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G Rog Rogers
Aug 2017
-A Lucid Dream
She came to me
within a dream
Somewhere there
betwixt and between
Where all you see
cannot always be believed
And all is more
beautiful than
can ever be
known or seen
My eyes were amazed
by the wondrous sight
She standing before me
as though devine
Crying Her tears
of golden light
Her words were sure
Her grief then true
I could not begin
to comprehend
what I saw
and what I knew
In this moment
She was
perfect and pure
She wept as She spoke
of a great disgrace
The destruction of
an Holy Place
where We once
there were wed
A sacred chapel
where solemn vows
were said
Gone it's gone
it has been destroyed
Her cries of anguish
tore at my heart
I could not believe
such tragedy occurred
My words were
They couldn't
They never would
This is just a rumor
that you have heard
The chapel is protected
by law and truth
and by the powers
from all above
She was there
but just a little while
My eyes then opened
and I recognized
She had been with me
She had appeared
This was the moment
I knew it all was
so very real
I then heard
the blast of horns
from the great ship's
on the LA Bay
And knew I must find out
I must go back
and see someday
I traveled far
I journeyed high
But still I wondered
if the chapel stood
Knowing I must
go back there
To know what must
and should be seen
to be understood
Time then went on
as several years
they came and then went
I remembered and decided
I must go back to see
if this Holy place
might still exist
As though on
a mission sent
My travels went beyond
and then I returned
to that city where
my life there once was
I went there to see
If the chapel remained
But when I arrived
the chapel was gone
Real and a fact
The evidence seen
A vision of an Angel
who seemingly Devine
therein descended within
a lucid dream
The purest
of knowledge
The absolute Truth.
Mystery or Mysticism
It is all just what it seems.
Continue reading...
CK Baker
Jan 2018
pike place
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the
big daddy
triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Continue reading...
CK Baker
Oct 2017
Pidgeon Park
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in hell's hole
Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus
Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss
Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand
Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared
Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down
Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand
Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
crack pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float
Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void
Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Continue reading...
Tawanda Mulalu
Jul 2018
Poem (the Sistine Chapel ceiling paintings, Michelangelo).
This was once all that we knew.
A world in parts before we knew
as such subdivisions as this, that and
more beneath that still: there was
once good and evil, god and them,
the rest of us, and
Jesus, simply looking upwards after
he flung himself forth from the dust
to the sky and the light was bleached
off and the colours leaked from our
eyes to our canvases. What more
can I say before we take more
of ourselves away from each other? What more
before you implant me into some other's
body, and the prayer completed,
and I am finally a computer? In
the meanwhile my eyes will look and
my neck will strain as the sun sets and
so does my little life: how long have I
wanted to see you again, o lord, since
my first scream of myself all so long
ago when I left my mother's salt
and was flashed into the flood of your
How long, o lord, will you have me here
to see your work through these ceiling
songs, such sonorous ringings, fleshy
twists and turns of paint as muscle
and what's that behind the cloud?
Your finger
appareled in such golden rays?
Endless. When your ships brought such
dark skin as mine across these
times and spaces, what?, where you
surprised of my dreams to see it,
all engulfed in flames? And
yet here you are and here I am and
here is the quiet my birth your
glory your joy the brushstrokes
the colours and the full fleshy taste
of my non-belief, leaking into my fingers,
sticky, frisk, and always.
When I leave these, they will fall
and crumble. It will all go. In the hallways,
as I walk away: several big windows:
Rome, sunset.
When I leave these, they will go
and disappear. Into salt. Those large windows:
blue-shadowed branches begin some small slow dance.
When I leave these temples they will dust
and return to dust the soil of our hands.
And the trees remain beautiful.
Continue reading...
Marcus Lane
Mar 2011
Lost Link
A proud man,
Upright and unshakable
In belief and morals,
Once only I did I see him
Without a tie.
A child of Edwardian England,
The links Of his watch chain
As they hung
With formality and elegance
From his waistcoat pocket,
Yes, even as he worked.
And work he did.
Brilliantly and tirelessly
With ingenuity and imagination.
A craftsman from a bygone age.
A master of his tools.
Grandfathers are soft,
Playful, bear-like in their
Gruff-whiskered familiarity.
Not Poppy.
Unwittingly aloof from his grandchildren,
We avoided the need for directly addressing him,
Unsure of where we stood.
He'd probably have secretly
Loved the informality
Of our secret nickname.
I hope he knew.
The chapel piano did for him.
Too much weight for his work-weary ticker.
Grandma gave me his pocket watch to keep,
And for a time I treasured it,
Measuring its weight
Like a smooth round pebble
In my palm.
A workman's watch;
A yellowing face
Behind a scratched
And hazy glass.
But accurate,
And precise.
Reliable as the man.
Detached in life,
I liked to hope that
Gazing down,
He just might have
In loving acknowledgement of his
Grandson's curiosity
And foolishness
Sitting cross-legged on the carpet,
With heart-thumping nausea
Adrift in a sea of springs.
© Marcus Lane 2010
Continue reading...
Justin Griego
Jun 2011
I don't write words, I write weapons
I don't write lyrics, but I do have flow
I don't write music, but I do have soul
I'm not an artist, but a picture I'll paint
Sistine Chapel leaves you thinking I'm a saint
I don't play sports, but I do play minds
I'm not a catcher, but I still show signs
I'm not a racer, but I still cross lines
I'm not a witch, but I'll still cast doom
Not the undertaker, but I'll set up your tomb
Not a fortune teller, but I can spell your demise
I'm not a magician, but I can see your surprise
I'm not a gardener, but I can plant you in the ground
I'm not a devil, but hellish is my sound
Demons in the room have come to stomp you down
I flow freely, 'cuz I'm a bad-*** poet
But I'm not all bad. Here, let me show it
I can make your heart beat to the sound of my melody
Make you love-sick; I'm sorry, there is no remedy
I'm like soldiers in the dirt, always brave
I'm strong, and I'm bold, and I'm a slight knave
Always protecting innocence with the tip of a glaive
* Now this time I must remember to hit save
Another Insomniac Poem
Continue reading...
v V v
Feb 2011
The Church has Sold its Soul
The Catholic church
endorsed the world today
for a dollar ninety nine.
Every iPhone owner!
sinner, saint or stoner!
Come now have your sins forgiven!
forgiven if you spill your guts,
if you just confess,
then watch technology do the rest.
Absolution for you and me!
Send your sins across the sea!
your sins will fly up through the sky
encrypted on waves to reach the almighty,
the Vatican! the Pope!
A man of God appointed by the church
yet is he any different than you and me?
We know he sins the same as us,
the book of Romans says its so,*
and do you really think his tall hat
and flowing dress can make him
any more chosen than us?
Can he really hold back lust?
Will he not eventually turn to dust
Just like the rest of us?
is he really any different than us?
How ironic he receives a royalty from
a symbol of the fallen world,
The Apple
computer company,
payment for our absolution…
...So the world fell
by the fruit of a tree
and now expects to be
redeemed the same way.
The truth is not in a man.
the truth is not in the Apple.
