Memories of A Summer Day On My Uncle’s Farm: A Poem

April 5, 2019 at 10:05 pm (Poetry) (, , )

Waking in the farm house on a summer day
The crowing of the rooster
The mooing of distant cows
And the glorious sunrise
The magnificent prairie sunrise
Whose rays burst like luminous fairies
Through the beautiful row of trees that faced the east side of the house

Breakfast of bacon and eggs whose aroma
Passed like an incense of delight through the house
After discovering the taste of paradise on the plates
Was an excellent offering to accompany the incense
It was outside in the yard with cousin Bill
And the dogs Trixie and Baldie
Then walking through fields of gold
As the wheat rose from the soil
Like golden arms waving to the sun above

Down to Rosebud Creek which flowed through valleys so green
On the other side of the creek
The remains of a castle
Built by a man called Levi Bone
An eccentric Englishman who came to the Canadian prairie
And decided to build himself a castle
And did so

Before sunset Bill and I would walk the country road that rolled west
From the farm house towards the horizon of the setting sun
And as we walked down hill through valleys so green
The sun would shine its rays on westward hills
above the valley
And fields of gold
would give way to colours of vibrant purple, red and blue
A landscape in truly living colour
that the Creator would paint each night

Those days were truly golden like the fields we walked through
And the rays of the sun that bid its adieu to us on distant hills.

-A poem written by Christopher
Friday April 5th 2019.

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Basil and The Basilisk: A Poem

March 26, 2019 at 10:56 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Poetry, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Basil was a farmer about his business
He milked the cows
fed the pigs
and gathered eggs of the chickens
But he did not enter the green barn
For the green barn contained a creature
he would have no dealings with.

The green barn was leased by Set Enterprises in London
Whatever experiments in that barn went beyond that sanctioned
by both God and man
Dr. Cadbury Rocher who showed up in a black Jaguar car one day
And then a red Jaguar car the next
And went around saying “The devil is in the details”
Gave Basil the farmer both a medieval bestiary
and the Naturalis Historia of Pliny the Elder
And marked pages saying, “Read, should you feel the inclination
to enter the green barn”

Now Basil’s Latin wasn’t exactly up to snuff
(his wife had cured him of the irritating habit of sticking
tobacco up his nose and then sneezing when they were first married)
but J.K. Rowling occasionally came to the Farmers’ Market in a nearby town to shop
So he asked her to translate from the original Latin

What he heard from Rowling turned his hair on end
He told his wife what he had heard
And both agreed they should never enter the green barn

Not of course they had any inkling to do so before
For a giant rooster in a cage had been taken into the barn
and then a giant snake in a cage
Then the sound of two different species but same genders co-mingling
in the night
While the Baphomet stood outside the barn saying,
“Everything is all right,
We need to open our minds
And cast aside old prejudices”
Pope Francis gave his apostolic blessing
via satellite transmission
and the Mayor of San Francisco said
This was bringing tears to his eyes

One night a man came to the farmhouse door
claiming to be a traveling guru
And asking food and shelter for the night
Basil and Bella agreed.

“There is no God”, the guru assured them with the solemnity of a Richard Dawkins
And then smiled,
“For God is within”
He took some Rolaids tablets for his heartburn
“There is no Devil either,” the guru smiled, “We create our own gods and devils. Good and evil are within us.”
He chewed some Exlax tablets
“And then project those outwards on to our surroundings”
“Where is your washroom?” The guru asked Farmer Basil
for the aftereffects of the externally applied medication
turned out to be fast acting.

