Clock Radio Magazine - Poetry, Visual Art

I got so confused trying to work and where to go and where to sign up I gave up! Thanks for a great site!

 

Hi Jay.. well it looks like it happened again. I registered and then had to go looking for where to submit. Every place I went to said 'no entry'. Hmm.. so basically I don't know where the fuck to go because it seems that everywhere I go doesn't want people there!
I even searched for submissions and nothing. So I am going to give up. Anything that takes this much energy and time just isn't worth it in my eyes. Cheers, Mimi Bordeaux

 

Conjured Golden Pathways  Relevad in Origins Show Insanities Architectural Style

Today is like no other day with my blood spilled out on yellow daisies with black pebbles that wither and die before they can be enjoyed.  to touch one is bliss to own one is heaven to kill one is hell.
Woe are the standbys that whisper that frozen freakish breath towards me so I stand aside from them all and wish no harm, but I will split their hearts into ten folded pieces to put in the old armor forever.  I stretch my thinning scalp to its full extension & brace for the ecstasy that always surrounds my center eye, that is glowing red for the stars I own to find me in this deep and vast aroura shinning & gleaming, a faint but retractable & portable DNA shred that needs adjusting. Which goes to one of many souls that float by my mind's eye.
Again, the freakishly frozen breath of those beyond repair they rush me while the scorched entity of my entire nothingness that’s left behind on the trails of black peddled daisies that fall and crash upon the shattered hourglass of doom and despair splintered into fractions like my boyhood
Memories of young days way far gone by and un-noticed to anyone of a prophet's twisted lips wrapped around the chain hanging from the sky lantern hanging in the mist of deep space till it reached eternity and starts over again. My heart is relinquished to the death star hid in the black hole of time.
Twisted and tangled fangs of the wolf hound now sink into the only vein left to draw any memory of an existence that was once the tweaking twilight of my time in the stars bottomless pit of a pineal gland it had stolen from the last of my mind's eye lid ripping it to shreds before me while pretending to cry like the true human it once use to be.
Then one night I looked up into the blackest sky there ever was in the time intertwined with the source it gleamed it was a spec to my third eye and I followed its light, closer I came and the farther it would bounce around the stars of our tomorrows. I knew instinctively that it was my turn, my time, my hope, my dreams, my searching, my longing that was that spec in the night sky. All at once my beaten and battered chest broke open wider than the earth's circumference; my heart jumped out of my soul's knowingness. It finely became a free feather flying into the beauty and the bliss of God himself.  I knew at that very moment this was going to be a forever arrangement and agreement.
Between myself and my arms aching for something and someone to hold and the souls of my worn down heals and entangled toes this is going to be forever. My eyes turned blue as the sky that has just left the darkness behind forever. My body's structure took on a multitude of shapes and sizes intermingling growing into something I have never seen before or I have ever seen in my third eye before, this is heaven this is healing this is living, oh how I longed for these opportunities to present themselves. I was free from the hounds that guard hell's gates for now I owned the key to come and go. I chose not to go there again. The beauty of love in my heart leads me down a path I have never ventured before. This is love, this is life, this is me.
I found the love of my world named Robertson, and I can stay here forever in time my time and time in the far distant pass, and all my time in the eternity of my heart's future. I am now in the arms of safety in the Bussom of bliss lavish are the surroundings loving is the soul of Robertson, I am him and he is me. Forever.

Like the gentleness of a cool running stream his love covers my being. His soul for me to protect and him to protect mine. Neither of us, never experiencing anything like this in a million lifetimes, are overjoyed with sincere care and love and determination to live this life of love the rest of our days on or off this spinning planet be it a simulation or not. This feeling to us is truly real and truly our calling. Loneliness is gone, empty hopes are gone, despair is erased and dissolved into dust that we can blow away into heaven's third eye pulverated into nothingness it is no longer a reality to either of us. We are meant for each other and each other is for eternity. Unconditional love, unconditional bliss blares through the night's darkest deepest ignorance and its entity is gone.


