the tears once again fell from his cheeks,
when does it end?
moving forward,
with the gales that roar for more,
and fulfill the dreamers dreams,
and feed the plants of screams with blood,
from the unknown,
the men who need to be told time and time again,
as their eyes fall upon the words over and over again,
waiting for the blades of sin to dig within their hearts,
to give them meaning to LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Blind fools.....

I reckon once more to listen to the blades within the wind,
screaming for the chins of stoic hearts...

Enough...

Listen....

its your last time...

I will not stop!!

I will not be the damn enclosure for the failure,
I will be the somber reminder,
the riddle,
the laugh,
when you have had a hard day!!

I am he locust,
that vibrates and reminds you of the damn rhythm and rhyme!!!!!!

When you take the time out to hear man's voice,
look here..

I am but of the heart, and the souring searing heart of an eagle...








I miss her..


as do you...

the man took refuge from the pew, and heard a humming bird sing,
outside the church window... This will be from my best, left to be mumbled by the kids,
rolling in the mud,
past the rose buds in a vase high above the face of our disdain misplaced idea of life..

Ah but what is it time,
nah, it does not listen,
and most men are just so damn blind...

As our eyes have rolled upon my words their have been children of sin,
crying out begging for something to give them something to begin on...

yet The scarfs blowing in the sky,
or your flags,
waving like arms,
looks so triumphant and golden...

who am I to be the one who told you so...

the centrifuge, held the heavens.
I see the scribes across the table begin to shake and quiver and wish to write...

I am sickened by the light this night,
I am sickened by the lack of understanding,
I am disgusted with the blindness of life,
I am discouraged with the standards I am told to hold in the streets of man...


I am the man outside the wall throwing stones at it all,
the facile mallice the man who is targetted to be dead with the disease..




our history is washed with mud...

left to fossilize itself with the blind...

I am the man who reminds the mimes we have tongues...

pardon me I have been called out into the dark once more....

very well I have just found her in a word spoken within a secret,
it was insecure and concord with the stature of a evergreen or triumphant within the trunk of a redwood,
staring at the sky,
asking timelessly for the word spoken from a a quip within a echo a time before,
past this laid to waste idea we call something to revel and rhyme in.


I think I am getting sick....

I found the blind man,
it was your life,
he spoke across a orchid of tree's past the damn baren sea's!!


I will not stop this time,
I seen all your dreams,
Its so damn filled with disease...

I see more and more neutered men listening and not making the damn sounds of man in the 21st century,
leaving me speaking a language of the tongue many mortals cannot hear,
I speak a language not only not heard yet not felt as well,
I am seen waving hands and hollering like a crazy man, in a ten by ten enclosure with padded walls,
I am a centerfold in the national geographic,
screaming to men,
to grab their chasm and be a man..

Sorry I am being summoned once again into the dark.

Dont make me regret my life tomorrow morning.


My sin, I always am listening....

Oh yes I found myself cliff hanging onto the edge,
To be disputatious from the known I found the level,
a frolic absence of sound even with the beats of sound,
a land where the wind was majestic, and the emotion of man was the sand, that held the baring of direction.


The demons spread out their wings,
and soared in a rapture of sound,
a echo that was the only thing that lived....

I was the witness to such mathematical complicity making it a realization.

....

So I sat,
for many years,
I heard the sounds,
the echoes of the earth,
the chords of the tides, swell, and subside,
I cried out to the times that hold all that lies, time and time before,
only to be ignored...

I danced with the serpents,
and held the culprits of man,
during the definition of sand,
and the duration of SOUND~!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I am but still laying here listening..

I gave the fawn the star outta pity,
I sunk within the canyon hiding from you,
and I found myself sitting on the moon,

without all of you....


you remained pointing at me and laughing..

The Mammoth found the pride,
it was past the dried hide,
where the monuments glided in the cold wind,
where the sifts of dust created the first dreams,
where the rivers washed up the sand,
teaching men how to mend the ways to hold time...

Then I found the stars,
bound and free of the abscents of the blind portions of time,
creating the stature,
that held the walls which stood upon the frail disease,
that still got lost in dreams,
it was before the hunger of lust,
held back the gales,
the the rapture was proclaimed by a intellect made of fame,
and the heavens opened up with arms that fought the winds blowing our histories,
and a word was spoken from a monk who had calysts growing all along his arms,
it was a divine time,
right before the fossil that left marks was formed in the timid rigid embers of what was left of the weak....

I found myself obsolete in a time before,
where my concentration left the marks on the mane of a shamed tamed lion that only roared at twilight.

This child stumbled upon a bent up rug,
into a hug of a man who forgot to shave his face,
only for his chin to remain laying down whiskers of a beard into the grey of a storm cloud that torn the time in space,
with a spark of light that wripped the heavens and torn the scorn of a scream,
from mankinds dream,
scaring the children,
playing in the fields as they felt the wind's invisible lips upon the face,
blowing harder and harder until it summons the name gail with whispers, all around the redwoods of space....


He was once grabbing a lead,
it was of a bridle on a steed,
that carried his dreams....

It lead him astray and afar,
and most time lost in ravines, or within rock quarries where strange gems blinded his eyes,
and led him astray as the light was as dark as night....

isotopes rushed to the cusp,
it gave him a narrow minded idea,
that lead to words on the parchment.....

Then came the color of the ink,
it made him think,
of those that scorn,
and become torn with their own thoughts of what it is they are thinking they have to think,
then the atoms and electrons collide together,
to make a membrane twitch in a mind,
that has finally found an illusion of thought,
that leads them to agree....

It is the mind of the eye,
the vibration,
that matters,
most vibrations felt,
are personal and all their own,
and that is all that is important,
and is the narrow mind that prevents the realization of MAN...


For this derived idea we live in,
was and is born upon the ONE... Which is what is most important... It is not no one.. But the one...