Primal Trinity Posted June 8, 2011 Posted June 8, 2011 Here is just some of my poetry. Poetry The Crusaders In the vast, malevolent horizon Screaming with the anger of a thousand fires Charging with the intensity of millions of steeds Stained with guilt and drenched with pride Their armor, their swords, their shields All tarnished by the same liquid pride All fueled with the similar burning spite None unprovoked to wash in more pride And I, ever so weary and driven by instinct Ever so enraged at the army in my peripheral Ever so ready to take what is mine I will regret no blood on my sword The ominous crusade draws closer My army shows tremendous discord The celestial eye morphed to a hue of crimson Sparking the wrath of omnipotence Fate was hastened, and cowardice was left behind The bloodied pride became lambent as it was raised The dark sun bestowed a treacherous shade on it As an army, we temporarily were blinded by death We have nothing to lose nor to gain But I support this hostile action I sigh no lament, I breathe no regret It was then, so loud was the silence The Forsaken Feather Woe and anguish triumph over the body Mercy and grace bless their soul This temporary pulse and bone Postpone a permanent rest Once mercy floods the veins Rest and harmony pulse through the body The Elysian spirit sprouts wings and hums the sound of a peaceful eternity Though the angel indulges in bliss Sorrow and bewilderment express the weeping The tears of omnipotent children fall A single feather is lost in infinity Single and solitary the feather floats in the frigid air The feather was a memory now forsaken against will It is descended to the reality of human presence Where a flock of feathers are bound Asylum Oh me! Sweet bliss and harmony! Day after night, night after day. So pleasant and fragile No obstacle could seize the moment. Oh my! wonderful friends and aid! The happy men have some again! Here to help a energetic man slumber Or to help keep a man warm with a jacket Oh you! naive and clueless! No idea of why friends help a man! This was a man's deed He smiled all the moment it seemed. Smiling while pouncing Laughing while thrusting Enjoying the deed Listening to the voice he was trusting. Educated now, are we? Now leave off where ever you wish to But be weary, you The man had his eyes fixed on you Who is this man? You ask What was this deed? This man is bloodthirsty This man is me. The Simplest of Things Of shining joys and desired toys of popular board games and expensive brand names over generations of desperate pleads happiness becomes increasingly expensive and whats forgotten are the simplest of things Semper Fidelis In the valley concealed with the blanket of death In the desert heated by dynamic gunpowder In the waters raged by the pandemonium of war In the air ravishing by the gales of aircraft Ones who have overcome all which grants them fear and those who choose commitment over action those who stand to defend until they can no longer until they have been seperated from their senses Girding and waiting to die at a glance they are the defense for freedom; they are always faithful Acheron Waters raging with convulsion Flowing endlessly in Tartarus anxiety coursed through my own streams and like those streams, pain flew in unity; lamentation, disdain, blaze and hate. Contrasting my streams, Suffering is navigable Charon, ferrying those whom faith was hidden from descending into the world over populated by those whom tried to justify transgressions in life. Moonlight Chapel Beyond the Gaze of a wondering eye within the heaven's altitude luminating in the celestial sky is a sanctuary of the holy released and a crypt of the diabolic damned In light and shadow they dwell its chapel of heaven & hell Its Moonlight Chapel Set upon the horizon of oblivion for the ignorant to question and await its presence immediate confession as our silhouettes simply metamorphasize into ignominous shades and absolved children prepare to face eternity in Moonlight Chapel hence your demise The Story of Tempra As the wheel spins and the hue is picked The chosen tempra tells a story via tint The night enriched pursues ambition The sun induced confines discord The water drenched gives protection The oil soaked puts down the sword The Drought Leave these thoughts in the storm To soak and swell with great grief but soon be washed away with other waste so the storm can end and bring relief so the clouds will blow until they've faded and these thoughts forgotten until they're jaded once plentiful with obsession and scarce in aggression The mind flowed happily but now all is barren All except a shallow river that the storm itself delivered To nourish the mind and lift the thought and retrieve joy from the regretful drought An Action of Spoken Grief To say only as newlyweds "'Til death do us part" Clueless that this spoken breath Separates love from death Humble and anxious Forgetting regretting thoughts of a widow by glaring through the melancholy window wondering if he boarded the dreadful shores to an eternal war Not hearing screams of death or cries for blood thirst only bodies building barriers and commands covered in three-round bursts but as