Promise to nominate a judge
Who will reverse previous decisions.
Relish the opportunity
To fan the flames of people's divisions.

Refuse to provide the senators
With all of the documents that they need
To allow for careful, researched judgment.
Your nominee will be guaranteed.

Be sure the person you nominate
Will have your back if things get hairy.
Agreeing that you're above the law
Is absolutely necessary.

Let ideology be
The key factor for stacking the Court.
Your starry-eyed supporters will
Give you their undying support.

Train your nominee to behave
Just like you when at a hearing.
Your base will consequently find
The person even more endearing.

If any dirt might come up,
Limit the background investigation
To make it essentially a sham.
And lie without reservation.

Persuade Republicans in Congress
To sycophantly do your bidding.
You scratch their backs; they'll scratch yours.
Works like a charm. I'm not kidding!

Belittle dissenters. People who don't
Support you, you humiliate.
Stick to this plan, for that's how you
Are going to make this country great.

-by Bob B (10-5-18)

Heed these words, write them upon the tablet of your mind for I have returned.

When you finally come to the point in your life and comprehend that the dreams with which you have been bestowed are to be used as a blueprint, you then and only then will win remarkable success in what ever calling that you adopt. You will begin to visualize things with a much greater understanding and you will experience sights stranger than you have ever seen before. You will know that these new visions are all true, for you will see that you have been given the ability to pick out and notice clusters of confirmations and on an imaginary scale. The fear of premonitions and ignoring notable occurrences by dismaying them all off as if they are just figments of your imagination is to be avoided. It is not out of random chance, the thought that things are bound to line up from time to time and for no apparent reason or that evolution had a major impact on us to evolve into begins to recognize pattern recognition, but rather, it is to be construed as if you have been blessed with the gift of foresight and you will notice that you are able to think and speak things into existence. Never again will you live with the fear of the unknown for you will know all. The truth of all things will manifest themselves and be disclosed to you in a vivid clear contrast. There will be many people who will find it extremely difficult to interpret what is being explained to them and in the process they will then start to display that they are trapped within there own gridlocked mind and be confused with just your mere presence. You will find that people who do not understand you will then try to get you to conform to what they see, ignore them. Life is but an enigma, one that is full of complex-ed riddles, when you accept to follow your dreams and with an open objective you will then have the opportunity to harness all its power and in return all the pieces of the puzzle will be spread out for you for your taking. Once you find the first piece, you then will be given the license required to take part of this phenomenon so you can complete life's grander picture found outside the ivory tower. You will know with all certainty that you are not dreaming and that what you are witnessing is not a mirage, that is until, the silver cord be loosed, after that, when death finds its way to sting and the grave can then claim its victory, welcome and accept a Re"quies'cat In Pa'ce.

As always, Welcome to the show!

Let me post a selfie
how's my hair
makeup
angle
filter
how do I look
did I get likes yet?
Let me post a status
one about how much I love my besties
another on how I learned a new lesson
now here's a photo of my breakfast
I have to comment
like
poke
post new updates
every day
becuase that's just what you do nowadays,
that's just how it goes
because we're all so afraid
if we don't keep posting
if we don't get those likes
and invites
and pokes
and fill up our messages
and notifications,
that we're going to be forgotten.
That if we don't solidify our presence
on social media
then we don't have a presence at all.
We spend so much time
trying to make other people
think we exist,
that we never end up existing at all,
not really.
We don't need all these people
and confirmations
to tell us we exist.
we already do.
If only it weren't so easy to forget that.

aromatic coffee awakens senses
   midst the gestured warmth of radiant
      smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
    the awe inspiring  poignancy
               of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
   of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
    a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
  tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
    enlightening sensibilities as it
        enriches the day's appreciation
               'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
   coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
      of words expressly borne, communing the
         artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
     procuring special collective bonds that
               only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
  rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
     as this inexplicable endeavor
        escapes their stifled perceptions
         of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
    experiences on common ground
       in realizations of all-too-human foibles
          eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of  potpourri
   serving up inky joy beyond expression,
    intention's distinction deciphering
      reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
   conjured notions of paramount significance
       wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
     wept in resolute  celebrations of existence

