Poems of the Artist, Second Set.
After the Dog asked to be tutored in Neoillusion the Artist decided to give the second set of poems to the Dog saying that, “Add this to the one you already have. Next time we talk, we will discuss them. For now I need some rest. I need to be alone so, if you don’t mind. The Dog took the poems and wondered off into the afternoon.
Drools drenched the splitting heart
Whose weeping woes are fertile grounds for condemned souls.
How could they know smoking cigarettes with buds all around them?
How could they know with soiled gaze?
How could they know spatting their mouth
Crocked with sloop as if hanging on to shit?
I don't care if they laugh, they can laugh, they are just solders drinking,
They are going to die soon.
Or Lord, forgive them for their know not what they have done.
A toast to the obituaries let them laugh.
It sounds like laughing dynamite that blows the guts to bits
Hitting the eyeballs where it hurts.
In the moment there is that splitting headache,
In the moment, there, it is in the flash it disappears
Spoiling the scene with cigarettes and aftermath of butts all around.
It is blackest night when a solders cock dances the burlesque in her thighs,
Some standing by call it rape of the innocents,
But the heart is fond of that saying
Knowing very well that it desires a stroll.
Some call it rape but it is really a move that is what they say.
It is a grotesque thing I tell you, a soldier’s cock
Crawling in the black night with mast full sail into her thighs.
He swims, or Ocean,
What an abracadabra or sweet openings,
Oh, sweet deluge if you can call it that,
Some say it is rape but that was just a move.
A solder’s cock burlesquing around town into night,
What a grotesque rape scene.
The hearts full of ransom will sing,
That is what they say.
But who is to tell.
You are worn out sprawling on that couch,
Lowered mast after you are done.
How is the act that you took, that strolling trust?
How is that drunken bout that you just swam into her thighs
Dream of paradise ride.
Ya, here you are sprawled out, worn out in dreaming Paradise
Not calling out, pass out, but in the bathroom there she is throwing up.
That is the heart that you have torn,
That is the know that your heart stole,
Now you are worn out after you are done, how well you know?
How grotesque is your act?
Dreaming tears, hallowed out in children’s’ salted eyes,
Milk dreaming clearly as water
Suddenly burse out in clear frames of woman’s body dancing, adorned in white lilies,
Silk garments purified the streaming flow that streams the courtesy bow
Infused with bright banners of Lavender Lilies prepared as an aiming wish,
Prepared by the maiden beneath the sunlight,
For your division is broken.
Now collect yourself together and make the current flow.
Get a load of this,
It is a heavy price of gold.
Form the division in the blackest night,
Make the Arms come together that delight in the cool breeze on the grass.
Don’t let your afterthought think beneath the dashing eyelids
That beats pleating for your attention in the canopy of your desires.
Arch your thoughts to take up the sky
And shadow the hillside of your confirmations to deny.
Pull the curtain close for nature has come to unfold
Move like screeching adorable’ swell,
Balance the square that time watches over
With a wet glance that cases rhyme to chime.
It is an endless array of formations
In a grassy caplet of anointed usage with time honored footage
Adorn yourself on that bed adjacent to the gold pavilion
Let your hair mimic the willow tree that bird’s eye view
Toppled along the banks unhanging the birds
That hops around to dismember the greenery
That makes the dresses adorned themselves with girls in gauze.
A coin toasted.
It is a brighter day in filigree flowers
That coerces your eyes that towers.
What is the matter?
How is the water?
Is it sunny liberation that troubles your
Or the palpitated agitations that conjugal confusion
Laying the rosy waters
Masquerading in the tie rays.
Oh, my wife,
The noon burns your silent retreat
And the sullen skies discriminate with the reflective regret
That makes dark mirrors congregate through the hazy skies.
Open the windows,
The field is bright and lit with the madam standing in it,
Her hair is blowing
And sunlight dancing through the fingers in those strands.
It is a musical recital that will make Angels jealous
With parasol in hand to beat her into a palpitation
Of consolidated regret.
Her dress makes her straight against the dancing waves of birds
Threading through her open frame that dreams of unsheathing her dress
To reveal the flower children that are the red dream that is her awaited intent.
See them, her children; read them, they are falling,
Call them - they are decreasing,
Move them back
Oh, how enticing!
In the grass her skirt licked the awaiting repression,
Alas, you catch hold of her.
Her heart drenched red scattered apologies in flight of a thousand look a likes,
Scaling the mountain into a blockade
That now resistance refutation can no longer hold
The scaling fingers that makes barricades fades from intended resistance
Into a sight of unapologetic violation,
Don’t move away! I am only playing,
Your soft thighs are only blinding.
