Brashmania Creatina Polyvergo : Lozi's Poetry

As I Walk Through the Valley

Suffering
like a child with no room to breathe
as she walks the floor of paradise-blind.
Suffocating inside,
as the catacomb caves of her mind darken,
unwilling to click into white.
And as each sorry doubt slips into each thought,
the softest whisper echolabs into her ear.
"I love you still, anyway"
Before beauty and sorrow,
before deformity and joy,
there is One lover in the sky who holds our hands
as we pass through the shadows.

 

Basking in the Glory

As i walk amongst the ripples
sending,
cooling,
basking in the glory of the Lord.
The only sight beyond the sky
which wow a dove of peace that lights my head.
Annointing Spirit flow within
gushing,
flowing,
basking in the glory of the Lord.
With open arms i grin above
the love of Dad inspiring me,
so save me Saviour from the sin
within, go go as i'm purified by thee.
Beaming,
dreaming,
basking in the glory of the Lord.

 

Open the Window Mr Noah



"Two by two is too much to the counting" says the worlds first zookeeper in whispers mounting. "Praps the everlasting species should have swimming lessons?"
So ensues the frantic debate of time
in which the gathered try to figure out which animals can swim.
"Gorillas!" piped up Ham
"Guerillas?" queried Shem
"No!!! Gorillas!" Ham retorted
"Oh....no they can't swim" interrupted Japheth
"Hm" Shem wondered.
Entendres of illusion as the mighty ark,
in titanic cedar wood,
employs the eyes of tout les monde
(all the world for the babel-less linguists)

Off as fixtured cargo moves in largo formation,
Dubious platforms wiggling a bit.
So 40 days and 40 nights and 40 mornings and 40 evenings,
And 40 suppers and 40 dinners and 40 breakfasts and 40 afternoons,
And 40 sleeps and 40 wakes and 40 dreams and 40 shakes,
And 40 yawns and 40 stinks and 40 eyes with 40 winks.
(The many eyes of a lone fly Shem suggests)

Into the world of soggy mass,
Encouraged by the dovey flight,
Returneth with yonder leaf above,
The dove the dove,
Thus named-The Dove.
And overhead the dreamy sky,
Amass with croutons flying by.
The winged crunchiness high up,
Alas, was et, by an eagle pup.
The dodo's sang, or waddle by,
And zinging past came the many-eyed fly.
Whay day? Who knows,
But look, horizon joy!
As a rainbow coloured...Krainbow proclaimed a baby boy.
(No wait, that was a star much much MUCH later in the bible, the New Testament even......)
As a rainbow coloured rainbow proclaimed God's wonderful promise-in-that-He-would-never-flood-the-entire-world-again-and-He-named-this-promise-a-covenant-in-some-versions-of-the-bible-maybe-King James-but-I'm-not-too-sure-and-anyway-it's-all-getting-into-semantics-now-but-back-to-the-subject-of-God's-promise-never-to-flood-the-world-again-because-Noah-and-his-family
(Editor: Stop writing all joined up! It's very inappropriately grammartised!)
..
...
....



....
(Editor: Ok, you can carry on now. I've said my bit.)
And so, we see,
The endless tales,
Of watered earth
And birds like quails
(the birds that are actually doves)
This version now your child must know
skips all the details in one go,
but haste is haste and time is time,
when some words mix and some words rhyme.
So oft in theological land,
Lie deeper question in some hand,
But no, don't fret! For such has passed
Of everlasting Godly laughs.
His smiles of recognising joy
Rings out through doubt and much annoy.
Thus ne'er do sink in pits of sin,
When you have your Jesus to trust in.

 

Prodigal

Pig-brother,
rooting around the ragged tracks
in search of truffle dainties to delight in.
Scraping up the saddle sores
I just saw you, dirty-faced amongst them,
Swine alike,
You both destroyed
By, yes, the very same sin similes
So scraps for bacon are you,
Stanching up the stench of failure.

And at that, you attack
with a feeble recollection in your mind.
A sorry moment of reflection.
The passing pigs that lord over the pen,
mirrored by you in a ghastly state,
barely there.

Doom doom, why not return?
To the halls of the Father,
the villa of peace?
Mercy, mercy, why not amend?
To the halls of the Father,
To servantile pleadings?

Gratis, one journey alone.

The weeping tears in a face of joy,
His open arms to your bending knee
As you offer yourself to slavery.
Anointed up with beef promises to the bone
As juicy to you in the blessed home,
The love of the Father has set you free.

 

One Day More



At every solo wake, the train takes longer than before,
so, out the door Time flies
past all our fantasies.