The truth is not in the white smoke rising
from the stacks on Sistine Chapel.
The truth cannot be dried up.
The truth cannot be cured.
the truth is not the Pope's to smoke,
To believe it is absurd.
If you want to know the truth,
the truth is in the blood.
The blood covers everything.
Including what is written here.
*Romans 3:23 Galatians 3:25-26
Galatians 4:17 Hebrews 4:14-16
Continue reading...
CK Baker
Jun 2017
Road to Hatheume
pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry
split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire
pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail
raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char
thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july
smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem
stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace
quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead
past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack
sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone
cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste
Continue reading...
Logan Robertson
Jun 2017
Life's Predispositions
Life's Predispositions
In the chapel of his soul
and in the steeple of his mind
votive candles burn,
bright and iridescent,
red, yellow, green
and blue.
He sits in there,
a chapel for one,
in a mist
of confusion,
in a mess,
searching for answers,
as his life is waning,
like an Autumn wind
blowing the pages of his life
... stillness,
of bookmarks,
still on page one,
he hatched, once.
All around him,
and cold,
like a winter chill,
snow banks withdrawing,
his sad existence.
Still he looks up
to Jesus on the cross.
In the chapel of his soul
and in the steeple of his mind
votive candles burn,
bright and iridescent,
another rainbow stretching
it's arcs for him.
He backs away.
He bemoans life,
it's endowments on him.
His parent's mistake
on a dark, eerie
loveless night...
and their cutting words
"You were a mistake,"
that grew on him,
like barnacles
clinging to him,
eating away his buoyancy,
like a ship sinking.
In the birth of another spring,
flowers blossoms,
rivers gushing down
mountains and mountains
of pollination,
he has a lone branch
waiting ... somewhere.
Such stillness.
Such stigmatization
from his parents
loveless past.
A mistake they conceded.
It had an effect on him,
darker than the blackest sheep
that he was.
What predispositions.
When the summer harvests
fields smiling their wares,
he scowled
he scowled the corn,
the changing seasons,
his short change
of life.
Why are the birds
singing to me?
The voices
in his head
What message thou
bring to an orphan?
Still he looks up
to Jesus on the cross.
His eyes squint.
Dad, mom.
And whispers words
that don't need
to be said,
Logan Robertson
Continue reading...
Terry O'Leary
Dec 2013
Silent City
Ill-fated crowd neath foreign cloud: the Silent City braves
against a sudden sullen flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which washes stony structures clean with radiance that laves.
Deserted streets, once dense retreats, spin yarns of yesterday,
with faded words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.
Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes...
They frame a frail forgotten tale, in carved unwritten runes
with symbols hung like halos strung in lifeless, limp festoons.
The City's blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.
A church's Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, windswept blown above the stones, a maiden's blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.
Stilled chapel chimes! Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won't writhe to ring the carillons, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.
Stray footsteps swarm through church no more (apostates that profane) -
their echoes in the nave ring thin, while chalice cups maintain
a taste of brine in altar wine decaying in the rain.
No face will come with jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, or beg lethean balm.
Six steeple towers, steel and stone, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.
No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.
Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame in smoky swirl mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in melting tracks.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter's wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across a cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, with no one left to fete.
Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight's ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep... a clutch of clammy clouds.
No breath will come 'cross jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.
The castle clock, unwound, defrocks! Those peerless speechless spokes
unfurl the blight of reigning Night by spinning off her cloaks,
and flaunt the dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.
Green trees gone dark, in palace parks, where children paused to play –
now voiceless things on phantom swings, like statues made of clay,
mark marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.
The sun-bleached bones of those who've flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).
The terrors wrought by conscience fraught once stalked and lurked nearby
to rip the shrouds from curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky –
now wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams no longer terrify.
And fog no longer leaks beyond the edge of doom's café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears in sheets of shallow gray.
Beyond the suburbs, farmers' fields (where donkeys often brayed)
exhale a gust of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a *****.
A silo, still! Like hollowed quill, a ravished feather's vane,
with traces of bespattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... 'twas truly all in vain.
No souls will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life's brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.
Beyond the Silent City's walls, the victors laugh and play...
They're celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil's sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
Continue reading...
Jordan Rowan
Dec 2015
Peasant Gods and Righteous Thiefs
With the red lights in my eyes
And the gray haze in the sky
With the fire red reflecting back
The neon skin distracts me from where I am
And where I should be
In the winter clear, I sit
And I'm sick of it
As the snow falls on cars
On pedestrians and bars
Wrapped in pea-coats and ***
Under the foggy winter sun I slowly stroll
With a woman in my soul
Like a gypsy king and queen
In a lucid fever dream
Up in the offices and desks
With stress in their chests
These people think of home
While their lovers are alone and stuck with screens
Like windows into scenes
They thought money could buy
As they drift and die
Pouring out from the walls
Of worship chapel halls
With hands in their pockets
Stealing trinkets and lockets to give to the men
Who promise the end
But all will be right
If you pay the right price
From the streets of gods
That will one day rot
Under our wandering feet
When we longer speak but are just memories
Passed on like a disease
On death, I've made my peace
Until then, let me be free
Continue reading...
Pedro Hiroshi Watanabe di Gesu
Jan 27
heaven's first law
light hearted on a steep hill
the spirit of nature stood still
as wind whispered unquietly
in the rude ear of a padlock
that guarded the garden door of
a white chapel
whence the voice of the Lord
spoke, loud and clear:
There is a reference to an Alexander Pope quote: "Order is heaven's first law". As I understand it, its meaning carries the classic scientific trope that science deals with the uncovering of the underlying order of things - the trope that Einstein referred to when he was asked what he understood to be God: the way things are ordered in the universe according to laws that we access through reason. I read it in the wall of the museum of arts and crafts in NJ during last february and it led to the writing of this poem.
Continue reading...
oliver o
Mar 12
Looking on the Bright Side
Each time you've stayed over,
I've made conscious efforts
to be silent during *******.
I was not quite sure
how residence worked,
and I did not wish
to disturb anyone.
as I try, for the third time today,
not to hear my neighbour
**** the girlfriend he's
smuggled into Chapel
(for the sole purpose, I'm sure,
of having her awful ******* laugh
pierce my every ******* thought)
I know
when you return from your sail,
and I can hold you once again,
I will not feel the slightest remorse
for letting
Continue reading...
Jan 22
Sitting here
Figuratively my finger up my ***
A drop in the ocean
With dreams impassioned
Still, big ideas that rhyme on time
A flow of future a heart beats
Thus, glowing dumb
Numb stunned besmirked,
Overlooked in the stands of larger
An old building, perhaps,
A facade of stone not bright
Shiny metals.
Or a tomb perchance
Noble and sainted,
The chapel of baptismal fonts
Where sinners are washed,
And saints walk out,
A field burnt in spring
Full of orchids arching
Long petals up in hope in summer,
Of reaching that one thing
We all live for, yet
A metal jacket bound around our thinking
And hymns.
