Heaven Sent and Hell Proof

by: Francis Joseph LaManna

The amusement park isn't amusing,
I'd rather not be stopped while pursuing.
It's without.
An echoing shout-
fills the space.
Remove your face from my face.

The laughing ceased,
I chose to ignore, unpleased,
I still see, I still hear,
though, still not in fear. 

In keeping the power.
Now and at the hour,
I look no further than myself.

In this regeneration,
I created the ending.

I guess Juno fell and broke her crown,
Another hidden enemy-
wicked from the top down.

And here I am,
Still standing,
Still solo on the landing,
I'm hard as hell on myself,
but God isn't too demanding.

Moving past the stare,
I'm moving forward,
Working through another square.  

I'm not popular, 
not too many heard of me,
and one by one they continue deserting me.

But for the life of me, 
I don't see the emergency.
If they only knew-
I altered the circle before turning thirty.

Eleven Eleven,
There is a connection,
Sixty-Nine, thirteen, and twenty-seven,
His pitchfork burns in hell,
but he reigns in heaven.  

The fire still burns..



As the weather breaks,
and the scythe takes,
Let's see what this harvest makes.

Under pressure but alert as my body aches,
I'm up late and stay awake to catch these dirty snakes.

I have stake in the game, 
I put a stake in my claim,
I put nine in a frame,
And said no, I'm not the same.

I was built for the one, but I run the four-hunnit',
My life was never over, I just had to go and hunt it.
Still, I'm not quite there, but I'm looking at the summit,
And I'm not stopping-if the world ends and the stocks plummet;

Oh well. 

When it was hard to breath, I was given a life savor,
A life that's saved lives right to return the favor.
Thank you. 

Wax on wax off with the moons' phases,
There's a flow to keep when the sky changes.
Old Secrets-they survive on through the ages,
I treat my past like a scrap book and turn the pages.

Into this harvest I'll be grim like reaper,
My inner sun shines as the planets say to keep her. 

I guess it's time for me tighten up my belt,
Gods activating asteroids and Hera made her presence felt.
Her diadem shines as I watch the iron melt,
And the owl sees my card while I fold on the hand that's dealt. 

I'm excited man,
There's lead in the frying pan. 
It's God's plan.
Bear witness..

As the weather gets cold,
There's no limit for the heat old lions hold.
Originality breaks the mold.  

Let us reap!

Let us keep,
Our harvest and pursue transformation,
Through the darkness of February,
The month of Purification.



Every cute occurrence you blew off:
Positivity, nope- you'd rather scoff.

Every joke was ignored;
You were bored.

When I thought I was being funny, I wasn't,
When I got upset you said, you mustn't.

Nothing was right, everything was wrong,
Fake smiles were fun, but not for so long.

In denial-I carried on,
But every great morning was just blah blah blah. 

All out of tricks so I thought it was serious,
Confused by the mood and this change so mysterious 

Maybe it was me, but it wasn't unusual
At times of uncertainty I just needed approval.

But I couldn't get that, 
and as a matter of fact,

You stayed persistent until you were sure,
I had given up fun and just closed my door.

Then it all changed. 

While I'm down in misery,
You're suddenly happy and smiling considerably.

All I remember is us laughing together, 
But I guess brining me down is what makes you feel better.  

And you have the nerve to ask me what's wrong,
or tell me I'm different and I've been for so long. 

Awe, why aren't you happy, you seem really quiet, 
Is everything okay, you're never this silent.

I'm not sad and I don't have depression, 
But you'll get offended if I answered your question. 

How do I explain the events that transpired?   
If you really don't know you'll just say I'm a liar.

But you know-and I've said all I can say,
Your play for control keeps ruining the day.



Human Origin

Human Origin

In its correlation to roots and home,
Way before the ancients of Rome.
Up in the sky, when most grow weary,
Our source of light and lesser luminary.

And now, I start to think,
Toeing the edge of crazy's brink,
While looking at the wheel's fourth zone,
Where the Moon rules, is a house called home.

Is the thought that unstable,
or so demented like Cain killing Abel-
similar to heaven's conjunction at noon,
The Imum Coeli conjuncts the Moon.

The answer, perhaps,
has been in front of us right-
we didn't come from a planet,
We stepped out of the light.

-Francis Joseph LaManna

Frequency Waves

Streams not of water,

but running and rolling.

Waves of frequency,

Invisible to the eye,

Flowing through the mind.

The secret is within us,

The indivisible, individuals.

And surprisingly,

The individual, on etheric realms,

is not alone.

Universal knowledge, the pool,

We can all swim in.

Opus Magnum

Opus Magnum
By: Francis Joseph LaManna

Celestial coordinate grids-
Spun from arachnids,
And the world's fear,
is sight unclear.

They sit in meditation, hoping for a little intuition,
to fix a situation, with more imagination.  

But to tell the truth, 
Imagination might be enough,
For humans to conquer,
And break through the rough.

Time lines of history,
millennia mysteries-
still making sense of it all;
Time in space,
We're recalling The Fall.
The more I walk-
The more I crawl.

Slow down my sun,
He doesn't say it, but I know he feels it.

Our hands meet,
and something happens,
either a deal is made,
or it's congratulations.

The path forward, 
now set to unfold,
it's one that favors action-
the courageous and bold.

We're awakened by incompatible opposites, 
which change our focus,
to the possibility-
we've returned for a purpose. 

That's destiny!
And we learn, 
we aren't trying to complete a process,
but rather, we are the process.

The Great Work is us!
We're being molded and engineered,
as our soul journeys to completion.  


Good Morning.

That shooting yesterday at the Sunoco 7 Eleven was the second gas station/convenient store shooting in Lehigh County in less than a year. The other ended up becoming a murder-suicide at the Rt. 100 Wawa in Breinigsville nine months ago.

Be careful.

It’s a Saturday morning, and this is kind of like a freestyle post me. Sometimes rappers freestyle, and you can do it as a writer to. Even if you have no material in mind-just start writing.

Poetry-A Freestyle Session

No rush,

No worry,

There’s not a reason for either.

Your path is waiting Keeper.

Nature is your teacher.

No doubt,

No fear,

It shall all become clear.

Evolutionary leap,

it seems out of reach,

but it’s not.

Stop and think on this,

It’s a decision,

That’s all it is.

Enjoy your Saturday everyone.


My new book, Smorgasbord 3 The Final Platter begins with this poem. I posted it on here a little while ago, but I decided to bring it back as a sneak preview of what’s to come. Enjoy!


The ticking of the clock,

plays a trance-like melody,

in my mind;

a beautiful symphony.

An orchestra in tune,

perpetuating the mood,

of energetic-never ending high;

though a portrait of time,

tells us it’s noon.

Anxious thoughts and reality loom,

Oh how beautiful,

that circle filled with numerals;

yet-it ticks and ticks until our funerals.

Those hands!

Time can be harsh,

though we forget,

in the memories of emotional marsh,

the clock is ticking.

Time is running out.