My mother ate some stars in wonderland by St. Ifa, a High Priest of Ogunden

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Narrated by John C. Mannone

My mother ate some stars in wonderland by St.Ifa, a High Priest of Ogunden
Illustration by Sue Babcock
1. Wonderland

My father fed on stars in wonderland,
Where unicorns feed large among the flowers:
Some singing roses, cinnamon and cross,
Lit long the land like flames of golden showers. 
My father ate the stars before the doom,
The grim demonic birds with awful song,
The grim demonic birds with deadly gloom,
The grim demonic birds that make fate wrong.
My dad vomits the stars at present time,
Some pour on me like April’s bloom of youth,
Like skeins of birds in ever joyful prime,
Like showers of gold that always tell the truth.
My father saves my name with stars of gold,
With grains of peace that yonder land can hold.

2. Monster
The monster walks the earth like evil thing,
Hot fire fumes his frowned face to fall our race,
To fall the ancient race in Buddha’s wing,
The race of ancient arts long lost in space.
So sad, communist lords despoil our parts,
Raw organs stench like bitter ethics’ sore – 
Sad pictures glued the parts: some lungs, some hearts:
Our organs spilled in air to mend their score.
My friend, peace comes when hearts wear coats of love
When songs of silent peace illume our tongues,
When finest honey rains descend from Dove,
When freedom tunes are sung with goodly gongs.
My friend, the songs of peace will come in time,
To wipe the evil thing with dharma’s rhyme.

3. My Future Craft               

My future craft is built without a sound
Like Spring: its freshness shines in morning light;
It sails in skies like craft in fairest round,
Pure roses cool, its lithe in our shocked sight.
So smooth its glide on eagles’ wings and fair.
Its spring in flight is a motion fair in heart:
Fair as the sparkling steels that angels dare;
Sweet arks that never jam or kill in part.
But arks of time will come with perfect peace;
Will come when Art has come to bear the true,
When godly arts adorn the mind with fleece,
When there’s no staining fuel to blur the view.
These arks of time are sweet as fairest swings,
Like birds of light with ever peaceful wings.

4. Never Land

My mother ate some stars in Never land:
A promised land with flowers by yonder streams;
Demonic birds ate stars like grains on sand,
Pegassi flap their wings like waking dreams.
My mother ate before the fateful birds,
Before demonic birds that feed on fate:
Some birds of hate with ever binding chords;
So proud her mouth, she ate in joyous state.
My mother fed on stars before my time,
The stars of love that floats in tender hearts,
Some sweetest stars of hope in smartest rhyme:
Bedecked with songs of gold in heaven’s mart.
When peace is ripe to pour as songs of love,
My mother’s stars are peace from times above.

5. My Future Car 

My future car shall move in perfect whole,
A flattest magic plate in listless air,
Nor light to work; nor fuel to make it roll,
So moves it soft like bubble balls and bare.
For sure, no gas will stain when it flies by,
No thunder cry that blinds with deaf’ning sound,
No soothing gas that stains the seamless eye,
No queuing tales at filling stations round.
But these strange cars will come when time is ripe,
When human thoughts are pure as cherubs’ wings,
When Peace beclouds the mind in angels’ type,
When thoughts are trained to drive the grossly things.
My friend, this car of Peace will drive the earth,
Will drive with Love in hearts of earthly breath.  

Bio: A Shakespearean, master of Iambic metre, Yogi, a High Priest of Ogunden, a Political Philosopher; sonneteer.