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An Internal Slant Rhyming Ballad from 1972

An Internal Slant Rhyming Ballad from 1972 A Former US Marine [1971-1972] ~ by John Gregory Evans © 5/14/2020 8:00:23 AM (5) 11 Line Stanzas, (1) 5 Line Envoi, the last line for each stanza a refrain. Envoi ddedE and the lines rhyme scheme = ababceddedE Stanza I I am fire fanning the flames of crucified flesh ~                                                             Unduly forsaken, hot, red, hallowed blood flow                         burns through a teen’s guiltless veins upon the cervical mesh,                                   I am the warrior drawn of courage ink wells scribing pains,                                        where death is not darkness but shooting darts, drop by drop for a liquified … Continue reading An Internal Slant Rhyming Ballad from 1972

Volume I ~ War & Peace: An Introduction to Brevity

Volume I Upon Reading Leo Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace:’ An Introduction in Brevity ~ Volume I Upon Reading Leo Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace:’ An Introduction in Brevity ~ 1852, diary notations, a historical account of 19th century Russia fueled the light of Leo Tolstoy, commanding as were his military demise, the Decembrist’s (Tolstoy’s own class), and a thirty-year exile, Siberian snow deputed wilderness, a friend and writer, then of the era of Nicholas the Ist, and Napoleon, thus  defeated within a Russian wilderness where winter exposed a death as no other to another gentry class, from a region called France. … Continue reading Volume I ~ War & Peace: An Introduction to Brevity

Spinal Con-fusion

Spinal Con-fusion: A Combat Therapy By John Gregory Evans © 5/12/2020 8:25:38 AM There remains a deadened, freezing, almost an anesthetizing sense of dread upon my fingertips and hands, reaching deep into my leg’s nerves, shattered spinal cord, peeled away as one peels an orange. Walking, now a challenge, con-fusion of the fusion, cervical cord, Ruptured and bruised, arrogance of the humanity factor. Pain within the eyes like lightning fingers to the crown – of God. At night, now, I lay awake, not to pity myself, But to personify the relevance for the un-forgotten Accretion of gunpowder residues, a controlled … Continue reading Spinal Con-fusion

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Among the Streets, Thickets, & Thorns

Among the Streets, Thickets and Thorns By John Gregory Evans © 5/12/2020 5:56:33 AM I once knew two men who ran among the streets, thickets, and thorns, spreading the likes of themselves through gates of hell, ivory horns, thus, INK’g away bad seeds of scorn, around their auras shined only as worn. I had heard they came from Gallipoli, or perhaps Tripoli, or none of these. Perhaps in all cases, and all places it was here in Shar-on among the streets where ancient buildings, and glass houses began to crumble, nigh into the ages for generations to arrive, crippled by … Continue reading Among the Streets, Thickets, & Thorns

Coyote Moon Rising

Coyote Moon Rising John Gregory Evans © 5/11/2020 9:30:36 AM The Gulf of Mexico, mysterious whitecaps feel the colossal, dark figure brush my legs, left dangling as death upon a razor’s edge where my journey through the depths appear as overbearing. In the horizon’s twilight the ‘Naparima’ glides upon the depths as the designer intended, a Coyote moon weighs heavy and derelict in a sky for a hope to see land, again. A nothing more than dirt, caliche, and sand, to rise and throw indignities at me, as a brown-skinned bully from a distance. Thoughts of eating a meal at … Continue reading Coyote Moon Rising

This Pale Moon

The pale moon can be invasive at times, lighting up my tiny room, to almost a dim freshness of sunshine echoing through. I think, of love who has passed me by, except the silver love and this lunar sky. We share so many nights, why not, and evenings, too, we are together, espoused we two. My silver love, a stately profile of Campanian blood, mixed with a splash of Penobscot, too, indulges her counterpart, Welsh invader, oh dear, was how she referred to me, I simply cannot think out loud, but upon this virgin page of white, I think of … Continue reading This Pale Moon

Soren Kierkegaard: Existentialism is it a Psychological Reality, or Myth?

Soren Kierkegaard: Existentialism is it a Psychological Reality, or Myth? By John Gregory Evans © 5/10/2020 6:17:09 AM A choice we have. A Reality in a Higher Authority, blameless, blemishes none, may we assert, then, existence is quite the certainty, but choose we must, conscious choice, without the requirements for a personal vision; a kind of leap of faith, I’d say. From a personal way, the Voices I have heard, the Visions I have seen, remind me clearly of religiosity. Perhaps, a divine revelation as Kierkegaard contends, he did not believe in myths. Nor I should it be too soon. … Continue reading Soren Kierkegaard: Existentialism is it a Psychological Reality, or Myth?

A Foreign Affair II

A Foreign Affair II By John Gregory Evans © 5/10/2020 2:42:35 AM For just a moment, protracted, a long-drawn-out affair, long black hair, with a painted face, of red, and brown so fair, An indulgent for her time-honored pleasure, an acknowledgement, together We shared an unknown ecstasy silent to the core, quaking to the fore. The moment endured perpetuity, a long slide ride, mirrored, paralleled more than the 38th, emulated, mouthed-over echoes, a murmur not by way of chance, but by this colorful appeal, calling it red and parted maws, a slight drool for a long-awaited thrill eagerly waits its … Continue reading A Foreign Affair II

A Foreign Affair

Loneliness has a colorful appeal, Let us call it red, parted maws, lonely from a journey to freedom instead, A relinquished mass of peoples juxtaposed, liberty sows not upon this troubled land, a promise not to the populace cram. I simply hope for the people’s choice Not as from Tiananmen Square, The lovers of none, oppression, I swear Of authoritarians, tyrants, despots, too For the peoples’ lives are worn to the bone, worn to the skin of multitudes. For just a moment, protracted, a long-drawn-out affair, long black hair, with a painted face, of red, and brown so fair, An … Continue reading A Foreign Affair

Updated Poem

Upon the Cusp of Blackness’ Ride John Gregory Evans © 5/9/2020 12:01:04 PM Upon the cusp of blackness, we stare, I see a hope clinging to the everywhere, religiosity is an interior pull of white corpses walking, without purpose but to be saved through the mechanized wheel of traveldom, your misfortune, where dead bodies aspire to heal. As if a preacher man from the Right conceals the truth together, tonight or if he burns with lies, that conceals his fate… the black weaves are Real, Jesus is alive in a dance of bobbing bodies with a feel for the darkness … Continue reading Updated Poem

On the Cusp of Blackness’ Ride

Upon the cusp of blackness, we stare, I See a hope clinging to the everywhere, Religiosity is an interior pull Of white corpses Walking, without purpose but to be saved Through the mechanized wheel of Misfortune, where dead bodies aspire to heal. As if a preacher man from the Right Conceals the truth together, tonight Or if he burns with lies, that conceals his fate… The black braids are Real, Jesus is alive In a dance of bobbing bodies With a feel for the darkness of night Around the bonfire of attachment, an intimacy So close, your body has left … Continue reading On the Cusp of Blackness’ Ride