Someday to flower
In sunrises of knowledge all
Together in whatever
Our wildest visions
Continue reading...
Nov 2018
Pour all into bowl
then separate and cull
joy from sorrow
reality from fiction
peas from carrots
outline a writhing boarder
and then declare
These are here,
and those are there!
no more enclaves
or gaps of no-man's land
from now on
clean cut
well defined
a beacon of chiseled hope
for the sick, the weary
the poor
so they may flock into your chapel
amass, wet eyed, to learn
the essence of humanity
never again to be confused
never to succumb to madness
never to grow old
Continue reading...
Michael Parish
Nov 2018
Marriage in a bombed out wedding chapel (Belfast Ireland 1942)
Well George we made it through that raid.
I hope the Germans arnt looking for more.
We'll have to hold the reception out in the court yard
What court yard Gene? It's a giant foxhole.
I hope Mr Dalton had thought to grab his camera.
He bought a leica it's worth his house
I can't believe it! A German camera taking our moment.
Oh God Gene they almost took our life
Mite as well smile George
Not even in America my love!
Not until we reach New York.
Continue reading...
Christine Mulvihill
Sep 2018
Christine's Story
I saw the tears in my mother's eyes and the concern on my father's face. I had no idea why or what was happening. "what's going on momma" I asked her. She didn't reply, she just held my hand and started to cry.
Less than 40% chance is not what anyone would have hoped for. But you can't change the odds; you can only fight against them.
When we found out that I had ALL,
(acute lymphoblastic leukemia) my family members tried to explain to me what was going to happen, but I know now that nothing in the entire world could prepared me for what was about to happen.
Before all this I could not imagine all the things that would happen. All the drugs I would have pumped through my veins, or even worse the ones taken by mouth. Trust me they're not all that sweet Banana flavour. I could never even begin to think about all the treatments and radiation and piercing the port right through my skin. Words cannot explain to you the pain that I experienced just so I could stand here today and tell you my story.
Before I knew it I was hooked up to an IV and all my long blonde gorgeous hair was gone, once perfectly placed on my 2 year old head, now on my pillow.
Sitting in the hospital bed with the sounds of people crying and other children screaming out in pain and agony echoing through my head. But through the pain and suffering there was always someone there to keep me company.
Aside from my parents and family who were by my side the entire 3 years never giving up hope, my aunt Jamie was always there when I felt down. We would always have fun playing games and she would always paint my nails just to make me feel special. My grandmother, a retired nurse herself, was also another very special person; she always knew that I would overcome my illness. Every day she would take me to the chapel in the church and I would stare at the enormously realistic wood carved statue of Jesus. I would ask "even though you look like you are in more pain than me, can you ask your father to help me."
Then my grandmother and I would go back to the room and say this prayer together;
And now I lay me down to sleep and I pray you lord my soul to keep, but if I shall die before I wake, I pray you Lord my soul to take.
After a while you realize that you're stuck in the hospital for a while. In the hospital I met an Angel, and her name was Sarah. She was in the room next to me and she had leukemia too. She was a very sweet girl and we had fun together, she helped me not to feel as different. We shared a lot of things like pizza parties, we played in the art room and we gave each other the drugs that were impossible to take. It seemed much easier to swallow when she gave them to me, compared to 5 nurses holding me down while they poured it down my throat. Out of all my friends on the fourth floor she was the best. She was an amazing friend even if she was only 3.
But eventually all angels must go back to heaven. And about a year later my angel Sarah went back to heaven. She died in her sleep, because the doctors failed to find a match for her bone marrow transplant. It made me sad just to look at the empty bed on that fourth floor in room 420. Although it was 10 years ago that she died I will always remember her because she will forever be in my heart.
And even though she died along with other people I cared about like my friend Sister Jacklyn, death never crossed my mind. After her death I still never lost hope, and I promised never to give up. And even after I relapsed and had to start all over again, I promised myself to keep on fighting until I was just like everyone else again, until I could wake up in my own bed and run free without that stupid IV. No matter how painful a struggle no matter how long, I would have fought to eternity to be healthy again.
I was just a young child when I was first diagnosed with leukemia. A young girl who's fate would have brought her to the grave. But look at me now. I am standing here in front of you and although I may be far different from all of you on the outside, I am still a person on the inside. My physical scars in time will heal, but my emotional scars will remain forever.
Continue reading...
Mary Gay Kearns
Jan 24
Ploughed Field.
A brown, barren ploughed field
A flock of birds above
Scattered dots in a patch of blue
On the wind the monks' voices
Echoed from past days
Worshipping at the simple chapel.
Love Mary ***
Thank you love Mary ***
Continue reading...
Mary Gay Kearns
Dec 2018
The Independents
Betrayal is the limitation of thought
Its perspective allows incorrections
Arrogance caused by inexperience
Disasters catapult false fabrications.
The little chapel stands at Walpole
Owned by the independents
Here the grass in the churchyard
Flutters those who knew too well.
Love Mary ***
Continue reading...
Julia Gorrie
Nov 2018
I ache.
In this dreaded hospital once more, I ache.
I watch, as my mother lays on the bed for the sick, half alive.
I ache.
Sitting in the Chapel feeling like I have no one left, I fall to my knees and sob.
My damaged soul cries out for mercy and light, for strength and hope that has been leaving me all alone.
I ponder how I will get back on my feet and move forward when everyone is putting things in my head.
They make me feel like an abused rag doll, pulling me left and right.
I don't think I've ever felt so alone, overwhelmed or confused in my life.
But one day, I know that this will teach me a valuable lesson, I know that I will grow.
I must have patience, so I will keep waiting until the time comes when I can finally be at peace, and I finally will know.
Written in the chapel at Beaumont.
Continue reading...
Alyssa Underwood
Mar 2016
The Ballad of Reading Gaol (by Oscar Wilde)
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and ***;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellows got to swing."
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some **** their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place
He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.
He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.
He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
******* a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.
He does not know that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs,
That the throat may thirst no more.
He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
Into the hideous shed.
He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.
Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and ***,
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
Its raveled fleeces by.
He did not wring his hands, as do
Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
And drank the morning air.
He did not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!
And I and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we ourselves had done
A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.
And strange it was to see him pass
With a step so light and ***,
And strange it was to see him look
So wistfully at the day,
And strange it was to think that he
Had such a debt to pay.
For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
That in the spring-time shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
Before it bears its fruit!
The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a scaffold high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?
It is sweet to dance to violins
When Love and Life are fair:
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
Is delicate and rare:
But it is not sweet with nimble feet
To dance upon the air!
So with curious eyes and sick surmise
We watched him day by day,
And wondered if each one of us
Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
His sightless soul may stray.
At last the dead man walked no more
Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was standing up
In the black dock's dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
In God's sweet world again.
Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the shameful day.
A prison wall was round us both,
Two outcast men were we:
The world had ****** us from its heart,
And God from out His care:
And the iron gin that waits for Sin
Had caught us in its snare.
In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,
And the dripping wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
For fear the man might die.
Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.
The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
And left a little tract.