the sand blew red and the dead were taken or tossed A new sound echoed louder than the others "We are sorry for your loss" Untitled 5 minute "poem" Lands and waters flowing constantly Sifting through a repetitive infinity Vast and intimidating to the eye Concealable and fragile to the truth of reality In the grasp of focused vision A sibling to the truth of reality Similar in the patient pilgrimage Beyond countless miles, another sibling All walking the same destined path All in praise of a radiant god Intellegence only goes as far as this path The cosmos are the reality of oblivion Human intelligence only goes as far as reason Reason cannot stray from its path Humans are the puppets of intelligence and reason They, however, are puppets of desire Toucan of Ordeals I wanders this over-filled forest with a thick canopy that conceals numerous, great ordeals not to be spoken, and denied to be revealed. One of these experiences became conspicuous, like a Toucan in moonlight whom screeched during mid-flight and soars to escape the leaf-silhouette night Rise to the Occassion The night before, I'm drenched in my labor; and on that night, I quiver in fear. With anxiety to see what lies ahead, and to face what challenges are near. I worked my ass off for this moment. I've overcome too much to let my hand fall. I'll step out there with my head held high, and let the third man make his call. Under the burning spotlight, my back glistens and I wear my colors proud. I'm ready for this; the combat zone is slapped. A beautiful sound. My eyes widden with amazement and my ears hurt from the cheering sea. My fist, clenched, is held in the air. This is the feeling of victory. Permafrost Below the balls of his blistered and burning feet is a frigid blanket that burns like a copious blaze. That blanket grows and lengthens each day, and shows no signs of halting or mercy. His feet are now just slabs of red meat. They aren't a part of him; They can't feel his pain. These are dead man's feet. This young fool continues to venture into a bitter cold horror of gales that cut like blades and steps that burn like the devil's ground. Becoming harder and difficult to move; the young man stops and drops. Plummeting to his weakened knees and to his uncontrollably shaking hands. The fool was invincible; he felt nothing. It was as if he overdosed on morphine. He was on top of the world; Indeed he was. The boy who felt no pain saw others who did and could then tell. He was the fortunate one in a frozen over Hell. The Slums Melancholy slums and an overtone haze with an undertone of awareness and a lack of liveliness. A lack of care for public eyes; ascending steps leading to infinity, the almost hidden path could lead to infidelity. The foundation crumbles to wind driven dust The wind is cause by widespread lust. Mesto Morendo A single ray of cloud weakened light showcasing one, shadowing the rest A single harmony the sounded like the voice of the manipulator slowly, unraveling; adagio breathing and playing in tune Light fading, memory forcing itself to attention surrounding shadows hidden by a visible path A rocka'feller's garden The path ends in good fortune, in good taste Fade out, gasping, chilling, single tear Fade back in, bright, beautiful, happy Reflection of light blue iris Reflection of distortion, Silhoutte lifted by water tinted by dusk Fade out, frowning, Furico Fade back in, indifference, con fuoco, confusement, denial off note, off tempo, off tracked. The Placebo Effect Warning: mental images may be disturbing to some I can't hear the ground, or see the sound of anxiety, or feel the sight of an insomniac, or touch the polluted air. This pill, this small fragment of relief Lifts the dead weight of a nasty burden from my restless shoulders. An elixir to these painful boulders. Granite, Sediment, Igneous. The rock was combined trauma, which inevitably led to a broken back. A broken shoulder, a broken collar bone, a broken neck. This pill, this small fragment of grief depreciated all hope and pride and morphed it into a bitch-slap of spite, and inevitably led me to a vision of seasonal leaves. Champion at Heart The thrill of the crowd makes your blood rush. Out on the mat, its dominate or be crushed. Once you hear the words, "Wrestlers ready?" Your heart and mind soar. When that whistle blows, you are at war. Be smart and strong, land on your back and all goes wrong. Shoot wisely and score, get them on their backs to earn two points or more. Its not over until you hear the sound of the whistle and the mat getting hit. After this battle, you will be dead tired. Once your hand is raised in front of the crowd, you'll know it was all worth it. Give it your best straight from the start. Its not winning, but you discipline, determination, and dedication that makes you a champion at heart. Strings Such a plentiful pity, and such a great sympathy. All for this mannequin of a city, repeating a circling symphony. A vintage vision; a doleful day. Citizens are the puppets, and hope, the puppeteer! Dreams, whom pluck the strings that makes us dance in a widespread trance. What dreams control what limb? Does your urge left hand hoard all funds, does your right