re types of eternity, and infinity, and notes,

Re: types of eternity and infinity, notes to ,

  Atheists and   others won't be accept by eternity!
         it's  they who  rejected it!
                                                    rejected her


  Eternity took her hand  held
            opening the door to infinite sky


only cowards don't believe life continues
        after breathing halts
     punching life down to its smallest cause
              reductive death
               that's cowardice, nihilism, another ism,

               bravery's believing in the great

  god held the long sky
                  where her soul ran to sing
                            her holy breath

courage requires life in the face of universal infamy and death


_____________________ Do you think you're too hard on atheists?
                                               No  not at all it's they who are too harsh on life
                                                          it's they who made their own grave
                                                                       sinking in the tomb

                                                                    death's  a little sham
                                                                                not something you and I believe  nor accept
                                                                     your molecules and hers theirs won't shatter
                                                                     nor will her soul's memories die away
                                                       but in eternity's grace will rebuild
                                                                   and the soul waiting but not waiting in eternity's
                                                                                         ever breathing open skies
                                                                                              As if someone I loved could die to this stupid world
                                             stupid world of injustice
                                   ugly cruel world of no sense nor the the bombed ones nor the ill ones
                      from the moment of breathing
                                       nor the long shadow of war and the ugliness of tyrant and greed
                       wealth the dirty tawdry game of  and the comparision
                                    the false she's escaped this
                                                moved on to something higher better greater
                                            where no suffering is
                         t he sun heals forever never burns
                                  nor cries of fog and danger

                                                       she is that light angel footstep to the sky


death you ...


                death you are not mighty 


(  you're a second rate thug,

                       used by the corner boys keeping the one down)


O where is thy sting?


                                      She has flown to eternity



Re: do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place


Re do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place

More like Mister Bunn... n  'd be a good place to leave off the road spiralling into the future
 where death is not a pavement for the ordinary person
        not this filthy stamping out of the so called naturalists who hurt the dead
                       with the  view
       kindling the fire

but you know like I do it's just another room a chamber  a place, a home, a palace, a mansion
                                     a range, a belvedere, a porch,
                      an approach
                             to seeing the universe

                                 off the balcony of the cosmos


this is getting to be ...Re: Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?


this is getting a bit  ...

         yes it is  so
                                 what herald holds her hat
                  if she thinks making love to someone'll help she's wrong
                         she's in the long arms
                       another woman
                                whose loving sighs
                                       and that extra moment of opening world
                                               space categorized by the tip of her finger
                                                         your mouth makes for  a same lover's kiss
                                                              a kiss you never had except from another woman
                                                                            whose loving arms your wondered for all night
                                                                                            tonight each night holding
                                                                                                          round the wondering
                                                                                                          of cheap rent
                                                                                                                because three was one
                                                                                                                                   was two
                                                                                                                            because it was
                                                                                                                   you and me


do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place


 Re: ' ... be not proud ...'  Don(ne) is  a good place to 

          start but not stop nor stay  geographies, rooms, interior paramours, rich, and mourir,
               the court the  ruff  roaring would be man of  late
                     latter era of the Shakespeherian rough bear swilling bear baiting decade
                         nor the Spanish traveler the unfortunate Italian
                           and any poet worth his salt silt on the edge of map king size consigning

Mona has know time for these boot edges bastards of past time their rumbling nostalgia of empire now dragged out councils and cheap holidays in other people's misery nor do it end with the bend

and Brexit box of empire ending ending ever bending knew under the lash of Ism Ca ca pee pee ta Lism ism ism ism  
  ism  the monster fracture that you believe so many believe believe it will save you
    will save you
           your miles your homes your smiles your burials your bundles your laptops
                 your fantasy of culture ,
                          none but washed and rewashd under the torrent of filth like the spoken
                                        word nostalgia and  the written word malaise of the self
reflecting boobies
              that you stand and represent a failing death culture

                      stuck on its own nose navel

                                        O so O sir  we've no time for the dumbbell your sermons
                                     nor for the fantasies of the  dominant ideas of the day
                                             which are always those of the ruling class

 Jill won't join the weather jointers and their apocalypse of mania of paranoia of eclipsing planets
                  nor the whirligig of the dead

                              nor the athesists naysayers and the     'natural cause'                    




Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?


ReRe re
: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?

 it was a train/a bus
                  not a A cab
              or Uber Ubu   (in Poland which is nowhere)
             you were running in the rain
                           after your visit to the place of horror
                you returned learning nothing

                         your eyes full of commas,

                                          her shoulders
                                                               her ,


' ... be not proud ...'


DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,

And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,

And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

from the Holy Sonnets


O death,


O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?



Re: is it a bird plane a lover?

: is it a bird plane a lover?

  it's the plane of consistency

  Mona standing on her head the body without the fill-ins but the recording machines hum tum tum and ringing round the rigging and the words tugging at the

                               so it's the plane of consistency   you were seeing
                          lover of body and beauty



grief is ..

    grief is endless
          unless eternity picks it up





   reading this blog with a phone is misleading
                                 reading is riding
                                             with a phone it's  lessened

                                                    consulting with your phone is  a good place to start
                       but a  bad place  to continue 





    grief is endless




  its knot easy to have a  body
  or a  line of verse  stanza
  breaking the neck
of wounded womb
of here song