Whistle stop, no pause but for a sudden interlude,
You framed, in seconds.
Thus ensued the fragile days,
oh! the very clocks tick loudly.
So soundlessly we creep to bed,
ahead of sleep,
devoid of heavy eyelids keeping open,yes we lie.
As dead to the world in versatile shuffles
turning over and over
largely consumed in a foreign blindness.
Let us hope that tomorrow shall not come,
no, but rather sound the Ending trumpet.
Then, then you would not leave,
the arrows in your tears would subside
gently waning in the dusk.

This game of illusion, perched upon the pillow,
confusion is the dice
yet we have no counters.
A 2-player sport for warmth alone,
it cannot satisfy the boredom of one soul.
Nay, for whence will thy burdens cease naturally but never.
Regretless nonsense, you are still.

Basted in the wine of me,
the pomegranate breakfast that never filled you up.
Who can complain to your body bark,
that brow of silence,
governmental hair.

Bracken clips outside the window
crackles underfoot indeed,
the waking hours unfold my eyes as quickly,
suddenly,
speed is of the essence
yet i turn to look
and he is gone.
That man i abhor,
yet i wished for him just one day more.

Laurel leaves upon his married head,
so sure
so vain
Our attempt at love has blossomed soon, too soon.
When shall the trumpet sound?

 

Great to see more of your poetry here Lozi, very image rich, a true feast for the mind

 

a feast eh? why indeed it is!


maybe.
not sure. i can't really tell from a writes perspective whats good and whats not.what do you think of the last one?

 

open to interpretation.. which is a good thing I think, I'm no poet but I liked it

 

cool neat, thanks for the comment.
Got a new one coming soon, as soon as i can access it wherever i posted it elsewhere!

 

Seasons of Affection and Affliction​

​

Winter began a melody this year,
a simple song in A.
Its nippy breath undressed my skin,
deducing my icelet eyes.
Though beautiful, yes though fragile,
the air of Then was somewhat grey,
no snow befell,
no petal-balls flew.
A childless, chilly month with nothing new.
The briskness of decembers breeze
did not churn out the unrestful Oxygen,
but rather skimmed it up in a laughing hand.
Playing catch, impishly devout in its mixing ways,
in reminding of the autumn leaves,
piled high,
highly neat, and then the wind plays The Game.

A papery pepper tree we pass,
passing palms along the silvery bark.
Fingers trailing through the hair branches
that leave their quiet trails at your shoulder.
Though beautiful, yes though so pretty,
there, do you not see the sappy tears that break the skin?
The limescale mould of infected growth?
And we always pass by,
the seasons come and go til Spring has birthed,
Her lovely hands so sweetly at our cheeks-
smoothing smudges with her breath of dewy adoration.
As if, in her den of creation, she kept the key to love,
the hearts she holds, quite gently.
I once asked her for her heart
but she smiled,
so sadly.
Her hand in mine,
but i held onto the Rose too tightly,
and the petals were crushed.​

 

*sigh* wonderful :~) Thankyou Lozi....

 

A Flourish of Confused Appreciation

Lord as i pick up the pieces
my heart dribbles a bit.
Slightly more decisive maybe?

The cracks begin to show as you break me up,
regard to dual persona,
both she and she living separate lives.
"Do you even know what you are doing?"
I'm just spewing in my liver,
no putridicity,
just poison.
Insides trembling.
voice attempting fragile song,
as a hungover child crackles...

Lord as i pick up the pieces,
the gradual growth of me to You,
how my broken heart has no meaning-
You are the glue,
You are the magic stick to fix me.
There's no other,
you touched me here, as i heard the softest whisper...
Saved from depths of worldly lust,
it's coils that nearly dragged me down the spiral of despair.
Oh but my heart yearns for that other place,
the dreamy dells of heavens face.
Glory of glory centrefold,
and praises to the King of kings.

Lord, as you pick up the pieces,
i lean back on your body.
You gently kiss my cheek when i am lonely,
you stroke my hair as i go off to sleep,
and oh the love i cannot comprehend
i try to understand.
Oh God please rescue me,
keep building me towards you Lord.

But i do not need to worry,
because i'm written on your palm.

 

The Moment
​

I am the music, the cleverly composed,
the crafted canvas covered with colour.
And thou, she that whispers as the very Wind
it settles upon the rainbow tree,
so still
so fragrant.
Fragile kisses of perfect petals upon your neck
as we induce an urging connection,
the very earth is magic,
another spark of blaring firmamental dew spits upward.
In time, we suspend,
and are raised upon the spacey waves of Moments.
​

 

Beckon

Burnished into eternity
i am spelt wrongly everytime,
everytime i'm written imperfect-
where is the initial Bee?