hand desire passion, or does the manipulator make you ambidextrous? There is no new routine. There is no decision, option, or choice. Someone else is your mind, someone else is your voice. Every Beginning has an End What words, aggressively created with a slam of the pen against the pad, could be used to replicate an image far more complex than ink on canvas? No doubt, I intend to solve the puzzle; to be liberated from the maze. Out of the darkness of being unknown well into a rising sun of limitless beauty. Every beginning has an end; I'll pick up from there and follow that path. Whatever obstacle you drop and curve you make, I promise to follow it out of the labyrinth. You can stay secretive and misguide me. Lead me into an abyss. I will find a way out, and finish my journey to limitless beauty and embrace great bliss. The Third World Tyranny The merciless sun fixes its persistent glare. It robs this land of life, like a mugger in the streets infested with immorality in midnight NYC. Step away from the overcasting towers, the plentiful and pleasing precipitation, the convenience of the concessions and the middle and upper class wealth. Fix your eyes on where the sun has his. Sum up what you see. Living families of skeletons and a growth of poverty. Dirt takes the place of grass, huts take the place of house with foundation; cloth takes the place of apparel, and hygiene is taken by contamination. Spending every last earned bill to get our so rightfully deserved fill of possessions and large feasts; while those in the drought have a grain of rice to eat. Is it time we stepped into another reality; listen to the whispering words? Is it time to see outside our own safety zone and step into the Third World? The Box Warning: Poem contains graphic imagery. Upon depature of dear compainions and in search of a speedy arrival She takes the hand of a stranger and trusts him with her survival His hands were dirty; vile His hands were shaking; shy So many miles later Left them in a Bloody Lie. Her stars were shot down. Self-fed comfort Her chest was intensly expanding "Find your exit." Her conscience was demanding. On route to frigid caves with rapidly erecting suspenses. A sudden halt with reflecting danger and a separation of senses. Left in the dark. Hindered from normality. Trapped in the box. Reaching for the single hand of immortality. Trying to think outside the box; all darkness was lifted. Sight was restored; emotions still shifted. From darkness to levitation; She was cracked at with aggression. Every word, like a whip and revealment with "attention." Sex bound before her like mannequins in the display. Learning reality for the first time She was the new girl; she was in dismay. He rests with confidence in the shadow of his Lie. Her breathing is restrained, She endures through graphic labor in hopes to be saved. Synthetic Stars Following a mixed path, not knowing which step to take next; or in which direction. I place my guidance in vision and let my eyes do the walking. So fragile to it, I am lead by light; the light of the midnight heavens. So strong; no, barely visible. They vanished like fish into the stream. To make me think I had a Lucid Dream. What power so strong could make the millions of lights decipate into the night? What turned night into day? Lights with sound moving at lethal speeds Lights with towering height Lights lambent between two lovers Lights that make every night, day. Human made beauty? or Human made waste? Can beauty be found among the walls of nature's laybirinth or can we witness it among synthetic stars? Liberation Steps in stride and eys of pride; and following not to far behind is a clique, watching a glared down back of a rebellious leader prone to attack. Kicked the authority from its postition; the crowd watches in fear The words that were guarded; liberated for all to hear! Arms spread like the legs of a whore, the people rebel, not wanting to hear the truth anymore. The teen mother says, "How do you justify your speech?" "How do you get off sucking humaity like a leech?" The patriot says, "How can you be so blind to America's beauty and bliss?" How can you continue to walk her streets and stroll through humaity's piss?" The only thing that stays hidden is truth, and it will stay hidden far beyond our youth. The people will soon see their currency in flames; sands blotched with blood. It won't be long before they see we are pigs, smiling, rolling in the mud. Rain in the Pacific, a Leaf in the Amazon To love everything, and love nothing too. The nature to nurture non-synthetic beauty Preserve the night sky; a shade of dark blue. Mixed shades, like the small drops of paint clinging to the brush until they become faint. Make a sweeping motion to capture every little detail. Express the effort that will turn to exhaustion. Procure the pride of of your colorful shrine. Know that the paint will decay. and your shades are at the mercy of time. Short Stories Snyder(draft) The waves just seemed to collide without hesitation or mercy. The ship we were sailing in brushed them off like water shot from a child's toy. The force of the waves was still recognizable, however; my eyes stung with an acute pain