                *as only a poet could discernibly translate

it's a surgical thing
to become so real

like the new thing, the next big thing
confirmations everywhere

tech bro's and rainbows
can't handle this season
of my life

can't wait until the rainbows
fade

can't get along with the season
next one coming next

no one to talk to
marching forth like saints
the whole world a cult to join
or not join

The suns divulgence to the sky torrents every once in a while into distinguished hues.

The work words have to do, I do as well
leaving being as having been begun
ghabh-
also *ghebh-, Proto-Indo-European root meaning
"to give or receive."
The basic sense of the root probably is "to hold,"

Able comes from this, thus
ability  

8 billions, say
- the ob-servant says,
half are breathing in, as half
were breathing out,

certainly a few were out of sync,
so some of us sneezed, one would think
to effect the fectuality, unawares,

stutter steps, bridge march, aware
smell the honey suckle smell, no,
discern a subtle dif-fer tle,lit-tle
bit
literal not sames, similar sense, smell
seeming
how more aware have we all become,
we who lost taste and smell, while
experiencing a pandemic in our time.
Eventually endemic.
How rare are we in history? First wave.
Mindful, some how, now
my taste and smell
systems are back,
on.

Off, again, try to remember the smell,
of linden trees in Helena,
and wonder, set a mind on wish to know
will wonder, the worth of which we know

but fail to consider until… un til, tilling soil,
un
I think, et I'm y conjoined, to reconsider you.

At my bitterest root,
my jealousy and rage,
- alleluia, you know the drill
my will to act like some ancient god.
Cursing all I ever was.
-disconfabulating my own legend… uses
time, in points made.

May I guess we know each word,
writ and read, in this medium sprouted from
science with held from those
limited access faith confirmations, holy secret
ways out of paying for all the idle words,
never taken for the sense intended,
foremost
sense
posited, as a point in time,
we agree, I can, we did

--plea, please explain, make it seem
as real as any dream, we can't handle the truth.
-pointless-
- why carry the weight of knowing
think of nothing
in a word,
yet
not in time/
-- a spirit from the mortals fearing death
lives in this lie, cultural *******, fear of measure,
spit an image, imagine a nation, from dragon's teeth
spat, shat, splat, all the same, fat rain sound.
-- crack of the gavel, give us rapt attention---
order, order in the court, when, in fact,
judgement begins where Jesus says God is,
in his forever state, in me, of we, who
took him at his word, be true, live.
the way
courtesy commands, as judgment begins
in the spirit
of the man,

The right hand ignores the left hand clapping
-present the feeble fable

Discord sown among brothers-
hate the owning fact of life, only one breath,

- listen to the retold old word tale
- endemic demes enforced knowledge
- from **** to last told tale… we are this
- this is epic in each occurrence… we realize
smoked ribbon winds around in
form,
the long winter mind, all hearing ears, feel
from our gut, we obey. We join image-e- nations.

We dare ante-cipitate the motion in the dance.
All public opinion re
arrives at one point. We have no reasons for war,
we are not the users of others, we give, and
have been given unto, in some inexplicable way,

peace in time to rest in it, dabbling in old lies, left
binding cultural ties, as all reason for stiffness wilts

We listen to the Wendigo,
who wound the ******* greedy winding wake,
when the forest was aflame, and the wind had no cloud
that did not poison rain.
- meandering progress, not steam ship progress
sense posed reason aitia, to the t/
spirit and image in the idiom/
sublime

Now, the teller, looks to me, reminds me
of light perceived as punctual, flashing,
aha, waves in passing
understood.
Effectually.
- we stand as one.
- In the ready written mind.

All but he who takes a knee, ala George Washington,
under the leafless tree, in the olden vale.

