On A Throne Flashes of Lightning and Thunder, Seven Spirits In A Sea of Glass

Broken pieces, shards of glass from the seahorse it came running an incubus, a rascal, a fiend, a disconsolate weary friend. On a shattered chair the rumblings of conscience are stark steadfast lonely stammering in a journeyman's dark. Still the light may come on brief intermittent pages, shadows cascading in the sky yet the forms may be rich and fertile, a fecund for yesterday's extravagant meal, a wonderful moment, speculative needle point, a time for pure untarnished delight.

Roses From Mary (A Poem for Our Lady of Guadalupe):
Roses imprinted upon rough cactus fiber cloth, thus bears the image of our Holy Mother of Heaven- And has for nearly five-hundred years- Roses given to Juan Diego, in 1531, turned into the image of Mary, the mother to the Son of God, and Son of Man! No cracks, no candle smoke fading upon this image. It lives, the image lives and the colors remain as is; as they always were-century after century; nothing more miraculous than that- (Within the forehead of the image, is the persona of a bearded man with eyes closed, that could very well be the image within the shroud...

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.'

In A Voice Like Thunder There Was A White Horse, Its Rider Held A Bow, He Was Given A Crown:
Black pitch, cracked sky upper atmosphere, welkin, azure. On a horse it comes tumbling down, messages from a distant god, riders capture a glorious moment well crazed. There it is a poignant arrow to be shot, sling shots for David, giants to be got.

The Heads Of The Horses Looked Like Lions, Out Of Their Mouths Came Sulfur, Smoke And Fire:
In a battle they raise their cane with staffs that looked like lions serpents on the whip of a horse. Hind legs with rod extended, punishment for the children who have no spoils. Cocker, coddle, pamper and regale. There are horse heads made of sulfur and smoke, a barnyard at the gate. Flatus, whiff, a storm port blows, tempest in a teapot, sacrificial tarot, transpose, detrimental reading unenlightened meaningless thoughts arose.

These Dreamers Pollute Their Own Bodies, Reject Authority And Slander Celestial Beings:
Heroes, villains, archangels, black guards, miscreants, zeroes. They pollute their bodies, sing and dance, cosmic messages in the troposphere, evil doers, profligate and rogue. Infidels from outer space, rebels with a cause challenging all that is unspoken, degradation, a mysterious zone. Yet the size of space has recently come into question, nagging inquiries again and again, let us consider an arcane process, metaphysical, inscrutable, abstruse, insane.

Easter Bunny - Lion:
This article is about random thoughts about nothing. About something to think about, about something to doubt. It's much to do about nothing, but a lot to say about it.