“And there are times we are called upon to run like the wind”
The traveling guru remarked as he ran up the stairs

When he came back, he asked, “Where should I sleep?”
“I hope you don’t mind the kitchen floor,” Farmer Basil replied,
“For we only have the one bedroom and my wife and I
just bought the Dracul Van Helsing Guide To Tantric Sex and are looking forward to applying it tonight”
“We just watched MP Renfield R. Renfield on the telly tonight,” Bella smiled, “he was complaining about the fact that Van Helsing had tantric sex with the current heiress to the Queen of Sheba’s throne in Jerusalem last Saturday and then had tantric sex with the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec during a raging sea storm on the Isle of Patmos last night”

“Such astounding declarations make me wonder whether it was right for me to take the path of celibacy,” the guru had temporarily lost his beatific Buddha like smile
“What about the green barn over there?” The guru pointed outside,
“It seems very large. I could sleep there.”

“That is the habitat of the Basilisk,” Basil replied, “a creature of legend and mythology that has been resurrected in the modern world
thanks to the Transhumanist experiments of one Dr. Cadbury Rocher of
Set Enterprises”
“Basilisk?” The guru blinked.
“A serpent king that is a hybrid of a rooster and a serpent” Basil answered
“And like Empire actor Jussie Smollett,” Bella added, “is immune to criminal prosecution since it’s considered politically incorrect to do so.”
Basil went on, “The Basilisk is so venomous, it leaves a wide trail of deadly venom in its wake. And its gaze is likewise lethal.”
“The sort of entity that Bill Clinton would marry but not have an extramarital affair with,” Bella pointed out.

“Well, I ain’t afraid of no Basilisk,” the guru paraphrased a lyric from the theme song to the original 1984 Ghostbusters movie.
Basil and Bella looked at him.
“Like I’ve been trying to tell you, we create our own reality,” the guru said, “Like attracts like. Positive attracts positive. Negative attracts negative. I shall enter the green barn with positive thoughts and no harm shall come to me.”
The guru entered the barn.
There was no noise.

Basil and Bella went back into the farmhouse.
The next morning a Set Enterprises team came out like they did every morning
Dressed like Star Wars Imperial Stormtroopers in their protective suits
They carried out the body of the guru
who had turned to stone
Under the Basilisk’s venemous gaze
(As did creatures under Medusa’s gaze of old)

The Basilisk was obviously not subject to whatever reality
The guru thought he could create
with his own mind.

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday March 26th
2019.


Bella has gazed on many things but will not gaze on the Basilisk

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When Cultures Meet: Reflections On Love, War and Conquest – A Short Poem

March 24, 2019 at 10:21 pm (love, Movies, Poetry, Romance) (, , )

War can conquer a man’s body and surroundings
But it is the dance that conquers a man’s heart

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Haiku About Dostoevsky’s Vision of Future Communism In Russia

March 22, 2019 at 10:11 pm (Commentary, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Religion) (, , , , , , , )

Fire in minds of men
Blood and revolution come
Hell will replace Christ

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Yaldabaoth On Saint Patrick’s Day

March 17, 2019 at 10:55 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Life, love, News, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , )

Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun was celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day the same way he celebrated every other day of the year.

By drinking too much.

Yaldabaoth lay under a tree.

At his left hand, he had his pint of Guinness.

At his right, his pot of gold.

Two men, a Brussels bureaucat and a London bureaucrat walked down the middle of the field where the tree was located.

They were measuring for a hard border in case of a no-deal Brexit.

The measuring tape passed over the midpoint of Yaldabaoth’s body.

His pint of Guinness was now on one side of the border.

And his pot of gold was on the other.

The two bureaucrats came back singing and vendoring their respective wares.

“Brussels sprouts and Belgian waffles,” the EU bureaucrat cried out, “Brussels sprouts and Belgian waffles.”

“English Breakfast Tea and Cockney Kids Fish and Chips,” the London bureaucrat cried out, “English Breakfast Tea and Cockney Kids Fish and Chips.”

Yaldabaoth picked up both his pint of Guinness and his pot of gold.

No border was going to separate them.

He went to a nearby pub in the Republic of Ireland.

There he watched New York City’s Saint Patrick’s Day Parade live on TV.