And twice a day he smoked his pipe,
And drank his quart of beer:
His soul was resolute, and held
No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
The hangman's hands were near.
But why he said so strange a thing
No Warder dared to ask:
For he to whom a watcher's doom
Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips,
And make his face a mask.
Or else he might be moved, and try
To comfort or console:
And what should Human Pity do
Pent up in Murderers' Hole?
What word of grace in such a place
Could help a brother's soul?
With slouch and swing around the ring
We trod the Fool's Parade!
We did not care: we knew we were
The Devil's Own Brigade:
And shaven head and feet of lead
Make a merry masquerade.
We tore the tarry rope to shreds
With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And clattered with the pails.
We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,
We turned the dusty drill:
We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,
And sweated on the mill:
But in the heart of every man
Terror was lying still.
So still it lay that every day
Crawled like a ****-clogged wave:
And we forgot the bitter lot
That waits for fool and knave,
Till once, as we tramped in from work,
We passed an open grave.
With yawning mouth the yellow hole
Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
Some prisoner had to swing.
Right in we went, with soul intent
On Death and Dread and Doom:
The hangman, with his little bag,
Went shuffling through the gloom
And each man trembled as he crept
Into his numbered tomb.
That night the empty corridors
Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
White faces seemed to peer.
He lay as one who lies and dreams
In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watcher watched him as he slept,
And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
With a hangman close at hand?
But there is no sleep when men must weep
Who never yet have wept:
So we—the fool, the fraud, the knave—
That endless vigil kept,
And through each brain on hands of pain
Another's terror crept.
Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.
The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Grey figures on the floor,
And wondered why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.
All through the night we knelt and prayed,
Mad mourners of a corpse!
The troubled plumes of midnight were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savior of Remorse.
The **** crew, the red **** crew,
But never came the day:
And crooked shape of Terror crouched,
In the corners where we lay:
And each evil sprite that walks by night
Before us seemed to play.
They glided past, they glided fast,
Like travelers through a mist:
They mocked the moon in a rigadoon
Of delicate turn and twist,
And with formal pace and loathsome grace
The phantoms kept their tryst.
With mop and mow, we saw them go,
Slim shadows hand in hand:
About, about, in ghostly rout
They trod a saraband:
And the ****** grotesques made arabesques,
Like the wind upon the sand!
With the pirouettes of marionettes,
They tripped on pointed tread:
But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,
As their grisly masque they led,
And loud they sang, and long they sang,
For they sang to wake the dead.
"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide,
But fettered limbs go lame!
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
Is a gentlemanly game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
In the secret House of Shame."
No things of air these antics were
That frolicked with such glee:
To men whose lives were held in gyves,
And whose feet might not go free,
Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,
Most terrible to see.
Around, around, they waltzed and wound;
Some wheeled in smirking pairs:
With the mincing step of demirep
Some sidled up the stairs:
And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,
Each helped us at our prayers.
The morning wind began to moan,
But still the night went on:
Through its giant loom the web of gloom
Crept till each thread was spun:
And, as we prayed, we grew afraid
Of the Justice of the Sun.
The moaning wind went wandering round
The weeping prison-wall:
Till like a wheel of turning-steel
We felt the minutes crawl:
O moaning wind! what had we done
To have such a seneschal?
At last I saw the shadowed bars
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God's dreadful dawn was red.
At six o'clock we cleaned our cells,
At seven all was still,
But the sough and swing of a mighty wing
The prison seemed to fill,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath
Had entered in to ****.
He did not pass in purple pomp,
Nor ride a moon-white steed.
Three yards of cord and a sliding board
Are all the gallows' need:
So with rope of shame the Herald came
To do the secret deed.
We were as men who through a fen
Of filthy darkness *****:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer,
Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
And what was dead was Hope.
For Man's grim Justice goes its way,
And will not swerve aside:
It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
It has a deadly stride:
With iron heel it slays the strong,
The monstrous parricide!
We waited for the stroke of eight:
Each tongue was thick with thirst:
For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate
That makes a man accursed,
And Fate will use a running noose
For the best man and the worst.
We had no other thing to do,
Save to wait for the sign to come:
So, like things of stone in a valley lone,
Quiet we sat and dumb:
But each man's heart beat thick and quick
Like a madman on a drum!
With sudden shock the prison-clock
Smote on the shivering air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
From a ***** in his lair.
And as one sees most fearful things
In the crystal of a dream,
We saw the greasy hempen rope
Hooked to the blackened beam,
And heard the prayer the hangman's snare
Strangled into a scream.
And all the woe that moved him so
That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the ****** sweats,
None knew so well as I:
For he who lives more lives than one
More deaths than one must die.
There is no chapel on the day
On which they hang a man:
The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,
Or his face is far too wan,
Or there is that written in his eyes
Which none should look upon.
So they kept us close till nigh on noon,
And then they rang the bell,
And the Warders with their jingling keys
Opened each listening cell,
And down the iron stair we tramped,
Each from his separate Hell.
Out into God's sweet air we went,
But not in wonted way,
For this man's face was white with fear,
And that man's face was grey,
And I never saw sad men who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.
But there were those amongst us all
Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
Whilst they had killed the dead.
For he who sins a second time
Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
And makes it bleed in vain!
Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb
With crooked arrows starred,
Silently we went round and round
The slippery asphalte yard;
Silently we went round and round,
And no man spoke a word.
Silently we went round and round,
And through each hollow mind
The memory of dreadful things
Rushed like a dreadful wind,
And Horror stalked before each man,
And terror crept behind.
The Warders strutted up and down,
And kept their herd of brutes,
Their uniforms were ***** and span,
And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at
By the quicklime on their boots.
For where a grave had opened wide,
There was no grave at all:
Only a stretch of mud and sand
By the hideous prison-wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
That the man should have his pall.
For he has a pall, this wretched man,
Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame!
And all the while the burning lime
Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by night,
And the soft flesh by the day,
It eats the flesh and bones by turns,
But it eats the heart alway.
For three long years they will not sow
Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the wondering sky
With unreproachful stare.
They think a murderer's heart would taint
Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God's kindly earth
Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.
Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?
But neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.
So never will wine-red rose or white,
Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who ***** the yard
That God's Son died for all.
Yet though the hideous prison-wall
Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit man not walk by night
That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may not weep that lies
In such unholy ground,
He is at peace—this wretched man—
At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the lampless Earth in which he lies
Has neither Sun nor Moon.
They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A reguiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.
They stripped him of his canvas clothes,
And gave him to the flies;
They mocked the swollen purple throat
And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
In which their convict lies.
The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his dishonored grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save.
Yet all is well; he has but passed
To Life's appointed bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourner will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.
I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in gaol
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.
But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.
This too I know—and wise it were
If each could know the same—
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.
With bars they blur the gracious moon,
And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
Ever should look upon!
The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair
For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.
Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.
The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed and cries to Time.
But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.
With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.
And never a human voice comes near
To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
With soul and body marred.
And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.
And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean *****'s house
With the scent of costliest nard.
Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?
And he of the swollen purple throat.
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.
The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.
And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.
In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.
And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.
And all men **** the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Continue reading...
