A Brains Poetry

By Stephen Dilley

My verbal composition designed to convey experiences, ideas, or emotions in a vivid and imaginative way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514437551

Book preview

HEAVEN

What dreams may become of a dreamer too another dimensional realm—Shangri-la—where spirits coexist with endless divine love and boundless joy, living within planets with the creator’s plans through all universal galaxies, there where they stargaze in their Zions with imaginative eyes and minds. There angels dwell in lands of fancies, among many mansions’ world yards, Just waiting to someday get the ticket to see Jehovah in the open pearly gates.

HADES

The flaming furnace, the heat, turns on. Burning hay, now in Hades’ smelters, turned on, frying coal, grilling barbecue, underpants now in the underworld. Fahrenheit boiling, pitcher water, then poured ice-cold, fires are extinguished with fire extinguishers—know more pits. Purgatory’s real, the fallen vanish—no more Hades.

RESURRECTION

The lost soul, I wept; where had I been all those years, playing at pastime life with the family’s neighbors? I thought if only I could be alive again, with sprit, thinking life right then to reminisce past with funsters, sledding in slush every winter day, but that would soon pass, for they died off in the cold

ice with their lordly prince, my golden families all gone, just in the flash of time.

I thought very hard then to die hard in a glacial epoch; then wistful smiles sprits had, visons

truth alive in ghostly night, holy white lambs waiting, to find the shepherd king, no longer in the news obituary, or under the gravestone.

But wrongful I had been to die simultaneously, parallel life, to different Chrono- machines.

Past, present, and future are linked—conk-conk—stabbed and then I burned, in the fiery chair, the timekeeper

restarts.

Learning I was alive again, not only cloned then time froze, cold fire of, morning star lit set in the future morning, then with glee, seeing holiness, an old goat whitish in sandy mirror. Then peeking through cabin window, cold fire burned, only to dance with wolves in the woodland. Then dancing with wolves again and their cold fire, crying out burr’ howling pecking at frozen, dry slushy bodies, stark naked in cold fire that burned with woodsman. Who pecked at holy frozen, souls, that burn crying burr.

Then came the future slow but sure, where foes

tried again to burn me in the hot fiery chair, and then crucified me

to the steeple cross; then cinder, soot, and ash came to life, just blue inside and out then death-struck.

Where the weather rained hail, sometime later pouring gay, rainy rainbows—know, slimy rain, very sublime,

good-tasting water like limes, sour souls attached,

. . . resurrection soon to be, then the snow fell.

Snowed Skylines, glacial epoch again thereby, reindeer sleds. Creation flashbacks—oh, sunny days, father’s sunshine, where I was proudest, yet handy, therefore handsome. Then the living statue

was formed by the molding of skeleton, with cast sculpted with masonry tools; hew, hew marble statue, with goldy leaf paint with more masonry tools, very marvelous chiseling

away. Presto! My grand masterpiece geometrically mastered, with art tools among bold,

living statues again, alive again walking again

Righteousness birthed christen apostles to change all humans of their godly and ungodly.

Walk, walk with’ holy gentiles

now immortal highlanders prancing dancing in highland snow peaks—snow, snow, ice age, and then ancestry resurrected, always frozen in time.

VENGEANCE

Kept in a crypt till the final walk, I squeezed my fist so the heart bled out like a man slit all around after being nabbed and then viciously stabbed by the bloody, brazen spear. There, as troops held their phalanx, I heard the agonized rushing of millions of

heathens, bloodthirsty from their carnivorous nature. Carnivores: they’re thirstier, with more bloodlust,

wanting to eat till nothing is left from a plank of flesh left on the razon, bloody spear.

Vengeance in my heart boiled like acid from a battery, bubbling like boiled gooses. Then I broke free, waking in the nightfall of the dream zone shivering to the very bone, fearful in my skeletal body.

Walking, I heard the grim reaper chant his hectic curse, clenching his boomerang scythe, scything away in circular motion.

So he slayed, slashing and then whacking rival men till I found the torch, swerving in motion, holding the blade in firm hand. Jab, jab, stab, stab like juicy,

well-done steak, only bone,

chiseling to the bone, crumbling now— crumbly, frying with torch afire. And then the reaper fell with his silver mask. Vengeance there laying slain,

all too insane.

Time standing still, clocks moving slow but sure, futurism coming fast yet furious,

the day the Earth stood still.

Standing together as noble saints, standing bold with Excalibur swords of many,

swords among rival horned Nybbas.

Good, old, sunny days were gone by then—than outer darkness days. Time stood still once more, time clocks frozen, hourglass runny sand draining, the future coming fast yet more fearful

of Nybbas consuming their ghouls with his trident tableware. Ghouls came against the peasant rivalry, so they

enslaved their hordes for their slaves’ long hard toil. Swords then

flickered against their rival Nybbas, lancing and prancing away on there horse. Hordes of ghouls came with distasteful knives—chop-chop— all the more choppy, all the

more ghouls to butch and butch from a butcher, skewer pitchforks that plucked and stifled the marching band of pitiful, rebellious saints, chewing and then nibbling raw, or the

ghouls. And then the angel battalion rise by their two-edged swords, battling the rival, jittery Nybbas, as they hid in their mole holes.

Secluded cowards they were, one day to be victorious.

With devilish pitchforks, they were roasted then to be toasty, seared barbecue.

The thievery of dark, troublesome ghouls took all robbing so they should find,

piercing on,

more ghoulishness from the fiendlike ghouls covering their cryptic graveyard, to beatify those dead from the church, now deceased, shady yellow but spooked and then spooky gloomy. Moonlight on Hallows’ Eve arrives at midnight tonight. Then Superman arises, tugging his super cape, and

with his Superman strength, he lifts fellow

souls fighting against bad saints; Christ he be. Bonfires, like light bulbs, turn on—tricks for tricksters, very tricky.

Will you send me a fairy or Christ? and "Will someone save the