provided by the salty mist in the flowing air. "Sergeant Williams! Permission to speak?", exclaimed Private Snyder. The kid's a rookie. He looks more like a "pretty boy" than a Seal. Short blonde hair, no facial hair, eyes that glowed brilliantly with a princeton orange sunset. He wasn't much of an aggressive soldier, either. Nervous, skeptic, hesitant, passive; any one of these words could describe Snyder. "Permission granted rookie. What do you need?" I said attempting to look him in the eye. He was trying to eyeball the ship's floor instead. "Sir! At 1600 hours, a ship was identified 50 miles east of our current location." "What're the coordinates of it?" "30 degrees North, 150 degrees west." "Any ideas if its a friendly or a Red?" "We have reason to believe its an unfriendly vessel sir!" "Its coming from the east of us, but where is its course?" "It appears its headed towards the northern California shore sir." "Get contact with it. I don't want to take any chances! Dismissed!" "Yes sir!" Private Snyder went off for the radio. That conversation got me paranoid. It lead me to call out one of my more experienced Seals. "Carter! Report!" I called out. "Yes sir!" I heard from behind me. "Carter I have a mission for you and two others. Go get Mills and Rullon." "Yes sir!" Carter sped off to find the other Seals. Those three were probably my most dependable sailors. Where ever they wet, a trail of hard dedication followed; and where ever they stopped, glory gathered in one spot. All three were veterans. They understood that determination meant victory. Wondering where Snyder was, I walked off, glaring east. Ready to rise to the occasion. Just who the hell are you? I thought to myself. I clenched the Beretta at my side and narrowed my vision to the East. Every other sight became oblivious to me. My naked eye could not spot the ship, alone. "Sir! Carter, Mills and Rullon present!", Carter said from behind me. "Sir!", said Mills and Rullon in unison. "Listen closely sailors; an enemy ship might be heading toward the California coast. So I have a mission for you three." I went into an elaborative explanation while the soldiers stood by. "Around five minutes ago, Private Snyder reported a vessel to the east. We have no intelligence as to know if its friendly or not. This is your job. You will take one of the sailboats and head towards the east at coordinates 30N and 150W. Find the ships colors and report back here. This is a covert mission, so do not get spotted. You are authorized to use firearms if you are fired at. Dismissed!" "Yes sir!", all three said and went off. "Sergeant Williams!" a young voice came from behind me. It was Snyder. "Snyder, what's your report? Could you contact them?" The ship swayed to the right; it almost capsized. Everyone on bard fell to the floor. "Damn it!" I said. "Carter, Mills and Rullon! Your mission is now void! Man the MGs and aim east! We've been hit!" The City of Angels Part one: The Deal It might not be necessary, but I will feel more comfortable if I say this: This story contains slightly disturbing scenes and images April 21, 1974; It was a night of schock and horror; where blood and tears flowed into the same sewage drain. A quick transaction went really bad really fast. The horror hidden in the night was originally holding a few pleasent surprises: we were to get some money and some coke. It didn't happen. The local disco club, Beats and Styles, was loud; as usual. Couples were dancing to the funky beat and the neon colors was ideal for those higher than the disco ball. It was also ideal for any one to cover up the heart dropping screams comming from a man getting a grand slam. We were waiting for the other clique's Warchief in front of B&S. It was late out, past midnight to be exact. We didn't exactly look like the most innocent group on the block. The three of us; Johnny, Ransom, and myself, were looking about the place, scoping out for the gang colors and on top of that we had a briefcase that was stuffed with Coke. Either no one saw us and we were doing well, or everyone saw us and just didn't give a shit. Ransom was starting to get really annoyed; like they were late on purpose. "Damn man! Where's this guy's set? Its like he jus' tryin' to piss us off." Ransom was impatient and rather skeptic. He joined The Carnage Angels to find shelter from his abusive family; his father would beat him relentlessly. Often times he went to school with visible bruises on his body and every now and then a black eye. It just depended on how drunk dad was; his mom didn't give two shits. However, that kind of helped Ransom out for this gang; it made his tough as nails. Nothing could drop him; you would need to hit him outside the head with a brick to get him to stumble. Anytime fighting was mentioned, he was the first on the scene. Its kind of also how he got his name. He would mug people and then beat the living hell out of them. "Calm down, he'll show." I said I was the average joe of the clique. I could hold my own in just about everything, but I was especially good in dropping bombs and burners. I was the one who took this gang to new heights; I put the knife dripping with blood and floating with