Cognitive Consciousness Is Intellectuals Etherial Bodies Filled With Wisdom & Energies

Soundless, Motionless. Mystical. Raindrops start, then stop. Drip. By bloodshed drip. By drip. By drip. By drip. Drop by replenished drop. By drop by drop by drop. They cascade down playfully scattering on the ground. Coming uncontrollably. From the heavens. To all I know. The dead darkness of God's earth is shown. And has chosen to shower upon us. Our reunion storms. To all of those in despair. To all those scorned. His child and children start to mingle and become noticeably formed. Lighting candles that Inspiringly built traveling windows. The wind does not blow when I do this. At times instinctively. The flame of my candle. Does tribalism dance? Mesmerizing me. I'm not. I'm now in the rain. Can't hear, can't see. My eyes and ears forcibly subdue every trickling trickle quietly.
While I strain fully flexing absorbability. I traveled through miles of sound. Of a scream, my scream. In the storm, I'm facing a creature and closed in a shell which may very well be facing me. The holder of hell? I feel the trees, I feel life and I want it again. But at what price? I sense something burning in the distance, so very bright blasting my night. Blasting bright, painfully bright. Freely swaying and swooping around and around. Whispering, whisking. The making sounds and seeds wash away that are found. Taken to places, to people who want to be and feel right. Glittering in the wind. They have foreseen love mourning.
I am raped down to my soul. There was a number warning. I looked for a star to burn, my escape letting light through. A Gray silk screen sky tinted to a dull haze. Given Lee showering me, my spirits know what to do. I have closed my eyes to serenity peepers and a star lead the way. Breast skiing me off into the heavens through time, which feels like repeatedly. Going through depth again. It hurts. I found there's no air for breathing, no earth. I must be speeding. Gushing through hell as my chest, as my heart as my lungs exploded. Through in pain for a spell. I enjoyed it and I held it momentarily. I'm saying finally my candle that glows to a second secret chosen star that's done gone through the maze for me to save. And achieve power for getting me out of this burned shell, out of hell. God knows what it's like to feel whole. God knows God again to breathe everlasting and freeing. My spirit. The candle offers the goals of my soul to the star. Cleansed by rain, the Lightning came and created a beautiful dream of life glowing in me. Visualizing each life, I've been a husband. I've been a wife. I've been a brother. And more. I have instinctively survived each time. Once I was killed twice, naturally died.
My visions have said something ahead. They have said while in my direction. Are being seriously rearranged. I step back, take a moment at God's very feet and pray while still in the shadow, dancing vibes of my candle, firm its grip so not to slip. The rain cools my violence. Then I'm blissfully kissed, painlessly, almost effortlessly. The corrodible signs and guiltiness from past lives are instinctively erased. Like time. Time refreshed are no longer fabricated. The star leaves the forever feeling of extraterrestrial beings have been and will. One time being me again. Now I lay only qualities of learning and knowledge to gain. I know I must hurry. I must hurry eluding pain, no ones to blame. When passed to this point. Life journeys are often flamboyant. I have learned each life. Is to live again. For upon one trip, we shall all eternally rejoice for this moment, for this night, this storm will be soon turning into day.
I can see realities reluctant to delay. In its own consuming time and way. Pains extracted away from me each time, each breath, each life, each death. I Deja vu, I am on my 4th embracement of this soul, holding more into a hollow life and shell without hell, only to perform impeccably on this set course.

 

Cognitive Consciousness Is Intellectuals Ethereal Bodies Filled with Wisdom & Energies: This one is being published in Comforts Quarterly Magazine, along with 4 paintings and two other poems and a short story with 130,000 words called A Small Town Boy, I am the featured Author in the Anthology to come out spring of 2024. Will keep folks posted..
Thank for the comment.
Best Timothy Phillips