Oct 2018
O Dwelling
Every creature performs extremely
in the Night; careful &
violent (perfect)
Essences - proximal to Mysticism - just beyond the reach of shallow darkness as it fills a room (saving shuteye for one flash of blinding perplexity)
Glimpsed through past anguish! hollowed-out
& vacant Cathedral player pianos jotting annihilation inside the soul - chasing incantations unknown to me until overcome by yawning & heartache // So I wake
I remain, here - recalling those pure and perfect hours.
I am darker, but kinder,
too. I have opened to the oceans, put to rest those purple stems upraised & eager to perpetuate their own naive nature
(toss/turn/undulate spasmodically when confronted by a cause, or blaze ! who is repulsed by any lack of confidence - any lie in heart - any failure in answering those pine & prime riddles which hide beneath damp soil or within traditions that may have always had the answers - of which I still, and likely cannot ever know..in which no one can - such is the point of the thing)
Perhaps the Chapel Perilous and
The Farther are at once the same place. A trial - A Paradise
the rippling light in water balanced by a sea of smoke - the peace of slowly drowning in sacred bodies
Folds, fangs - primordial Velvet
swiftness & delirium - impressions of Saturn tarnish your lips - a desk stutters - a black clock howls - the softness of this state is now stone in somber awareness
...Faraway the Holy Mountain
contemplates alone and conjoined at once - in a terror that is also transfiguring - a terror only possible with great distance and height - say on an Airplane; taller now than the quivering Mountain - yet sensing its entire weight crack against the sky like music displaces rain and love shudders memory
Night Palace / Mercurial infinite of black-ribbon silk returning, the bindings of a separate cosmology - tethered within our own, a Prima Materia - disheveling the womb of our decadent casket Mother - the clawmarks we left behind us ! an opening to all others - a gate of gates - simultaneity, Ivory / Blood
God's humble gardener
prepares for Empyrean, I will see to my own consecration !
Bring me Spring ! bring me fire ! the lodge
hidden in wood unshaken ! make me myself
as poignantly and sincerely as others can be themselves.
Paused on graceful Magicians passing by, hideaways, climates doused in hungry fog. Collecting mementos, offerings to the realm of chaos - and timid projections dancing beneath the New Moon - An Animistic supper for fresh senses & sweetness, youthful flesh in mist - Earthly appetites so easily satisfied
Awareness of the fire is power !
Stumbling upon Dollhouse Heavens / where
candelabrum multitudes are brightly eclipsed by exits (to another space?)
another state of being, present music is filled in the lobby with fluttering which clears one's head like turning over mirrors
Poetry here is mitigated by tides -
repetitions // one harmony after the next whistling tree to tree //
birds of lulled imagination pacified and meditating cooperatively yet individual // fixedly watching out for tension points, freedom fissures in the clouds // Morning breaks cradles and makes students
of magisterial ladders // appearing....disappearing // opportunities to grasp or release
(pan-flute & drum of wave }}}
textures flattering Fire
Makers - plea with the shining godhead
Morning, who makes right the wrongs of your thoughts,
as nothing can be hidden in the omniscient eye of the Sun
while you wash in hotsprings waiting for adulthood
unhidden, naked, and clean)
While I meditate, it's often
I will sense a stranger's face there with me, without a body -
beside my own. Observing - what?
silence? the easing away of flames? silver
cold fills the room in secrecy again - we are at last
for this moment - equal forms - silky & caught between
a deafening trumpet call -
for those lost wandering Eidolic strands of consciousness - which, at varying speeds and distances - find their way thru the fog
and towards
A Center
Continue reading...
Oct 2018
Y Dyn Ar Y Bryn/The Man On The Hill
Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument;
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man.
A man befriended by nature,
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
And took root on stony ground,
And prospered on infertile soil,
And sheltered under a leafy canopy.
Y bryn oedd ei gartref,
And he lived and thrived there,
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers:
They could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.
Ar y bryn fu farw,
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
'The Man On The Hill'
Continue reading...
Jan 15
Continue Our Star Trek
A starship is in orbit, around an unknown planet.
Science officer Mr Spock, is just about to scan it.
Lieutenant Uhura's on the bridge, she's on communications.
Unscrambling the garbled messages, from different alien nations.
At the weapons station, Pavel Chekov's a good aim.
Birds of Prey and battle ships, torpedoes locked on again.
Helmsman Hikaru Sulu, he will take evasive action.
Avoiding fleets of enemy ships, with his fast reaction.
Bio beds are operational, report to the sick bay.
Doctor McCoy's ready to heal, with his hypospray.
Christine chapel will assist, she is the ships top nurse.
Helping with the medi scan, if anything gets worse.
Way down in engineering, you will find Montgomery Scott.
Tending to his engines, he's giving it all he's got.
The captains personal Yeoman, will always lend a hand.
She's versatile and beautiful, and known as Janice Rand.
A planets cultural Interference, this directive is our prime.
Is Kevin Reilly going to sing, "Kathleen" one more time.
This is Starfleet's finest crew, it comes as no surprise.
Captain James T Kirk's in command of the Enterprise.
Tricorders at the ready, step of the turbo lift.
The Galileo Seven needs Dilithium, the shuttle's set adrift.
Let's look in the engine room, there's an Enemy Within.
Transporters are malfunctioning, creating an evil twin.
The Changeling Nomad got destroyed, a classic computer error.
They matched the Romulans ship exact, in Balance Of Terror.
Tomorrow is Yesterday, with a sling shot around the sun.
Phantom bullets will not ****, The Spectre of the Gun.
A shape shifting monster is aboard, a Man Trap to revolt.
Just give it what it desires, a large amount of salt.
Young men like Mr Evans, shouldn't be all that complex.
He can **** with just a look, that's why he's Charlie X.
Wasn't it the Deadly Years, when the crew got old.
Jack the ripper then returned, in Wolf In The Fold.
Pon Far fighting to the death, this was a Time Amok.
Believing captain Kirk was dead, and killed by Mr Spock.
McCoy had to heal the creature, before they could Embark.
The Horter was protecting her young, in The Devil in the Dark.
Vampire clouds smell sickly sweet, It was a valuable lesson.
Firing sooner makes no difference, cos it was a pure Obsession.
Kirk used the Corbomite Manoeuvre, Balok was just a boy.
Captain Garf took over the asylum, in Whom Gods Destroy.
A parent's death, no remorse, And The Children Shall now Lead.
Kahn's a genetically engineered superman, found frozen in Space Seed.
They had Trouble with Tribbles, too fast in reproduction.
Light In Operation Annihilate, caused the parasites destruction.
Caught in the Tholian Web, lost in between dimensions.
Mudd's Women had an agenda, and their own hidden intentions.
An Arena was selected, so Kirk could fight the Gorn.
It's guaranteed when Kirk fights, his shirt is always torn.
On a Journey to Babel, Sarek hadn't seen his son for years.
Him and Spock are logical, and both have pointed ears.
What are Little Girls Made Of, was replaced by robotic law.
Three Witches sent a warning, to beware of the Catspaw.