Oh, come here!
That is right, bend here,
That is how it looks,
The way she is unending.
In regretted probing hands
A young men’s finger caught the virgin thighs of the girl rolling in the grass.
It is in the April moonlight of a half chill
Antagonistic compulsion of sexual repression.
Don’t make this about the gold finger joy that turned yesterday’s pages
Calling the rhymes of great poets’ rages -
A secret favorite.
She stood there on the docks
Allowing the boats to converse with her,
As herself has abandoned her into the hands of a pray.
That is how she remembers it,
That time in August,
The place full of rotten breed
That turns the night into confusion reeks.
Oh, don’t cry!
It is quiet natural with those things.
Her makeup is running against the wall she leans weeping,
But nobody is there except her breath that knows her well.
She is a towering popular contest.
None has von the prize, but now she is just a breeze.
Oh, where is the water now?
The water that fills that bucket without any source?
Somber regret holding it all in the bottom that drags.
Don't come in now,
There is a barrage of the apologies,
It is late.
There is a man at the door.
Motionless as if no one can recognize that salute,
Dreaming, thinking with those dull eyes
That searches without recoiling.
Don't worry; they are only toy solders falling from those eyes.
I can’t reach them. They are as determined as the motionless boat.
Time and time again,
My long arms stretched to gather them as if they were flowers.
These flowers are yellow,
They are brothers of mine,
They came from those eyes
To paint the sky blue as regret.
Where is that water?
That Ash grey water that are the friends
Drifting through the wind her hair are all spent,
Like willows stricken with fears full of tears.
The reeds form the foundation to sing their song to her,
As roses are long since gone by the road sign as companion.
There is a boat that dreaming eyes hose
With chains of intent pulling her across the ageless desert.
Deep inside are no worries for there the waters in the eyes are ageless with desire.
Unafraid with painted memories of mud faces.
IN THE MORNING OF YESTERDAY
How fortunate with you to drive all day in overtime.
Now, it is four o’clock and my love for you is drowsy
So, tune out your care and let your fingers run in my hair beneath the shrubbery.
Allow the feast of odor to mingle in our breath until dawn comes to kick us out.
Beyond there is Hesperides ‘abode!
The workshop is open full of sunlight and repose.
Within the floor there is a shirtless men with his sleeves rolled up.
He has begun to make love to the floor
As a carpenter that adores.
Their gowns are precious,
They are molded dreams from some desolate isles.
On the gallery wall they are carved by the hand that loves
Full of wealth in the cities that knows no bounds
In this hollow chest beneath the sky.
They are charming, aren’t they?
As they take their places along the syllables in the Arts.
But there are dabblers really, who are laborers’ truly,
They could have been sent by a King in Babylon, really.
Oh, how stupid Venuses of the moment leave their lovers at the door
And bring me the wine of hearts with haloes.
My queen, you are a shepherd.
They have delayed your presence among them,
But it is the purest’ of them that carry you.
These are the workmen at rest.
They have taken over their noonday duress
And adorned their regret as they leaped into the sea
Bathing without fret.
A LITHANY OF PATIENCE – A TIME DELAY
My eyes are there on the tree that bright sun coerce a river to ask a willow tree,
“How goes the day on the river bank with thee? “
An echo of confusion haunted the trees response in dissolving syllables,
But the air confiscated the timing strong
And so beats out an elegant song just in time for willow tree to tremble its’ leaves.
The birds circle like veins alluding to the blood of flight
That holds the whole scene as if in laughter
It has no regret, this place.
Among them it is free untangled in vein.
Oh, how have you come here so quickly?
You – angel face?
Your sky blue eyes are no longer a reminder of our fate,
We are requitals mixed with air and fresh water with the sun as our back brother,
We are dead all the same.
Don’t let this wound your pride,
Don’t let this attempt to shallow your pride.
Allow it to come out and laid down like the leaves
That are falling from the tree and die.
You are a simpleton like boredom in distress,
Wait there a while and I will come and collect.
My anguished eyeballs are emptied out any cares.
Have not you noticed how in the late summer height
It dangles there refusing me an entrance that it should not dare.
Emptiness is a fatal car crash with glitter and lipstick as an unnatural kind.
Oh, let me die, will you?
It has come and gone.
Less me, more you useless all.
You could be a blue shepherd trailing behind a lifeless herd
More or less through the world
Without fear to die.
