The signs along the path are the only thing left for you


1

Sorrow is hidden in a head crowned in blood

Towards the wisdom called Jerusalem

You are killing the man who listens to the distance

Is “Ecce Homo” truly there

The higher hierarchy of Spain

While time flows despair descends to haemorrhage

Never painfully, not admitting pain

A bird I am

A bird with a desire to die in Spain.

 

I will write in the report

She is hiding in soft fruits

Mortified Julia Burgos

 

Otherworldly memory ticks away six o’clock

 

2

Vanity on the fox’s trail

Behold, a miracle!

Supposedly one-sided at instants

Suitable for a scrambled moment

The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet

Tasseled with nails instead of sandals

Conversing silently.

 

Anything but sough

Shores and scrapings fantasizing

Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you

To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils

Wistful across the stones you overcome

Blacker than night

You fear there will no longer be vertebrates

 

It is the third hour in the night After

 

3

You do not grasp – the spilt blood is chiming

From unveiling you wrongfully dread

In agony of you yourself

While we pine atop Grecian terraces.

 

Daughter

Still, rivers are audible in endeavour

And at that conjoined

 

In mirrors is the road to land of the dead

And worshippers of the chronometer

And the unachievable bloom of summer

 

Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter

We are going to satiate ourselves

Grasshoppers as well my daughter

Before they abandon us through the windows

 

I forefeel that the unreliable man

quiets his breath and embarks on the way

of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars

 

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you

Endlessly burnishing wildflowers


Endlessly burnishing wildflowers
forgotten by splattered times
of bloodless slaughterer’s design.
Waking souls lulled to long days’ sleep,
forced to steal robbed dreams endlessly
till winter freezes them to sleep.
In effect cut short dreams harden
frightfully, the nights frightfully
seem as long as winter in length.
Frenzied paced yelling, to end put
lightning in its excited place
awakening death’s silent scream.
Immortalized storms are forming
under the bitten tongue, they then
secretively bloom shade with sense.
From hiding you to dodge the knife,
no choice with the merit for me
to have ‘tween green eyes and brown eyes.
Knighted enemies eye alone
like Kings of the Night, shimmered like
white foot soldiers woefully,
heroic scream of blue lightning
pride’s flashes animatedly,
whoosing beasts move to foil its growl.
Hollering his disenchantment
steadfastly pitted against his,
bows to the trek’s will’s end at peace.
As those viewed in deathly silence,
perched like prey’s birds on the hilltop,
will stand still in the dragon’s sound.
There is no realm of pure meaning today!
My God, dead, but yet quick! Death in itself
and Words above the world – a burning bead,
a heated hollow and a cry of fear.

(in madness no one has a funeral!)


With the paddle through the storm
so through the head to reflect,
so through the heart to perceive;
the sea gulls aiming for heights
and pirates gulp rum in their feasts.
Oh … you…so conceited veins!
Through the blood blossoming flock…
stiff facial haired shed hot tears,
by the shore the bastards raise
the dead, courtesans spread legs
in waves, hands’ applause in fun!
It’s an old clown, who throws
up the tower from the sand’s
to see (in madness no one
has a funeral!) Are they
by chance living with the dead?
In consent, smile and weeping
have victim, and hindered sword
to freedom has been frenzied
in the hurry of Nature
to lay hands (spineless graveyard!)
While the storm shivers through eyes
oppressed. The grey face bleeds
beside the bloodstream figments,
images of the mute flow;
the city dogs are foamy.
A thirsty slayer in gold
sees Omnipotent logic.
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

The art of instant pearls of wisdom


All of a sudden, fleetingly shortened in hand,
instant wisdom that has no inkling on how grand
it’ll make with itself, let alone with you, rover!
motifs, key metaphors, phrases so similar
about how you will overflow the watercourse
and shadows gravely will pass, yes … but … no… Light’s source
shifting heart to happiness will be alluring.
(If you want to enter death, why not go jumping
off a Brooklyn bridge, not this foul Serbian building)
from the life that has happened to you, you
you, you…
in your eyes, shrouds and pits in life are ever due!
And happiness will come once too soon, once too late.
(It makes me sick…) sometimes again, what does equate
is the stunning start that has a happy ending.
No, it will not be…no one will be self-confessing
to their own eyes, tis’ nostalgia for the murder
from dungeons, washed stones pour into fall of water
striking and kicking again, for time to use its hammer.
‘Two lovers wandering down their violet way, down
their violet way…Two lovers wander’d on the brown
Stygian shore, the brown Stygian shore…’ until
your soul having tiny deaths’ mark shall be the will.
(Death is dead, death is dead.) Dwelling in you is rest
for good shall stay fixed, like the sun down at the west
on each day’s end. Rest assured that is the true sense
of gold mean till it’s last-ditch…your mood will run tense.
Once more, before it’s last-ditch, would your brain check hence?
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Eurydice awakened