angel wings, our burner, up on every gang's turf in LA. That got me my name: Picasso, which is self-explanatory. That also got us some heat on our turf; we had to have someone always looking out, making sure no other gangs were getting any type of revenge. "...Go check up on Johnny." I added while casually taking a cigerette out of my pocket and placing it in my mouth. "Fuckin' A' ! You can't do that shit yourself?" He said enraged and stormed off down the dark alley. "Yo! Johhny!" Echoed through out that ally."Everythin' mellow?" "Yeah bro, nothing yet." Replied Johnny. We left Johnny down an ally so he could scout out the environment. He was good at it to. Sneakiest guy I have ever met. The guy could rob a jewelry store late at night and not get spotted or trip the alarm. He was well aware of his surroundings. He would know if there was a single splinhter out of place. I continued to look down the street for the Warchief of the other gang. They were called Primal Trinity. They were a group of hairy bible huggers. Although, some kind of god was on their side. They were extraordinary fighters; they weren't ones you exactly wanted to brawl with. Instead of seeing them, I caught a glimpse of something that frightened me. When it got closer, it made my fear a reality. It was a Cop car. "Ransom! Johnny! we got pigs!"I hollered trying to look as non-suspicions as possible.I didn't even turn to yell it. Wheter it was unnoticable or not, I could not tell. We would find out now, though. "Shit!" They both said in unison. Ransom found a dumpster and threw the coke in it and ran up to my side. Johnny ran off in another direction. He couldn't be seen because he was past a fence and behind the club. The car edged closer to us, like it was a stalking tiger. The Police Officer inside the cruiser glared at us suspiciously. "You kids staying out of trouble tonight?" He asked. Ransom replied, "What's it to-" I interrupted "Yes officer, we aren't doing anything we aren't suppose to be doing." Ransom made a frustrated grunt and mumbled under his breath, "Fuckin' pig..." "Okay, just stay out of trouble 'kido' and be on your way home soon. Its late out. Its suppose to storm soon. I wouldn't want to be out here when that happens.", said the officer. "Yes sir." I replied hastily to make sure Ransom didn't speak.The look on his face said "Are ya' done yet?" The officer continued to glare at us and he drove off very slowly at first, but before we knew it, he disappeared into the horizon. He was right too, upon inspection of the sky, it did look a little ominous. "God, why da fuck did he stop to check US out?" asked Ransom, in a irritated voice. "You can't say we don't look suspicious man." Ransom shrugged, rolled his eyes and hurried off into the alley to get the coke from inside the dumpster. "Call out for Johnny while you're there." I added "Johnny!" Ransom yelled. As he yelled, he went back further into the alley to look for him and the yell got fainter. Ransom got up to the fence and put his face in it. His eyes widdened. "Johnny?" He asked. I was growing impatient, so I finally lit the cigarette that was in my mouth with the Zippo lighter that was in my front pants pocket. I turned on the lighter, and as I was about to bring the flame to the tip of the cigarette I barely heard a yell, for it was starting to thunder. I could make out who it was though; It was Ransom. I put my cigarette and lighter in my pocket and sprinted as fast as I could down the alley trying not to slip. It was now starting to rain. I came to where he was at the fence and he was breathing loud and heavy, the lightning lit up his face. He was in a state of shock. He was petrified; his face dripping with rain. "What? What's up?" I asked Ransom was speechless. "Ransom, What's wrong?" He was now just mumbling, "J...Jo..." I panicked and said "Ransom, fucking spit it out!" I could feel my voice working at my throat and my face growing hot and red. There was then another flash of lightning and a sudden roar of thunder. The storm was very near. He turned toward me, I couldn't tell if he was tearing or if it was the rain, but he screamed "Johnny!" "What?" I asked. He shook his head and signaled past the fence. I put my face to it and took a hard look: There was lots of blood flowing from one source and it was flowing into a nearby sewage drain. Following it from there, the blood lead to a large bulge laying on the ground; motionless. What looked like a hand was laying next something else that I couldn't make out at the moment. I squinted my eyes to see it. "A baseball bat?", I said. Then there was another flash of lightning and I saw something I will never forget as long as I live to behold all the horrors of the street. I saw the face of a man beaten to death. I saw the face of Johnny, beaten to death. I'm always open to constructive criticism.
Primal Trinity Posted June 8, 2011 Author Posted June 8, 2011 The spoilers don't seem to be opening. Is this common for a certain browser or is this a problem with the site?
Primal Trinity Posted June 14, 2011 Author Posted June 14, 2011 added Rain in the Pacific, A leaf in the Amazon
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