Of all seasons worth of all is the turning in their interest.
Some are nirvana catchers,
They have perforated you with their natural attempt to dull you.
Offer yourself as a cabbage,
They wouldn’t eat you, don’ worry!
Hunger has attested to their everlasting thirst.
They are quiet content in their distress,
So, help out if you can and don’t go quietly,
Let everything become their shadowed trailing as they deceive me always.
This you must stay true to,
Remember those days?
Our laughter is an echo of the waves.
We buried our parents in the haze,
And there is the sun mingled with your laughter as we blaze.
But, while there is nothing left,
No one here have refused the entrance to your laugh,
That is my payment and I am free to be a misfortune.
FROM THE HIGHEST POWER I THROW DOWN THE MISFORTUNES
Children, why do people want them?
Children, who needs them?
Children, what is with them?
Children, they are the populated masses.
Children, they are officers of the rank, the workers of the state,
The leaders that command the awake,
The ministers that administer their fate.
Children, why have them?
Have them, they are life.
Have them is the only thing there is.
Have them to be you,
Otherwise it is the only recorded deed of your stay
That will remind others of your way.
Are you here at all?
Children will tell you.
Why did you come here?
it is tale narrated by children,
And as you well know children’s stories are full of monsters.
Children, they are positively monsters.
Idol, they enslave you to their care.
Are you enthralled?
Hold on, perhaps you lack the heart,
Perhaps, life is too costly for you?
Oh, what will come of it anyway?
It is only hearts that called out children’s plight.
It is only hearts that redeem children’s fate.
Oh, children, you are noisy enough and now look what you have done?
You have populated the world with yourself.
Your hideaway has taken over the display
Leaving you to cry out, “Oh, my God, where am I?”
The solemn pledge held in the promise that turned faces called greatest joy,
But nothing really.
Why are you stepping backwards?
Disappearing in the corner as if you were never there?
In your retreat of care I have noticed your stand was never fair.
But that is the prelude acquisition of your high standing morale
To cause you to dislocate your system vile.
It was in the long awaited glance that the length of time faded into forgetfulness.
It was the length of time that the leaving became upstanding in the stare.
It was in the length of time that the heaven sake took the fear
And lipstick your mouth with the regret that consummated your respect.
Don’t delay this now,
Drink this thirst and make your sickening veins alit with the darkens of retribution.
The field of the electrifying blue retracted her touch
And fell into oblivion green overgrown
And not trimmed it flowered into Chrysanthemum yellow
Growing wild and covering all the expense
It weeds its cruel touch into a noisy incents
Burning to call the assembly of dirty flies to announce your lies.
Again, from again, a traitorous soul became poor again.
A widow lost the only child she only had to death again.
Pictures that hung on the wall have been replaced
With the etchings of your father’s face, again,
On the wall.
Again, you ask, “Whose pictures are those?
Again, you are told over and over and over again,
They are there to replace the Virgin Mary
Because she is not bold again.
But you continue to ask over and over and over again and now I will tell you again,
“The veil, that is your face is now drowned in San-Peters’ fate.”
You hold them enthralled
You cuddle them with speaking words that luck the heart to all.
But children, what have come of them?
They have caused you your life.
A life that is only for children,
Oh, come again,
We have fallen in love in paradise
Where children are playing with laughter and all.
As it is recovered from the shores ‘ You will never find me there’
It is found on ‘Why don’t you care about what I have to say?”
As it leaves through the door of eternity,
You are never afraid.
It's light whirled and twirled at the light chamber cotton farmers’ breach.
When the seen was delightful,
When the light touches of its rays and becoming burned
It gave up its garment to become the water’s age, Hhoray.
Oh, what stupefied sensation this souls of dreaming contrition
Are our ancestors’ eyes as their stood at the craving pride
Becoming sentinels that will never hide.
You can see them adorable in desire contentions,
You can roll around in them in a not too far off nice sky edges or nothing.
And that day you will be their witness as the crouching fire making prayers in desire.
Is it really you?
The cataclysmic friend held up as if in the trend.
In the fair days of the applause
The world split your finger in two
And made you hold the rest of it in destitute,
But by striving and dancing
Freedom became a man wearing your fame as it flies off to confine your name,
You wouldn’t believe it,
But they are dreamers spying in the window
Calling out cataracts of refutation of your ideas
To trample on the foot all that you call in your catechism,
So, don’t fly off too soon.
Drink your child in,
Step by step.
It is an outer body experience that your warm soft sunken checks
Cross over to the other side of the street.