You will be accelerated, within the Wink Of An Eye.
Doctor McCoy will say " he's dead Jim" if anyone should Die.
United planets quest for piece, the federations ultimate desire.
The Klingon war, a warriors way, to create their own empire.
Phasers charged and set to stun, grab your communicators.
Save the ship, protect the crew from all war instigators.
The final frontier is out there, turn over treks first page.
Captain Pike was in command, and captured in The Cage.
Number one was female, but she didn't take the glory.
Pike relived The Menagerie, but it's still the same first story.
We've scanned for alien life forms, and stepped through the Guardians door.
We have been to Vulcan, and Where No Man One Has Gone Before.
So live long and prosper, the captain is on deck.
Beam up the landing party, to continue our star trek.
As many Trek fans will realise many episodes have been referenced in this poem about the original and in my opinion the best Star Trek Series.
For those of you that are not as familiar with the series here is a list of the episodes mentioned.
Season 1:
The Cage
Where No Man Has Gone Before
The Man Trap
Charlie X
The Enemy Within
Mudd's Women
What Are Little Girls Made Of ?
The Corbomite Manoeuvre
The Menagerie
Balance Of Terror
The Galileo Seven
Tomorrow Is Yesterday
Space Seed
The Devil In The Dark
Operation Annihilate
Season 2:
Amok Time
The Changeling
Journey To Babel
The Deadly Years
Wolf In The Fold
The Trouble With Tribbles
Season 3:
And The Children Shall Lead
Spectre Of The Gun
The Tholian Web
Wink Of An Eye
Whom Gods Destroy
I hope that if this is read that it will give you
a slight insight into some of the situations encountered by the crew of the Enterprise and what happened during their five year mission.
Of course if you want more detail you will have to consult Starfleet records which come on DVD discs and see for yourselves.
Is there more to come well who knows, space is of course infinite and there are always possibilities.
Continue reading...
Chris Saitta
May 11
Two Truths of the Snowflake... and a Lie
The snowflake is castellated cold,
Of chill crenellations and turnings narrow.
Court of pie-powders and gray-skied brazier smoke,
Of inner mazework dimmed to ****** holes,
Or the hooded machicolations from tower spire
Of oily darkness and arrowslits of Greek fire.
The snowflake is Medieval reliquary,
The frozen skull of rain and blood clear of sin,
Wind-captive with its prayer of quiet
On quietest lips, close to wine and sacrament.
Or the chapel and its waxen paramours
Of incorrupt body and candlelight upon the moors.
The snowflake is the mighty frozen spark,
Fire-forged and ironwrought,
Under the eye of Hephaestus,
Blacksmith of sorrow's wind.
Continue reading...
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If you have previous experience as a computer programmer or have skills in this field, then there is plenty of work you can pick up as a freelancer. If lack of confidence is holding you back, then Free Code Camp is an excellent way to get your foot in the coding door. This organization provides free courses where you will build real-life apps and programs, giving you experience and plenty to add to your CV.
JVZoo works exclusively with digital products, primarily e-commerce, online courses, and internet marketing offers. Because there are no limits placed on the number of links, buy buttons, or calls to action on a website, JVZoo can sometimes be somewhat low quality both in terms of offers as well as products. Nonetheless, it has proven itself to be a fierce competitor to companies like ClickBank.
Once you're financially stable, I hope you start giving back. It feels good and people like the idea of supporting a good cause (they will be more likely to click your affiliate link in your disclaimer). This also means you don't have to use as many links in your content and risk getting a penalized. Last year I donated $3,000 to Red Cross At Hurricane Harvey.
Thanks for the information. I didn't know there were affiliate programs that paid lifetime commissions before. I found one however and it has been working out good so far. Tracking is done by cookies but once the customer makes a purchase then their email address is permanently linked to me so if they switch computers it doesn't matter. I hope it works out. Thanks.
Email marketing: Email is a proven winner for many affiliate marketers. As an affiliate startup, you can start a free email account with MailChimp, Drip or another email marketing service and gather email addresses on your website and use email marketing to send informative affiliate content and targeted product promotions to subscribers from day one.
I honestly think some of us just have non-buying audiences. Some of that may be a matter of how or what we write but some of it might just be the niche. There are some niches that seem to just go hand-in-hand with spending money — home décor, for instance. My niche is largely broke moms from large, single-income families. They don't HAVE money to spend if it's not on essentials. So there's got to be a balance, I think, between recognizing what we could do differently to improve conversions, and recognizing the reality of our audiences.
Target 1-2 Keywords Per Article – until you can successfully rank for 1 keyword for an article, don't try targeting 2. Once you get the hang of it and are ready to write an article around 2, choose a secondary keyword that is a synonym of your primary keyword. An example would be "Slow WordPress Site" and "Why Is WordPress Slow." Then craft your article title/SEO title/meta description to mention individual words of each – while making them read nicely.
Cryptocurrency or digital currency is the next big thing in currency trading. It's a digital asset that is used as a method to pay for things, that isn't run by a government or institution. Bitcoin is the most well known digital currency and was trading at $200 per Bitcoin back in 2013. Now it is worth over $17k and is expected to be worth well over $1m in 2022.
Dependency: This is the biggest con, so pay attention! Affiliate marketers depend on the merchant to make their money. If there were no merchants or affiliate programs, the possibility of being an affiliate marketer would not exist. It even becomes more frustrating if for one reason or the other a merchant suddenly stops running the business or their affiliate program. This can potentially deprive the affiliate marketer of his one-time steady source of income.
If you try to sell a product that is in low demand then chances are that you are not going to get many sales no matter how hard you try. So it is a good idea to spend a bit of time researching and finding out if a product that you are thinking of promoting is a product that your audience needs. If your site gets decent traffic then you can conduct an online survey and easily get input from your visitors.
There are loads of resources for making money online as an affiliate. You could source products from ClickBank, Commission Junction, Rakuten Marketing, Share-a-Sale, Impact Radius and many others. Plus, many of the larger companies have their own affiliate programs as well. Do your due diligence and find the right company with a relevant product or service to your audience that you can sell as an affiliate.
Advertising. You'll need to get the word out about your sewing business, and one of the best places to start is with your friends and neighbors. Make sure they are all aware of your services and are willing to pass around your business cards. In addition, you should put up fliers in local fabric stores and get to know the employees so that if someone asks, they'll be able to refer you. Any business needs a website, and yours will be no exception; you can put up a simple one that outlines what you do, and tells the reader what kinds of prices to expect. Finally, by joining organizations like the American Sewing Guild, you'll be able to stay in touch with others who are doing the same thing as you.
Of course you want affiliates with high commissions, but they should also have a solid reputation with high conversions and low reversal rates (you get $0 if people cancel after signing up). If they're part of an affiliate marketplace like ShareASale or ClickBank you can see some numbers there. Companies likes Amazon/SiteGround are safe bets, otherwise do your research (or track your affiliate links so you can monitor their performance). Avoid affiliates offering huge commissions since this probably means they're struggling to acquire/retain customers naturally. This will hurt your numbers (specifically your conversions/reversal rates).