The demons Baal and Baphomet were riding a New York State Democratic Party float.

Baal was eating a bucket of fried human baby fingers and a side order of fried human baby toes.

Baphomet was drinking green beer (what sort of Irish-American abomination is Green beer? Yaldabaoth thought to himself) and mooning passersby with his/her very hairy behind.

When the parade was over, Yaldabaoth walked north of the border to the graveyard of Down Cathedral in the town of Downpatrick in the province of Armagh.

There to visit Saint Patrick’s Grave.

No one was at the grave except a beautiful young woman wearing a long black dress.

The woman held a rosary in her hands.

She held up the Crucifix and said, “Oh blessed Saint Patrick, as many across the world mention your name in passing between pints of beer, I’m here to sing and praise the One you sang, praised and talked about throughout your entire life…”

The woman sang with sweet melodious voice,

“You were the Word at the beginning
One with God the Lord Most High
Your hidden glory in creation
Now revealed in You our Christ

What a beautiful Name it is
What a beautiful Name it is
The Name of Jesus Christ my King

What a beautiful Name it is
Nothing compares to this
What a beautiful Name it is
The Name of Jesus

You didn’t want Heaven without us
So Jesus you brought Heaven down
My sin was great, your love was greater
What could separate us now

What a wonderful Name it is
Nothing compares to this
The Name of Jesus Christ my King

How sweet is your name, Lord, how good you are
Love to sing in the Name of the Lord, love to sing for you all
Death could not hold you, the veil tore before you
You silenced the boast of sin and grave
The heavens are roaring the praise of Your glory
For you are raised to life again

You have no rival, you have no equal
Now and forever, our God reigns
Yours is the Kingdom, Yours is the glory
Yours is the Name above all names

What a powerful Name it is
What a powerful Name it is
The Name of Jesus Christ my King

What a powerful Name it is
Nothing can stand against
What a powerful Name it is
The Name of Jesus Christ my King…

. . .

Yaldabaoth put down both his pint of Guinness and his pot of gold when he heard the song.

A shudder went through him.

This was obviously one powerful King that this woman was singing about.

He hoped he never got on the wrong side of this King.

He left the Guinness and the gold in the graveyard.

And walked back to the other side of the border.

He thought back to the New York City Saint Patrick’s Day Parade he had watched on TV earlier.

And thought back to Baal and Baphomet.

Where, he wondered, did they stand in relation to this King the woman sang of?

Were they on His wrong side?

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday March 17th
2019.

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The Siren of The Sea Plays A Sweet Melody: A Poem

March 13, 2019 at 10:16 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Literature, love, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural) (, , )


A Sea Spell 1877 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

A great beauty was she
The Siren of the Sea
who played sweet melody

Her fingers played softly each tender string
And with melodious voice she did sing
Birds of the sea flew to hear her
Sailors landed on rocks just to be near her
So tenderly tenderly she played the cords of the lute
while caught in her long flowing hair was forbidden fruit
A garland of flowers adorned her head like a sacred crown
Luminosity shone like the sun off her golden gown

Oh divine beauty, how can it be?
I’m here with you, you’re here with me
when music plays like golden rays
And with tender eyes you gaze
Then on your lap, I’d gladly lie
as the sea waves dance to the seagull’s cry.

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday March 13th 2019.

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Reblog of The Sailing Ship: A Poem

March 3, 2019 at 11:15 pm (Life, Literature, Poetry) (, )

Here’s a poem I wrote 3 years ago today:

Dracul Van Helsing

The Sailing Ship: A Poem

Sail ahead to distant shores when yonder morning breaks
with wind at your back, listen to the cry that the screeching seagull makes
and sail on into waters of deep crystal blue
venture forth to destinations new
It is a time when the world is wide
so beckon to the surging tide

The mast is your guide
to horizons wide
white sails against skies of blue
they’re your towers- the world to view
and take the brunt of gray skies and stormy seas too

