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Apparition Despair

Apparition Despair
By: Adam M. Snow

My ghostly apparition doesth not be seen,
by thy child of my ghostly fiend.
But though the twinkle lights despair me;
my wake be that of a lore of me.

poem by Adam M. Snow
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To... (Kern)

I still recall the wondrous moment
When you appeared before my eyes,
Just like a fleeting apparition,
Just like pure beauty's distillation.

When'er I languished in the throes of hopeless grief
Amid the troubles of life's vanity,
Your sweet voice lingered on in me,
Your dear face came to me in dreams.

Years passed. The raging, gusty storms
Dispersed my former reveries,
And I forgot your tender voice,
Your features so divine.

In exile, in confinement's gloom,
My uneventful days wore on,
Bereft of awe and inspiration
Bereft of tears, of life, of love.

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poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Jungle Apparition

At first, the tiger merely strolls
The jungle paths he knows,
As if he has no plans, no goals,
Till inner hunger grows...
It's then another hunt begins,
It's then he's most alert,
It's then his instincts must convince
That now's the time to hurt...

He stalks new prey, perchance to live,
As carnivores before,
He seeks to steal and not to give,
As if it were a chore...
Yet Nature chooses what must be,
For lions, tigers, bears...
And each must serve his destiny,
His dreams and his nightmares...

He's a ghostly apparition,
His colours help him blur...

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Arctic Apparition

The white wolf waited wilfully
With what would pass for guile,
So long it seemed eternity
I looked at his profile...
Yet in my quest to photograph
This untamed creature there,
He hardly moved along the path
And seemed content to stare...

Until his prey was seen or heard,
He breathed in and breathed out,
As if a statue, never stirred,
To leave me full of doubt...
But finally, he heard a sound
And like a ghost he flew,
As up he sprang, one single bound,
The hunter through and through...

My camera clicked as he streaked by,
Like lightning left-to-right,

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Mile High

West of the Mississippi
Once the stronghold of the Sioux
A stranger swaggers by
His spirit glowing through and through
Inspired by a vision
A journey back in time
Where warriors were nurtured
And eagles soared miles high
A vivid apparition
Lodged deep within his mind
A people trapped in bondage
Reluctant witnesses to a tragic and staggering genocide
Voices in the distant
Wailing so profound
Until a silent whisper
Thundered from the clouds
………..“In the days my daddy wandered
Through concrete jungles
Thick with tundra
Vines of hate and blind resentments

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poem by Mustafa Marconi
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Finis

Reveal the dragon thro' the human; coursing swift as fire
To the close hall of counsel, where his Angel form renews.

In a sweet vale shelter'd with cedars, that eternal stretch
Their unmov'd branches, stood the hall; built when the moon shot forth,
In that dread night when Urizen call'd the stars round his feet;
Then burst the center from its orb, and found a place beneath;
And Earth conglob'd, in narrow room, roll'd round its sulphur Sun.

To this deep valley situated by the flowing Thames;
Where George the third holds council. & his Lords & Commons meet:
Shut out from mortal sight the Angel came; the vale was dark
With clouds of smoke from the Atlantic, that in volumes roll'd
Between the mountains, dismal visions mope around the house.

On chairs of iron, canopied with mystic ornaments,
Of life by magic power condens'd; infernal forms art-bound
The council sat; all rose before the aged apparition;
His snowy beard that streams like lambent flames down his wide breast
Wetting with tears, & his white garments cast a wintry light.

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poem by William Blake from America a Prophecy (1793)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Old Walleye

OLD WALL EYE AND OTHER SHARKS.
Tale tales and true. Many stories have been recounted about “OLD WALL EYE”, he lived in real memory, and he was not a figment of too much ‘rum and coffee’. Our ‘friend’ lives out from Brunswick Heads, he has one good eye.

This “Bushy”, read ‘watery’ yarn comes from a personal experience. This must make me 121 years old. Also read; he for she, she for he?

OLD WALL EYE, he was big and brown, he had a huge set of teeth and he terrified us. A dog? A bull? no a bloody great shark that’s what old wall eye was. He lived near Brunswick Heads N.S.W.; He lived in deep water and was notorious amongst the trawler men and the boaties. He wrecked so many prawn nets and ‘took’ so many fish, always distinguished by his one white eye, can’t remember which was the good eye, it may have been his starboard one.

He was a legend, he was not a figment of some bodies imagination. Ask any fisherman from up here and they will relate a story of this huge BRONZE WHALER. My mate John and myself can tell you first hand of our encounter with the toothy creature from the deep.

John owned a fiberglass bond wood boat, it was distinguished by the name ‘GOTCHA’. When the Bar Mouth was flat as a ‘night carters hat’, we would down tools and head out for few hours of fishing. Mostly we fish the local reef and if conditions allowed head for the 38’s. So here we are; anchored and down goes the 70lb lines with ‘pillies’ for bait, got some bites and landed some nice Schnapper, John suggests he has caught Australia, you fisher persons will relate to hooking the bottom. The only option is to keep hauling in until the hook lets go or the line breaks. For some time John hauls away but still the weight remains on the line. We both know something big has been hooked up, sharks mostly take a run and break you off, this was to be an exception. SO, what was this dead weight, it was not long before the question was answered.

Out of the murky deep an apparition of huge proportions becomes very evident, John has hauled to the surface “The Legend”, the, “walled eyed monster”. Two blokes with normally complacent personalities are incredulous at the size of this fish, GOTCHA is 18 feet long, the monster is nearly as long, it quietly surveys us, we survey it and a stand off is happening. The rest of the narrative will be a blur; a knife is produced, the line is cut, the motor started, the anchor is retrieved and we get to buggery out of there. WE have had our encounter with ‘OLD WALL EYE’ AND SURVIVED!
This chronicle is mentioned else where on the WWW, more ‘at length’ narratives? (www.johnfarls.com) , described as JOHN D. FARLEY, SUPERBLOG.

OLD WALL EYE.
He was big and mean he was brown, teeth resplendent white, some will imagine an animal that barks.
Well I can tell that, he was all that but not the Junkyard Dog, he’s marine, and from the 38’s this bugger harks and rules the ocean oh supreme.

Brunswick Heads, the “Rocky Boardwalk South” will be where this recount emanates.

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poem by John D. Farley
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One Love

Any time you want me
Any time at all
Any time you need me
All you gotta do is call
Any time you want me
Any time at all
Any time you need me
All you gotta do is call
Im no dog Im a dolphin
I just dont live in the sea
You feel my flow and you flood my brain
Show me your vision your wild apparition
And sink to the depths of your soul
One love we dont need another love
One love one heart and one soul
We can have it all
Easy peasy
Any time you want me
Any time at all
Any time you need me

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song performed by Stone Roses
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orlando Furioso Canto 1

CANTO 1

ARGUMENT
Angelica, whom pressing danger frights,
Flies in disorder through the greenwood shade.
Rinaldo's horse escapes: he, following, fights
Ferrau, the Spaniard, in a forest glade.
A second oath the haughty paynim plights,
And keeps it better than the first he made.
King Sacripant regains his long-lost treasure;
But good Rinaldo mars his promised pleasure.

I
OF LOVES and LADIES, KNIGHTS and ARMS, I sing,
Of COURTESIES, and many a DARING FEAT;
And from those ancient days my story bring,
When Moors from Afric passed in hostile fleet,
And ravaged France, with Agramant their king,
Flushed with his youthful rage and furious heat,

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poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies

I

'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,

II

So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat

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poem by Thomas Hood
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