The point of any thing, is made for, f-word for or fore
before, forsaking, one must make for some sake,
no relationship to four, for some reason, get
as a service, do what you do. Right.
Why would one enabled to do good,
do otherwise?

Ignor the answers you ask for.
Pretend poetry never makes
sense in terms of poetic good, exhaled, relieved,

passing coolness in the air.
- as gentle spirits some say do
Orderly arrangement, left mind, right or most versatile hand,
point at any thing,
bend that finger,
as on a trigger,
we can, we
know not how, we know, we have, we hold certain
positioning words as one mind may, I know,

I just got my smell back.
Like that, but after using your James Webb visualizing augments.
The wheel galaxy, just as imagined… we see

In effect, this is science, this is history,
this is art and language, holding sway,
we all know earth produces on a cycle, right,
greed breeds and brings forth famine,
famine finds us eating our corporations…
Jubilee, reset
-ship, shape, worth-shape, sense make,
peace where war was, one point
at a time.

Hold that thought, this is intended for

an audience, as the Terminal List,
was made to entertain military minds,
mental peace enforcer traits, keepers
of the secret, duty to the concept,..
live free, or die- for no reason,
save the Platonic essential lie.

Peacemakers were not intended,
we want valient warriors, at the core,
not the passive resistors increasing
capacity
to have the whole world sneeze.
And blink,
To sell words redeemed, mercurial recovery,

as from first people stories, branching away,

chaparral, between the salty sea,
and high reaching pine

fishing in a sea of social forgotten schemes/

Self govern, but in these days, not the future,
self govern now, participate in the present,

NPC over sight, non intervention-invention,
installed when you agreed, you watch,
do not rewrite the ending/

So, story being told.
Story being made up to conserve,

serve a certain truth we know, winter comes
some times for too long,

so we consider the ant, and remember Wendigo.

greedy gut, cheater, long time ago, we know,
we all can be the hungered beast.

Wait, and see, some day, we see the peace pass
for understanding, and we wonder into a we,
state of awe, as a we aware, we think

whole worlds and only words, at once.
Making peace from confused principle things.

We can, others have, agree; we are the best/

--------
Welfare, fare thee well, we said

we are as rich as ever was,
but we live a quiet life.

Pressure from some outside source,
begins be gins beginning to squeeze,

and pull and stretch, who needs the show
shown every where,
there, those other people, who own
no means to make a living form we are
reality personality types, all observants
become familiar with,
predicting winners, if it happens

I coulda been a contender, the audience
always know,
just how it feels, to be on your own,
a compleated unknown enfolding old Dylan licks,

Wendigo, there he go,
lickin' his chops, BG words are all I have
to take his breath away,

soft, and gentle/ sub-tility, wait, as sufficient

seed becomes something, never just a seed again,
and then just a seed a million times, in the wind.

-------------
3:55
I've driven myself to reflection
point,
observation con services ob
scene, objects mis directed, rect-
ify, io I mean, finger mover, on demander
I, free, willing, hunting wendigo from fantacy
conforming to hate manifested, abhor evil,
-never rests, never
rest in stranger's peace of mind,
find plain old apples in the tree, free, no fines,
no charge, non sense, an-tic

click onoma-tope -- under all of history, we know,

scribes, alone, found time to write, after reasoning
in the agora all day… ancient minds, WWSD?

--- listen, I am ashamed to beg, so, what does
your tab say, listen, I'm thinking

that's too much, here, take your ledger, wipe the debt.

Clean, no remnant from which revenant wrongs make claim,

first story told was told as lies, intended to deceive.

Knowledge is truth's gift, we live and learn
and pass it on. One point, inevitably crossing now.
And leaving a ripple, no marks

Yet, behind all that, this peace in mind, as a state, mindstate
timespace space time

taken, for granted bequilement does not disconnect,
knowing from known, and proof from pudding,
true rest,
reason for peace taken, in knowing, some body
had to believe, if it feels good, suddenly,
you know, every thing we eat
turns to ****, unless we learn…

that is good. Deal with it.

