The Velvet Glove

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    The Velvet Glove

    The velvet gloved hand, of the peaceful free thinking intellectual, can be more dangerous to tyranny and oppression than bullets, field artillery of a raging heart, chest bound pump organ filled with light, can from time to time, beat into dark, creating fear in those afraid to love and be loved,

    Organized religion, fed on by pulpit vultures, marching easily led lemmings, to the sea, a danger to the spirituality of those who fear not, most, going to hell, as they have been there. This is the foot beaten dance of the shaman who seeks to find, spirit,  yours and mine,

    Attention all you K-mart shoppers, special on unwanted souls, aisle nine. Your red light special just faded into blue. This is no place for the ecstatic heart beat, tried and true, from another time and place.

    Capitalism kills, and not same sex marriage.

    Now, what is abomination and disgrace,

    The wolves cry, howl, as the jackals of ignorance bite, draining blood this moon lit night, as the drum circle beats the rhythm divine, spurting fire blood, does fly, wetting the warm womb of night, as vampires’ dressed to the nines, go for the six, seven and eights, find a lovely neck to munch, as the bones of tenderness in such an unloving world go crunch, amplified, crushed, pain off the charts, out of sight.

    The shaman girls singing it, ding it dinging, digging it, doot, dah, doot, dah, dooley, ah, sa, sooo, dooot, as the flamboyant fire bubbles bend, into a heart shaped flame,

    Brian, turns formless fire, dancing flicker, flames, into formed heat, into heart, that layer esoteric riddles, organ, beating, dusty, covered, on the street, a picture of fire bubbles taken by a blind man, a fire mage, magic faery king, living Valentine, who can see more than most on a blazing, sun-lit, cloudless day, There is heaven on Earth. Is that the sleepy Catskills or the all too depraved Pocono’s?

    Yes, goddess and other holy old goats, On a clear day, you can see forever. Those who spit off of scrapers from the sky, to they, sit in and of judgment of their fellow beings on high.

    Don’t that just make the dominoes fall. That’s how the cookie crumbles. Catch the 22 to uptown, or is that down, Yes Sara Palin, if you were the president, would the intern be going down on you. Moo! What is that smell” Oh it’s you. Must be all that blubber, whale sperm that lets you sip away from the truth,

    Ain’t that the cats meow, those perfectly proportioned big tittles with whipped cream, seeing, that all too sacred triumph of the will, scream, because your triumph, narrow mind, makes GLBT children mourn, for others, beaten, tied, jumped off ledges and window sills, out of their minds, and in fights because all Americans deserve their rights, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

    Oh yeah sister, you are no treasure, but quite the find! Tho we agree, one supposes in kind because Ppiness put the Happi in happiness.

    One lone poet writing, me in the human menagerie, from the heart of an open and loving mind, earth of the mother, breeze of the air, fire from the mountain, spirit of the soul and water of the sea, bringing out the soulful writer in me,

    Words of the poet can be more deadly to regimes that have lost their soul, than a legion of gun-toting commandos. Republics fall like pussy on prom night, only the players are Chase, Manhattan, Morgan, Fargo, Lehman Brothers, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

    Evil men do not wish to truly educate the people, even though they speak of education out of one side of their mouths, as they look into the mirror of many faces, disgraces, while spewing hatred from yet another,

    The powerful will blackmail the people with fear, oil and even food to maintain the status quo because they know this circus of clowns is a brothel full of ho’s,

    There is free thought, OK freedom at bargain prices, as much of it drowns in devilish vices like organized religion, principles feigned, a narrow minded ship of fools gone in sane, floating on an ocean of melting ice caps and acid rain,

    The winds of change may raise human hearts and minds to the way of reason, that which fights for the agenda of the narrow-minded, treason, then Dick Cheney’s friends may well be in season,

    Paragons of moral virtue, the government , people we, the rich want to drive the poor to the sea, those who express not religion but their spirituality, guilty they are pronounced from churches you see, those worthy of compassion, are insulted by ruling class pity,

    I am not the one out there trying to convert others, but I am out there trying to suggest that to make those who covet the public trust live up to the promise of freedom by changing through my own efforts, that which stabs Lady Liberty in the heart."

    The Faery King

    “To those who say that the 60's Liberals and Radicals are done, I guess you have no idea of what a second wind is for a runner, do you?” The Faery King

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    FaeryKing’s Poems (17)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Evolution, Poem For An Indigo Heart 0
    Liberation 1
    Late And Growing 3
    Pastor's Poison 2
    The Velvet Glove 0
    The Poet 2
    Water Spirit And Ancestors 1
    Confessions To A Goddess By The Faery King 1
    Attila's Theme 0
    Ode To You my Goth Empress (A Hot One) 3
    Sage Burns 4
    Heart of Darkness 4
    Basil's Verse -2
    A Good Remember When 0
    Valentine of True Love 0
    Amazonian Beauty 0
    Writer's Curse 3