Eurydice awakened proclaimed and alive
in a haunted room, like a gruesome coast,
in the night underground; Hades does thrive
on his reign, he limps, the lord to the host
of the dead, the God of Earth and Earths,
a quarantine-Hell-Deadening-Matrix.
Your devotion, death, meekness swanned as worths
by the dead like hurt souls needing medics
Omega Eyes silent for all cozy
with an orgasm of a deadly glow!
Live after being static and comfy,
the eyes keep watching the front gate death’s row;
under the royal nail, terrors change fire,
a wet node in a deaf room, it’s all lyre.
editor: Obinna Eruchie

I’m dying a Roman! *character assassination 2


The highlight’s bright bare heels
is underneath
the pigskin.
Is pride rolling like wheels
in your brain’s sheath?
Will you spin
on the table on screens
of the safeguard,
scaffolding
confinement plum with means
to place wings barred
from air’s ring!?Judgement has to encounter those
whose feet have been walking astray;
to have drama ram them, dispose
their whole being on the same day.

Coal and smoke, tar sills quivering in rage
so big to us from the peasant suburbs;
a delay in morale, in a scarce age
the fury’s fist against the wall perturbs.

Like rats playing wheels with their snouts wide-jawed,
ragged railroader skin-tanned by the sun’s flames,
list to my voice that’s both flawless and flawed
and somewhere behind it a lot of names..

I live as a woman,
I’m dying a Roman!

Au dieu, Charlene


Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene?

I’ve no clue you’ll lead me into a sauce,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
Now that the fortune of my life looks lean,
the spring from my head, your hand tried to toss!
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene
The mind is losing the might to stay mean,
it’s on wheels to cut my life now a dross,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
There has to be some rope or a machine
to help me depart from this life of loss.
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene?
False victim! Making me a foe with spleen,
why not gulp some gin to lose your hand’s gloss,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene.
Naught from you to end me stands! I’ll stand clean
with wings to rise while you’re down with your cross.
Is regret lodging in your head, Charlene,
like the kind I’ve seen in a movie’s scene?
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

Praise of the Progenitrix


Mystics listen to her
Cynics vomit her
Midwives truth-birth her
And since always
Welcome her on hands
That insidious trash
To fill their pitchers
With her feces.
Born from the spirit of pride
From the spleen of law
From the blood of forefathers
From the womb of lies
From seventy-seven
Forgiveness
The fools loved her
Saints like a knick-knack
Showed her on the fair
Liars about her
Sexually fantasized
Ecce Veritas
Spends her life next to Dionysius,
Bloodless turkey cocks and donkeys
Smell her sacred beak.
Crowned with laurels
Permeated with boredom
In the tasteful asylum
And she sings in blood
To dampened strings
While watching her reflection
In the lavatory of Hades
Remembers
Progenitrix
Now already an ageing whore
Arose from the dream
To maintain the dream.

sync with mine wishes for the better days for all


a hinted thought within my head’s grasp

processing attempts as each memorising
sublime flash of evil genius
penetrates my mind

blinding ringing echo of fire
awaiting for the return of some being
I personally have never witnessed before

and yet continue bearing like
a treasured secret code of the heart

to share yet long as if to cherish
as the 1st discoverer
place pregnant backup aids by not
chasing dreams

ending

cherish its prized moments
along well-penned lines of living it.

Fates will always be differentiating
between origins of true life.
However, origins of free will
truthfully never differ

in any fate brought
between those trying to be heard.
A whisper triggers thirst for knowledge in
turning

While a panicked scream can send us running
in the wrong path, secluded from all else
I can finally close the lid of my eyes

in being inspired, eyes wait not for
the dawn’s whistling birds’ dream
in sync with mine of better days break for all

to see us walk past through another evil eye
on its way,
of poetically rhythmic challenge
to pledge in well-penned form.

Everything is without my past weakening crutch
in our daily healing needs
if ever we hope to carry our torches healthily
throughout our chosen marathons of life.
to share something as oneness itself.

Editor: Obinna Eruchie