Poseidon’s realm stretches most of the globe
the sites to be seen- what tales to be told
Dolphins and Krakens, mermaids and sirens
aquatic femme fatales- they be a bitin’
Inviting you to Davy Jones’ locker- grave of missing Titan

This is the age of true adventure
where shark makes of mate’s leg a gaping denture
Whales spout
fish about
The…

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Between The Moon and Sixpence: A Poem

March 2, 2019 at 10:29 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Film, Life, love, Movie Reviews, Movies, Poetry, Romance, Theology) (, )

What lies between the moon and sixpence?
A pair of broken hearts?
A man who no longer loves his job selling in the City
A man who sacrifices all for art
His wife, children and comfortable home
Leaves London for the Bohemian haunts of Paris

But the biggest thing he left behind is his soul and his humanity
He is not kind, he is not cruel
He is indifferent
Which is the cruelest cruelty of all

But he is called a genius by a fellow artist
The same man whose wife he steals
And then abandons like yesterday’s canvas
Leaving behind a broken heart that takes its own life
How can he who paints such beauty be capable of such cruelty?

That is the eternal question
A man once thought that a watch left on the beach must have a creator
The same man applied it to the cosmos
This cosmos must have a creator
But for that watch on the beach
what was its maker like?
Was he cruel?
Was he kind?
We know not.
The same applies for the cosmos.
If a maker the cosmos has
Is he cruel? Is he kind?
Iago in Verdi’s Otello says he serves a cruel god
The explanation (that Shakespeare never offered)
As to why Iago told such lies about Desdemona to his friend Othello

That is the ultimate horror
If the cosmos a creator has
is ultimately a cruel being
Rather than face that horror
that’s why many atheism and agnosticism embrace
Though ironically in Transhumanism modern
The theory is posed,
We all live in a computer generated matrix
But then who created that matrix?

To substitute God for ultimate Virtual Reality designer
The question of kindness and cruelty remains unanswered

Lucifer was an artist
That ultimate rebel
For only an artist can seduce
The Satan of the Book of Job was the fallen Archangel Samael
An angelic lawyer who fell
like lawyers are prone to do
He takes away and scatters
But he cannot seduce
like Lucifer the Devil did to Eve
He promises beauty and godhood
But cannot deliver
for he is ultimately not the source of both

Between the moon and sixpence
our artist anti-hero decides Paris is not
and goes to Tahiti
that South Pacific paradise
And will he finally find Paradise there?

There he finds Ata a South Seas woman
and there he says words he’d never thought he’d speak, “Love”
And there the man paints Eden
on the walls of his hut
Towards the end of his life he becomes kind
Not cruel
Not indifferent
For genius on its own can never find Paradise
It needs to hold the hand of Love

Angst ridden artists, poets and musicians history has seen many
Some have seduced and left broken hearts by the thousands
Others were kind and compassionate
The ability to create is a form of beauty
It is alluring
And with its allure
comes the ability to seduce

Creating beauty is only true when mixed with love and kindness
And leaves the perturbing question
Was the Creator of the Cosmos one with love?

To create a cosmos so vast and all encompassing
We mortal beings cannot comprehend such a Creator
Surely a giant?
Or maybe a phony hiding behind a curtain like that wizard of Oz?

The instances of love we can comprehend
Such as a child in its mother’s arms
The smile of the child towards mother
And the smile of the mother towards child

And that is why Oscar Wilde
whose Dorian Gray showed so shockingly how art and beauty could be used for evil
embraced as Creator the Babe who was born in Bethlehem
In whose humanity and divinity, Love and Intellect are one.

-A poem written by Christopher
Saturday March 2nd
2019
inspired by watching
the 1942 movie
The Moon and Sixpence

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Nice Work On The Trinity Case, Mr. Albion: A Poem

February 22, 2019 at 11:57 pm (Crime, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Film, Movies, Mystery, Poetry) (, , , )


“Nice work on the Trinity case, Mr. Albion.”

