Bodies and gun shells
Evidence of Aliens
Black magic and blood
haiku by Josephe Buchanan
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A sweet silent night
A gunshot penetrates peace
Cops... Then peace again
haiku by Josephe Buchanan
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Black is color of my true love's hair
So many songs have been written about my love.
The beautiful color of my true love's hair. The hair of a powerful beauty.
Black as a wormhole or as simple as a crayon.
Made of ions, electrons and protons, my love must have created all things
for her hair supports everything.
From the planets, moons, suns, constellations and universes. My true love has no prejudice or hatred for any one being instead love for all she creates.
Her face lights up planets and her waters house life while her skin supports all walking creatures and four legged enigmas.
Her eyes are stars gazers while her smiles are super novas
and her beautiful black hair is simply the dark matter in space.
poem by Josephe Buchanan
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Merkabah
Some tell of love stories where fire becomes a mother in healing
Wheels within wheels, where hell becomes a myth, and heaven becomes the
present
The cosmic chariot of the soul, the sacred fire, and transfiguration of
energy
It comes from the deep darkness within ones Neshamah,
Prayer to the divine Elohim, and the18th breath of life
Once ascended in that ring of fire, a being can fly beyond space and
sky
Some call it the fire in the sky, seen only through sacred third eyes
Sweet like the spirit of the sacred Shekinah,
One key in Metatronics
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poem by Josephe Buchanan
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September Girl
My September girl is a master of her own inner Sanctum.
Her beauty is paralyzing to onlookers, who never seen that side of her continent.
My September girl gave me all of her love, soul, body and attention.
She will always be a treasure in this man's heart.
Her beauty is art and when she would leave, he would ask where is thou art?
My September girl has an inner door, that can only be opened by a special key.
This key he did not obtain, for this chorus was, and is still in his mind, and brain.
Never can be to intoxicated off of her love, for she is like wine, and spirits, that never left a hangover.
My September girl comes from March, which can be seen as Mar's, for her visage was alien to me. What can I see when I look in her soul?
My September girl is Godly and deep. When she was with me she was asleep.
Now that she awoke from that cloud of smoke,
she realized her uncanny potential, her uncanny soul, and spoke of a dream where she was as sweet as September.
poem by Josephe Buchanan
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Brooklyn 'Extended
Beautiful culture
Parks, brownstones, cheesecake, and BAM
Home away from home.
Children museums
Legends of Dodgers,
And Masonic lodges.
Blocks and bodegas,
24 hour beer and food;
A Non sleeping borough.
Pharmaceuticals!
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poem by Josephe Buchanan
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