Job Boards. When you're first starting out, you'll have to go looking for work, and the best place to do that is on one of the online job boards. Places like Guru, Elance, Freelancer, and oDesk are today's writers' best friends. They allow individuals and businesses to post projects, and freelancers to bid on them. Take a look around the sites, sign up for the free access in the beginning, and then begin to place bids on the projects that interest you. It will take some trial and error to find your groove, but once you do, the jobs will start to roll in.
Partners that sell services generally pay a flat fee when a user signs up. Sometimes, partners pay if a user signs up for an email newsletter or free trial. Others only pay if the user pays for a service. Typically, the higher payouts are things that are harder to sell. For example, website hosting can be a harder sell than various Amazon services. So, hosting affiliates tend to pay more, but you may not sell as many plans per month as Amazon services. That all depends on your audience and content.
A niche affiliate site often presents like an eCommerce store. To get started with an affiliate site, choose your niche then display products with pictures, descriptions, and prices, just as you would on an online store. However, when visitors click the 'buy' button, they will be taken directly to Amazon, to make the purchase. You then make an affiliate fee for sending the traffic to Amazon but have none of the packaging hassle, or initial financial output creating or buying the products.
Great post, Sean! I have been using Adsense for the most part for two years now and each year, due to great content, my income has doubled. Thanks for all the great content, and this is sure to open my eyes a bit more to the likes of Amazon, which, I will admit, I have been ignoring due to the way they treat their affiliates. But, maybe it's just me being a turd….
Once you have a little bit of money, you need to start investing it. The goal, of course, is to turn your investments into a passive income stream that will pay you for the rest of your life. It doesn't take much to get started. You can get started investing with as little as $1 with these free investing apps. Then, add another $100 each month and you'll grow your nest egg into something powerful.
Nicely written and so helpful info. Having too much advertisement in a site is so painful for visitor cause it makes the site look cheaper. Instead, If one can limit the number of one's advertisement and have some affiliation it would be way cool and wouldn't be so harsh for the visitors . You have shared some significant point for affiliate marketing . Thanks for sharing
The most traditional way an affiliate makes money is by receiving a certain commission or fee each time their partner receives a click or sale. For example, if a blogger mentions Product X's company in a post, and Product X receives 1,000 click-throughs from the blogger's site to theirs, then the blogger will make a certain amount of money off each click. The amount the blogger will make is based on their following and perceived credibility in their niche. However, some affiliate marketers will choose to be paid a flat rate for dropping the name into the post.
Improving communication, which leads to business growth. We all know what it's like to have an avalanche of messages waiting in our inbox or voicemail, which makes it hard to stay up to date on everything necessary. As a virtual assistant, your job could be to make sure every important email gets a good reply in good time, which can help a business build trust among its customers and employees.
But it literally changed my life… I moved out of my parent's house (sigh) into a nice studio in downtown Denver, bought my first car (a Mercedes c300), adopted 2 kitties, and my credit raised 45 points. I also donated $6,000 to GoFundMe campaigns. I'm a humble dude but in affiliate marketing, the numbers do the talking. So… I want to show you how I did it. Enjoy :)
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Glad it was helpful, Kimberly! Yes, from what I understand they use an affiliate program for 1-2 links in some cases. For example, I use scrapbook.com's affiliate program for that one bunting how-to but I don't really blog about my scrapbooking so that'll probably be all I used it for. I was also concerned about having so many, but for old posts that still get a lot of traffic, it's a good idea!
Finances. You need to be good at quick math and be able to make quick decisions. You have to be careful how much you pay for a book, and then keep careful track of the expenses involved in selling it. For instance, when you sell on a website, they'll take a commission from the sale. In addition, some sites, like eBay, will charge you a listing fee for each book. If you request that your money be deposited via PayPal, then you'll be charged a transaction fee per book. If you're not careful, the fees will quickly negate your profits.
22. Advertising – This is definitely the most old-school way of earning money with a blog. It's also starting to become the least common way. You can sell advertising spots directly on your site or you can sign up with a company like Google AdSense or Media.net. Either way, you won't see a whole lot of money from ads until your views are well into the thousands each day.
4) The Site's Niche – Check out Commission Junction and Clickbank… and you'll see that there is virtually an endless list of products you can promote. However, the "Best-Selling" or "Top Products" from affiliate networks shouldn't be the only deciding factor when picking your site's niche. Choosing a niche for your affiliate site should involve more research and analysis than that. After all, the success of your site relies mostly on your topic's level of demand and how well you take advantage of your readers' needs.
A site called User Testing will actually pay you a fee to evaluate websites. It typically pays you $10 for each video that you review – which typically takes about 20 minutes. If the work is there, and you are particularly good at it, you could earn up to $30 per hour. That's a pretty solid pay rate for a work-at-home job. You wouldn't have to work a whole lot of hours to generate a decent part-time monthly income.
Previously known as Affiliate Window but now officially referred to as "AWIN" after acquiring Zanox a few years ago, this network claims to work with over 13,000 active advertisers and 100,000 publishers (affiliates). Founded in Germany, AWIN's merchants primarily hail from Europe (especially Great Britain) although the U.S. network is growing rapidly. AWIN is currently active in 11 countries.
Tip 20. Learn New Things Rise Above the Competition. There's always competition out there and there's no better way to make people notice you than rising above the rest. This can be as simple as releasing a new hot article every week about the trending things in your market, or it could be just as easy as truly helping people with their desires and needs. Showing people you're on the forefront of the market will allow you to be the go to source for their needs and wants.
If you're a fitness buff and have the right combination of charisma and business sense, working as a part-time online personal trainer can be both physically and financially rewarding. Once you build up a reputation and client base for yourself, it could easily turn into a full-time endeavor for you. Check out this interview with several fitness blog owners who are making a living online, from MonetizePros. As well, I'd recommend checking out this resource if you want to take this business idea seriously and get started with a business plan for your personal fitness trainer business today.
Amazon Mechanical Turk is a service that lets you make money online through doing paid microtasks. Each task is something simple that requires human interaction like rating search results, checking for the right spelling on search terms, categorizing the tone of an article, or even basic translating. You can do these tasks from anywhere you want and make money online from the world's largest e-retailer.
This can include advertising, but many businesses also need help just filling up their social media profiles with relevant (and consistent) content. If you enjoy learning about social media and want to take things a step further and make extra money, social media management is a great option. If you're good at it, it can also open up a lot of doors for you down the road. This is a great article from Small Biz Trends on How to Start Your Own Social Media Business.
There are several ways to make money from your car such as taxiing people, renting your car, or advertising businesses. Run the numbers before using your car to make money, especially if you're driving more than usual because it might cost more than you earn to use your car as a money-maker. Factor in depreciation, wear and tear, and gas expenses when you decide if driving is a cost-effective way to make extra money.
If you've got some free time and don't live in the middle of nowhere, becoming a Lyft driver can be a very lucrative side hustle that allows you make money fast. And right now, they've got a promotion going on where any new driver will instantly get a $300 bonus after completing their 100th ride. If you start now and hustle hard on the weekends, you can probably unlock that bonus within a few weeks of driving (and that's in addition to your normal earnings).