Hey, the children that are laughing,
They are wearing silk clothes propagating with amber in the sky.
It is true how they declare.
Duty is the rising cause to the fair,
So, arise earlier and don’t forfeit time ridden,
But remember that the days of coming years
Are no more instead of the years that wears.
Hope has fallen out of the sky to grab your breast and squeeze it, but not fry.
Oh, my lady of contortionist prime,
Shall we dance this late tune with science and patience that rhyme?
Are you sure my steps are too awkward for your elegant speech?
Oh, let go and let my tormented heart ravage your every breath.
Allow this to happen before squeezing your breast
Makes you run out of breath at last.
Who recovered it?
It is recovered in the fantastic time of songs.
And where was it recovered?
At the ‘what are you doing? Oh, Doctor is going to die.’
Oh, I know where!
It is at the eternities carving edges bridge.
And who is this figure that is whirling over there?
It is the master of lights trolling in the sun,
Making bloodstain drench its feet into the sea.
An ink to recall timeless pages.
Oh, it is beyond golden ages
The voice has outcry questions the questioner saying,
“I want beyond the Gold.
Fashion me the durability beyond Gold. “
These are the voices of Angelic banging
Ransacking the ravaging scorn
Oh, common don’t be anger at me!
It is only the talking swerve that is coercing.
So, don't talk about me, I am on fire.
Have not you seen me,
I am a raging desire.
These are the thousand hands that are thinking of drinking your plants,
They are thousand eyes circulating about your brand,
Spreading themselves as if they are your friends.
But you can’t understand.
It is nothing really that lead them to dismember your stand, but that is how they are,
Mad and unruly, they riot with the velvet trophies
Aligned on the walls in your brewery.
Remember, there are times when the tune has left you already,
Free from the gentle breeze of your dreams.
It goes flowering in waves causing palpitations of families in distress at the wake,
Turning all those who are present into singing freaks
Who are by now joyfully embracing,
Making some time in their sad pretentious trick.
Oh, whose family is it?
This frantic group with your tune charming as if ‘we give a hood’,
But that just how the banging goes
And God knows the garage is full with those.
If, in their voices there is a song to be sung, you will hear it.
If, in their gentle touches there is loving care to be had, you will see it,
But that, it is a strange way to feel it.
Instead you can join arms with those who know it, to be it.
Don’t you know?
They are the free radicals dreaming of reliving the tune of your dreams,
It is their way of how they see.
Remember this kind of thing that we do,
It is a gentle wave of the hand,
A timely frame of the gaze that comes as the thread to move the family in place.
Sometimes it is their own that they long to own, etc. etc. etc.
Last night, a voice told me, ” Don’t sleep, I am awake with you”,
So, I turned around slowly to find there is an angelic voice sleeping right next to me.
Its’ electric friend is green at first site it would seem angrily,
But that is just the talk of the town.
Actually, it is a song that comes to redeem.
So, don’t talk to me about hearing voices,
These voices that sing are from their holly face of his wing.
It wasn’t really a just cause
That catapulted my desire to this, here,
No, it is the wind Zephyr,
My sisterly garment that trembles with the German accent that is the first.
Oh, my rose!
Don’t trouble me with that passionate call. I am late, don’t you know?
It is a baby’s call.
Oh, my rose, I beg, don't you fall.
It is the evil eye that spies on me, the wordily cases that rely on me.
What, does it surprise you that I am laying down without carrying?
Don’t trouble yourself at this live show.
It is a surprise for the fans to light their pains like fires in Chateaus.
Don't you worry,
It is a leave and take situation.
Fires obscure their blurry gaze to lighten up the sky as a siluette
In the background that never fades.
“Does it surprise you? Don’t let it. It is only an obscure pain.”
Oh, come then and fire up this lovely figures,
Light up the life full of taste and rigors.
Open the pages of timeless ages and let your belonging fall to the floor
Like cascading water drenching them all.
Oh, my brothers, don’t wait up for me.
I am on my way to meet her in her lovely Chateau.
Have you not heard? It is a princely affaire; a soul sings songs it would never dare.
Several voices come around from the back row, right there.
They are sisters bent on supporting her, though.
That is why they are rightfully here.
So, the soul went up and the sisters backed up and the hearing heard it said,
“Unfold me and enfold me, touch me there, bashfully here.
Or, don’t squeeze so tight,
Just a gentle bite.
And that is how the sisters’ voice condoned their light
To test out how bashful a loving case can be.