We settle, some, for overtums,
the larger legs, or skinny ribs,
whilst others turn into silicon dreams,
or plastic nightmares, perhaps...

Why the everchanging confusion with creation?
It's perfect imperfection says enough,
surely as we stare at fumious skies,
and then in turn, begin to love the clouds that are left....

Beckon us closer, so closer Lord,
we need increasing souls of joy,
of acceptance and gratification.
Oh God we cry for deeper love,
for purer things, of clean minds,
clean hearts, clean souls.
Beckon us closer, yeah closer Lord.

Touch the hearts of the impossible,
the hardened, those in despair and at deaths door.
Oh them that cry in drugs tight chains,
free them as you have freed so many.

Free the oppressed, the lonely, the damaged.
Embrace the loveless,oh please cry out to the deaf,
the blind,they need Your tears of love to close upon their eyes,
to bask amongst Your light in comfort.

In passing comments of everyday life,
My God, fill us all, fill them all
with peace and calm, with forgiving spirits,
and as the outside storms rage, anoint us with a calming oil.

 

Thanks.... wonderful....

 

Very nice...I love the last few lines from "Seasons of Affection and Affliction"

 

Innocence by the Firelight

Cracking, the sapling underfoot,
as. each. branch. breaking.
Burnt out embers within
a firey tomb siphons our oxygen.
Where the smoke will go
and the candles blow out,
there. There is the empty plastic stocking,
waiting for the Botox gift from Gran..

But, the snow slips silently,
silencing the buds of Spring-
as the downtown Church remembers the King of Kings.
His swaddled self amongst the sheep,
quietly snoozing with the snow, as he sleeps
so whilst the wings of snow-angels
amuse us for the eve,
the beckoning warmth, of fireside slumber,
calls we saints into the purifying glow.

 

Who Must We Remember?



The old man sits, within a wicker chair.
Pipe bent in hand,
the smoke curling upwards past his daydreaming eyes.
"I recall the acid skies with bitterness,
their potent screams above our heads.
When will this atrocity end?
When will the sanity begin?"
Grandpa whispers into space,
my presence, disappeared.

"The whistling serenade of bombs,
took on the very innards of our being.
The empty sockets,
staring. watching. blind"

I cannot comprehend his stories,
his worded memories of horror.
Though, in fact, as i note his 'knock-knock leg',
his mumbling sits in me,
my two-legs crossed.

Horrors i have never known,
will never know due to the bravery of such youths.
My age.
My kind.
Though the tyranny was Great,
the propaganda perverse,
we shall not soon meet the faithful many today.
but instead sit in wonder,
as our comfortable lives enslave us.
Who must we thank?
Who must we remember?

 

Romulus​

​

Time stands still
as the shroud of bamboo covers you,
upon a hill of mystical mist,
the sun, high above your face.
Calm dew destroys
terrible separation of the Two,
which way, which way?!
Left like an animal,
ignored,
picked second.

Play your wild card baby,
in the Pompei streets now honey
the sky's the limit, the sky's the limit

Grass grasped in hands of frustration,
electric fur
tied fathomless to forearms.
Time stands still
as the soup bides its time
upon a sill of tactical thoughts,
the sun, piercing your face.
Calm dew destroys
the enigmatic day breaks out
into streets of decay

Play your wild card baby,
in the Pompei streets now honey
the sky's the limit, the sky's the limit

So cold, so cold,
there's not much left now.
so hot, so hot,
the anger takes me on
and it's like nothing ever really mattered
bitter, matted hair upon my skin
that foul deception weighs me down,
but i'm the better Brother,
cast off the shackles of regret.

Play your wild card baby,
in the Pompei streets now honey
the sky's the limit, the sky's the limit

We lie in wait
hungry wolves of anger,
you are the guarded prey,
with heads bowed in solitude.
Take the fragrance, take it now!
There goes the rest of pride,
the end of sweetness,
as the final humanity slips from our faces,

Play your wild card baby,
in the Pomepi streets now honey
the sky's the limit, the sky's the limit ​

 

Myspace Morbidity​

​

I sigh as each watching eye tears,
the emo fringes blinding every sordid being-
though in their wake lies a trail of sideways hearts.
Breaking through their Valentine tracks
a trail blazes in their minds
that which we deny
the despair of sin as life becomes too much.

So led on led on
cutting arms and other things,
and taken up on angels wings
romantic rhymes la la la kings...

A homosapien stares at the ceiling
awake but for a gentle snoring
but oh no his heavy breathing from the sabre meat,
preparing for his dying breath
in happiness...

long lives afterly
the net of doom
the web of confusion
and sin is the spider.
​