Do you have a big ticket item or two that you only use part-time? We are living in an age of "peer sharing" which has opened a door to earning income from renting everything from RVs (Outdoorsy) to sailboats (see Sailo). This works for smaller items, too. KitSplit lets you lend out professional cameras. If you have a desirable item that costs more than the average person can afford, someone out there may be willing to pay to borrow it.
Last but not least, you can also earn money online by building an online community, although the monetization strategies you can pursue will vary a lot depending on your goals. You can build a community with a blog, for example. You can also build an online forum and charge people for membership. You could even build up a Facebook group and use your influence there to sell and promote products.
At the time, I had a ton of people reaching out wanting to hire me (I ranked my self #1 in Google for WordPress SEO Consultant, WordPress SEO Expert, many other good keywords). Unfortunately I struggled with basic things you need to run a service-based business… keeping track of clients, time management, and making sure I was charging clients for my time (and getting them to create content which often seemed impossible).
I was able to make my first online dollars through Amazon Affiliate sales… It was never much and in the beginning I was just excited to make $10 in a month, which was enough for a free ebook or two. With regular updates and link inclusions in my posts over time I was able to grow the number up to like $300 a month–which I was pretty happy with. Of course the payout rates are paltry compared to a sale of an info product like one from Unconventional Guides, etc. Thing is, people seem to be more open to purchasing physical products rather than information products…
The PENNY HOARDER℠, ℠, and ℠ are service marks of Taylor Media Corp. Other marks contained on this website are the property of their respective owners. Taylor Media Corp. is not licensed by or affiliated with any third-party marks on its website and they do not endorse, authorize, or sponsor our content except as noted herein. Please read our Privacy Policy and Terms of Service.
Robert said he did an average of 4-6 of these gigs per year for a while depending on his schedule and the work involved. The best part is, he charged a flat rate that usually worked out to around $100 per hour. And remember, this was pay he was earning to advise people on the best ways to use social media tools like Facebook and Pinterest to grow their brands.
A far more lucrative way to earn as an affiliate is to recommend high-quality digital products created by online entrepreneurs. The reason is simple: digital entrepreneurs offer as much as 50 percent commission — in fact, in many affiliate circles, 50 percent is expected. Many products created by individuals also sell at higher price points, anywhere from $19 to hundreds of dollars. That means you earn far more per sale.
There's a good reason why ClickBank is still a strong contender, however it does tend to focus more on digital products which may be of questionable quality. Yes, the review process is more professional these days, but it's still primarily focused on selling digital products, especially "how to make money" courses and the like. That being said, there are some genuinely high-quality products on offer, and few affiliate programs are bigger than ClickBank, especially in selling (primarily digital) books.
If you can find and restore items like furniture and appliances, you can make a substantial amount of money. You can acquire the items on Craigslist, or even at garage sales or estate sales, restore them, and then list them for sale on the site. You may also be able to market certain items on eBay, particularly if they are small, unusual, but high in price.
Test websites. Remote usability testing means getting paid to navigate a website for the first time and giving feedback to the website owner. Most tests take approximately 15 minutes, and you can get paid up to $10 for each test. A test involves performing a scenario on the client's website and recording yourself doing it. For example, you might be asked to go through the process of selecting and purchasing an item on a retailer's website.[1]
Hey. Yes you can use just one website to promote multiple affiliate programs, but I'd say that your website should focus on just one niche. So you mention, SellHealth, that would lead me to believe your site is about health and fitness. I would then advise you to stick to that niche rather than promoting unrelated products like dog leashes and fashion accessories.
The PENNY HOARDER℠, ℠, and ℠ are service marks of Taylor Media Corp. Other marks contained on this website are the property of their respective owners. Taylor Media Corp. is not licensed by or affiliated with any third-party marks on its website and they do not endorse, authorize, or sponsor our content except as noted herein. Please read our Privacy Policy and Terms of Service.
Online savings accounts usually come with substantially higher interest rates to help you grow your money faster (regular in-person banks can't offer rates as high). Banks like CIT Bank and Discover Bank (among other top players in the industry) are great because their interest rates are often over 20 times higher than the national average. That means the money in your savings account will grow 20 times faster than the pace it's most likely growing at now.
First I want to just say well done with what you have accomplished. You have done an amazing job. I'm not really one to post a comment on blogs as I'm sure everyone says. But the thing that struck me the most about you is I can tell your a great individual. You love cats, as my wife and I do. We also have rescue cats. You are a very generous and honest person and that is most likely why you also have done well. Very authentic and honest. I'm in the process of building an affiliate amazon site. So I can relate to the content side of things. I'm already a customer of siteground but If I wasn't I'd happily sign up through you. I have bookmarked your site as I'd like to come back and read a little more and keep an eye on your progress. Thanks for taking the time to write this post. It's one of the best blog posts I've read. Take care Tom
If you're willing to take on some risk and have the heart of a true hustler, you can make extra money online doing commission-only sales for startups and other businesses. While you won't be getting a regular salary, with the right sales strategies and skills as an inside sales rep, you can make decent money for each sale you bring in. And because you'll most likely be working with startups, if you can negotiate a little equity you could profit big time if you're pitching a solid product and the startup succeeds.


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Maze Ultima
You'll need use your logic and memory skills to run away from the labyrinth. Use arrow keys to move the green cube.
Favorite games
Zombie Rescue Time
Game of a lot of logical where you have to go following the secuenses withour repete them and without having any mistake
Break the correct blocks and help the blue block reaches the water on this logic game. INSTRUCTIONS: Use your Mouse.
Blo Boxy 2
Put the wood pieces in perfect balance and don't let them fall. Use logic to beat all the levels. Use the blue piece as a base. Use your mouse.
Wood Worker
Put the pieces correctly and try to keep them on the platforms until the time runs out. Use your mouse.
Money Balance
This funny little piggy needs your help to eat the maximum number of brains, and to go through those stages, using the rope in the stands to get it.
Piggy Wiggy 4 Zombie Edition
If you "escape" from the other game of the series that we leave a few days ago, here you have another new challenge, also set on Halloween... Use the mouse to play and interact.
Escape Game Halloween Horror 2
Use the arrows to move and push the blocks to the indicated places.
Your friends have been surrounded by the enemies and you have to find your way out. Use intuition and smartness to do it. Click on the objects and victims to see what happens when they move. Careful, if the enemy see you, they will shoot!
Find Your Way Out
Simple and funny logic game where you have to remove all the coloured monsters on every level. Place the explosives on the right spots and explode them to take down the enemies. INSTRUCTIONS: Use your Mouse.
Builder Boom
There are 13 parts in the machine that you can adjust with your monkey wrench to win the hamburger that you want.
Goldburger to Go
Use your logic and help these explorers to find their way out of the deepest Jungle. Use the mouse to move around and interact with objects and characters.
The Queen of Snakes
Wiju España
Free Online Games
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