In Your Mouth It Will Become Very Sweet

Another likely story, but in the end she did what was proposed. It will turn your mouth sweet like honey, your stomach to a thorny dog, no mint crackers only a giant sob at dinner simmering in silent stew festering in a pestilent rain.

Ordinary Times (Poetic Prose):
Whenever I've traveled-since the age of nineteen years old-I've stepped down into the so called under-world, with more of a mind of an explorer, yet at times I've got caught in this motley world, in which has made me thankful of my youth, and strength, to escape it, lest I become buried in it... It has of course, humbled me in spirit to have witnessed and lived this passage of life- Having a distorted life indeed, has made me, thankful. In Seattle per near starving to death, nearly robbed, and rain drenched, yet finding work because of my youth and strength- In San Francisco, I eaten at the Mission House, slept on porches. In St. Paul,

Three Poems (The Echo - Oxymoron Poem, Cryptic Kiss, Separation:
The Echo (Oxymoron Poem) We've suffered in the burning frost o' the Holy peak to unlock the locked secrets, and to taste the sweet sorrow. In my upward fall, I told the perfect evilness, 'I want nothing more and never again.' You hold the word in that eloquent quietness. I hung the quietness in the breath. You found its own sense and its oxymoron. The word and the quietness were swords in-between the holes and the stars. In that mental freezer burning, I've reprieved my insomniac dreams o' my destiny & the leavin' dreams o' my un-destiny. You made them be numbed feelings and vice versa, much more than the jazz songs could be a music sounds to be blue songs again. In that fairy tale, my silent scream was changed into its echo to end as deafening silence forever. Fairly obvious, the down climbing evilness echo'd, 'I want nothing more and never again, nothing more and ne'er again.'

There Will Be Swift Destruction As Teachers Ply Harmful Heresies Even Against The Sovereign Lord:
In heresy there is truth, orthodoxy and traditionalism only lies, as this is the way it must always be when we pay our dues and look upward to a painted sky. For whatever color it may be it never really ends, pink paint on the palate, in the early evening maybe burnt orange or miraculous gray. So let us take off our shade, the tint and hue, in a blue cloud it might be the right time to rise above what may be left behind us, the cold shoulders, the rejection, the desperation, sorrow and gloom, yet there may be several ways to rise above it if you begin to heed a beggar's lonely call for there are few people who might achieve the coming of the sun or feel the wetness of the rain.

Two May Poems:
Some stood staring with bleeding from the noses, other swelling in the groin and armpits - The size of an egg, an apple... They called them tumors, - but all knew it was the Black Death; soon thereafter the tumors spread; they changed from black to purple! Thereafter, spots appeared on the arms and thighs, large and small: death spoke, and it had its own silent language! And there was no medical advice. Death was imminent within three to seven days: depending! No fever or symptoms, it came and was contagious, like a fire catching seagull, it was airborne. Once captured on the clothes, it became diseased also! And the animals, they even got infested: pigs, dogs, cats and birds moved those ineffectual rags, to and fro... As the corpses laid all about, day and night!

Poems (Antimatter - Neo Surrealist One, Variable Reality - Postmodernist One and Others):
Antimatter (Neo Surrealist Poem) A red bird has flown soaring in the great height of the purple sky. The thrilling scream was as a shrill cry on the soundtrack. The bird has disappeared into the sky, and all it could be heard was the sound. That cold sound became fluid in the ears. A forked green lightning following a zigzagging pattern appeared from an antimatter space. The eyes fixed wide-open up, and the mouths kept silent. A ship has left the dock to disappear in the mobile horizon. It seemingly disappeared and reappeared based on where the eyes were looking; the eyes were not able to leave the dock. When the ship could not be seen, a prolonged blast could be heard. Finally, the ship disappeared in an antimatter space, where cold could illuminate and beat the heat to burn everything as we beat the heat with icy cold neck wraps. The eyes fixed wide-open toward, and red screams grew from open mouths. The sun lost its strength to become redder than it was before. In the twilight, its disk disappeared below the mobile horizon. Its power was in the spirit and the matter of the freezing cold..

Out Of Smoke, Locusts Were Given Power Like The Scorpions Of The Earth:
In a wisp of clouds a fragrant bouquet, pungent perfume, balm and incense, cotton, bobbin, sandy cloth, a swarm of insects may descend on you. Out of smoke, a spiraling horde, locusts may appear worn, tattered, scruffy, down at the mouth, out of the achilles, strengthened at the heal. They are scorpions, long legs, spiders creeping at the dawn.

He Did Not Come By Water Only, But By Water And Blood, Yet It Is The Spirit That Testifies As Truth:
Anointed one, hard truths so difficult to swallow. But this is what you get washed up upon the beach. Set up like a whale exposed for all to see, yet this is the scope and breadth of the matter ravaged as a minnow turned about for all to see. But let there be no shame as there may certainly be just too many things to regret so take an alternate route on pleasant paths, kinder, gentler, softer waves for then the cadence may be true to you, its magnitude and strength as there is something amazing about it all, mystical incantation, divine resuscitation, abracadabra, magic emotion in the infinite shapes of things because you know that the possibilities are limitless but the evidence and real truth will rarely unfold.

Nature And Human Nature In The Poetry Of Browning:
Browning has an eminent role to play and has contributed a lot in Literature. In this article, Browning uses a very significant role of Nature in his poetry.

Adornment Should Not Be Braided Hair Or Gold Jewelry, Rather An Internal Disposition Of The Heart:
Shine on when the diamonds are bright forever falling from the hair of the master who shall lead us out of the night, for they shimmer on the pitch and bring counsel to our heart, piercing what had been dread in blackness, nigrescence, nigritude and fright. Yet there is nothing to fear when it is kinked up, jumbled down and smeared, let it fall about the collar in tangled heads harkened to another time before the white men and other boundless souls on the coast of the savage garden in gigantic frantic waves, so allow it to build as it shivers in countless dispositions in arachnid, frankincense and myhrr for the wake may move onward across the muscles, the outback and the nerves, tension that may be mortified in movements tiny strands, a masquerade, a dark charade, sable, ebony, inebriated, intoxicated, deep in the barrel, pitchy, diamante, stygian, coal backed jet swarth raven, irrefutable heart, a depressive melancholy soul.