Aspasia's Alliteration

Argonautic ventures toward apocryphal ambitions will lead us straight to Avernus. As we cross the Aegean Sea toward the ultimate abomination of desolation that shall prove to be our Achilles' heel, we'll discover our search for ego will end at the Greek calends, or perhaps at the eleventh hour we'll find our Arcadian society without embracing the spirit of Ares. Instead of turning to anthrophagi we'll feast on ambrosia as we discover the truth behind our modern day Atlanta's race and embrace those wandering adullamites and become as rich as Croesus. The apple of discord is simply an illusion kept alive by modern day Amydaens with no interest in staving off Armageddon. the conclusion must be reached that as a tree falls, so shall it lie; ego's not just absent from the arena, it exists solely as an apparition of the allusion of self.

Four Seasons

Autumn
Cooler air brings
A myriad of colors
To the mountain side

Winter
Bitterly cold wind
Slashing violently, striking
Like whips on your face

Spring
Small purple flowers
Spread across yellowed pastures
Announcing new life

Summer
Alabama heat
Heavy with humidity
Soaks backs with warm sweat

Portending Calamity

Five minutes to midnight
One second from destruction
Digital clocks attempt
To keep it all under wraps
Straight lines in red
That offer some semblance of sanity
Everything turns to black and white
As if anything is really that simple
A stick in the ground
Offers more accurate readings
As the sun disappears
Behind artificial storm clouds
Bright lights blaze across the sky
And Gaia rumbles and groans
As She inches ever closer
To fixing the problem Herself
Even if set off by the introduction
Of too much energy into the ionosphere
Silent killers that infiltrate the mind
Providing docile sheep
That ignore the actualities
Of their so called reality

Federation of Trepidation

Y2K triggered anomalies in human faculties that just never went away. A state of panic ensued, encouraged at every turn. Then the world took notice as buildings crumbled, billowing into the air and covering cement hallways, forever stained with blood and ash, to serve as a constant reminder of how incapable we are of handling ourselves. Leaders unite to bring an end to such tragedies and encouraged those able to provide the tools needed for the job. It only costs your freedom. It's such a small price to pay to continue living just the same, sans the humanity or moral nature of society. Anarchy is wrong, surrender to another. You are evil. You are immoral. And you are screwed if you buy a damn word of it.

Coital Diversion

Inconspicuous eyes in computer screens
That offer glimpses into the room
Are like glory holes for Uncle Sam to stick his cock through
Fucking you up the ass, with no lube
Some notice something sketchy and apply the fix all, duct tape
As if it's going to stop people from peeking
Others have been abused for so long that they no longer feel it
A light whoosh as a flatulent that never really began or ended
Simply slips out without notice
For some it still hurts, but for how long
Eventually it all just feels the same
Get off your hands and knees
Bite down on that hand that feeds
And yank with all your might
Rip it from its source and bury it out back
Sure, someone else will just come along
And attempt to get their rocks off
But you've already enjoyed that first taste of blood

The Serpent

Serpent, serpent, of the night
With eyes that burn so bright
From whence did you appear?
How on Earth did you get here?

Whose hands gave birth to thee
Was it a He or was it a She?
Did celestial bodies craft your body,
Or did idle hands offer camaraderie?

And whose works or mold,
Once announced, "Behold!"
And breathed life into your being
Only to send you fleeing?

What tools of the trade
Sent you on your crusade?
Were hammers used,
Or was knife work abused?

When planted in the garden,
Were you offered a pardon?
Were you immediately accepted,
Or hereupon rejected?

Serpent, serpent, of the night
With eyes that burn so bright,
From whence did you appear?
How on Earth did you get here?

*Again, trying something new. Original poem from Blake: http://www.daypoems.net/poems/441.html

Bassinet Symphony

REST, rest, blossoming one
Close you eyes, and dream young son
The moonlight brightens you face
And traces without disgrace

Innocence and beauty abound
On a chubby face, o so round
Soft cheeks, angelic grace
You drift off to an imaginary place

Of what do you dream
Silently cooing, sinlessness supreme
With tiny hands that rest on cheek
Rosy red and o so meek

Smiles will creep
Even in your sleep
O beautiful child when thee wake
I will be here, make no mistake

*Just playing with new styles here and yes, I "copied" Blake. The original poem is here:
http://www.daypoems.net/poems/442.html