They came to Hollywood by the dozens
In search of fame and fortune
Positive they’d be the next goddess of the silver screen
Girls from the mid-west, girls from the northeast, girls from the south,
Girls from Canada
and girls from Mexico.

Such a girl was Trinity Esperanza
From Mexico City
19, she’d come to Hollywood with stars in her eyes
A week later
She had disappeared
A woman from another country
disappeared?
Who cares was the attitude here

Her disappearance wasn’t even reported in the press here
Just another foreigner who disappeared
Carson Cody Albion Private Eye would not have known about it
Unless the girl’s grandmother hadn’t shown up in his office

“Please find Trinity,” She begged
As she emptied her purse on the table
And with all the money sitting there
Albion looked down at the table
And counted the money in his head
$37.42

“Mrs. Esperanza,” he poured himself another glass of bourbon,
“How much money do you have in your bank account?”
” $37.42″, she answered.
Albion looked at her,
Drank the glass of bourbon
Lit himself a cigarette
And blew smoke at the ceiling
Where the fan quickly dispersed it to the 4 corners of his world-
his office.

“Put your money away,” he told Mrs. Esperanza, “this one’s on the house.”

Like all cases involving disappeared girls and Hollywood
The answer involved sex slaves and lecherous Hollywood producers
For what lay behind the red moviehouse theatre curtains
and the silver screen
was not silver
And definitely not gold

Images of dead Presidents on paper was the currency
And a lot of it
That was the language of Hollywood
Behind the scenes

Carson Cody Albion found Trinity
A prostitution ring that catered to those who lived behind the pearly gates of Beverly Hills
Paradise to those who owned the place
But Hell for some of those who worked there

Albion found Trinity
And after negotiating with the producer
Trinity was freed.
The price?
The real Maltese Falcon from that film a few years back.
Turned out the producer was a big fan of movies made by rival studios.

Albion’s burglary skills came in handy
and not even Sherlock Holmes could have solved the case
Basil Rathbone had other roles to play

Of course no one in LA seemed to care that a young Mexican girl was found
Save when Albion delivered Trinity to Mrs. Esperanza
One customer in a barber shop reflected the thinking
in general
They ought to build a wall to keep those people out
Albion looked at the man from the barber chair where he sat
“Thank God,” Albion thought, “FDR sits in the Oval Office and not this man”.

One day Albion was wandering on the set of the movie Cover Girl
When Rita Hayworth of all people addressed him,

“Nice work on the Trinity case, Mr. Albion.”
So spoke the woman whose real name was Margarita Carmen Cansino.

And on this night
Carson Cody Albion sat in a bar
He decided to order a glass of wine for a change
Maybe it was time he showed a little class as an ex-girlfriend once said to him
“Class? What is it?” Albion asked himself as he lit a cigarette

He reached into his coat pocket to pay the bill
“Put your money away,” Julio the bartender said, “this one’s on the house.”

-A Private Eye Poem
written by Christopher
Friday February 22nd
2019.

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Reblog of Hey Little Groundhog: A Poem

February 3, 2019 at 11:19 pm (Celebrities, Entertainment, Folklore, Nature, Poetry) (, , )

Here’s a poem I wrote 3 years ago:

Dracul Van Helsing

Hey Little Groundhog: A Poem

Hey little groundhog, rise up from your sleep
lift your head from the hole and give us all a peep
Hey little groundhog, yes I’m calling you
we all want to know, is this winter through?
On that Candlemas morning, we’ll be watching you
you’re the prognosticator we’ll be listening to
Will it be 6 weeks?
Or early bathing streaks?
We’ll keep our eyes on you
and hope your shadow
isn’t coming out too.

-A poem written by Christopher
Monday February 1st 2016
In a personal message
To the groundhog
when he emerges
to see signs of his shadow
tomorrow February 2nd
Groundhog Day

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