In a midnight lamentation,
the soul (suppressed) of reprobation,
wallowed in wasted conspiracies-
unjust (censored) confirmations.

My shoes (foundation) which were half on,
stained the beer (love), which was half gone,
that he camped- (devoted) so entitled,
marvelously, (masculine) so magnificently upon.

Ongoing obstacles, alluring alike,
repressed restraints depicted, despite-
ones that evaded, encompassed our love,
which freshly, faithfully, finally took-flight.

That beer (blazing) tottered so temping-
wrongfully, radiantly, reluctantly-right!
It swiveling-and-spinning, (dangling) around the axis of life,
Makes this, yet another- lamentation in the night.

These roaring pains felt in my stomach ******* me to my knees
But I stand up, go back to work, cause I'm the cleaning lady

Drowning tears of failure and never to your needs
To uncles who understand and claim they will make a stand,
"Under your weight a lovely girl lives and I'm going to tell him 'bout it!"
Oh, uncle Bill, can't you see? 
I've learned whiskey words make a fool out of me

I shoot the purple on the green
From racking, not knowing, just focusing 
A phone call to tell me the snow is 3 deep
Spitting curse words around me like the white flakes I see
But you're just furious because I spend my money

Daddy, you don't love me like you do them
Confirmations from strangers and old family friends
Your standards too high, I never stood a chance
*And here comes that pain again

Virginity lost,
innocence stolen.
Sheets tangled,
emotions interwoven.
***** clothes,
ruffled hair.
Questions of how,
when and where.
Reminders of tomorrow,
predictors for tonight.
Confirmations of standing,
Emotions just right.
Placed bedside,
words left out.
Lust and passion,
what tonight’s about.

Morning confession,
admittance of sin.
Wishing lust to stop,
but praying it’ll never end.
Emotions dressed,
worn only during day.
Then changed at night,
seeking for new prey.

Virginity lost,
innocence stolen.
Stealing dignity,
never beholden.
A thin veil,
an attempt to cover.
Comes off at night,
under new cover.

Virginity confirmed,
finally dead.
Studies done,
in the bed.
Innocence gone,
never alive.
Veil disappeared,
ending the strive.
Bedside table,
falls apart.
Pieces found in sheets,
of an intertwined heart.
Lust and passion,
exchanged here.
Intertwined with emotions,
cries hard to overhear.

Timechain - Bitcoin’s implications
Bringing better motivations
Planning now on firm foundations
Verifying confirmations

Helping us to shun temptations
Longer views - no reservations
Skipping short term complications
Better people - better nations

Starting useful conversations
Raising people’s expectations
Making needed preparations
A higher way for generations

Unread correspondence lies in despondence
Gathering dust on the shelves
Journal subscriptions of countless descriptions
Piled on top of themselves

Confirmations of blood donations
That never will be attended
Leaflets unnumbered, the walls are encumbered
Far more than was ever intended

Postcards from the tropics discussing dull topics
Like “them ****** foreigners” and rain
Parcels were ordered, were barely afforded
Never to be mentioned again

You’ve got something yourself, squeezing onto a shelf
That’s as packed as the Vatican’s coffers
But it’s weeks out of date and you’re several days late
To respond to the business it offers

sheets rustle with movement
his strong arm reaches across the bed
the smell of wood and sage in the air
soft skin slides across the worn washed linen
taunt muscles relax into his body
near breathless whispers in my ear
confirmations of stars in the sky
constellations and the universe
nothing in creation compares
to you and me in our bed

Now grows,
absorbing excess saturation,
conforming nonplussed confirmations.

Now rises in a balloon
tied to our hearts—stretching,
brimming with the gloss of life.

Now rushes from the mountain
over the great falls, into the valley,
with or without us.

Bent on a wave
Lives to claim
From my rich tongue soars
Confirmations I want to score
A scene
A day
Sturdy hand shakes
My head is swimming and I'm able to float only on horizons
Though down beneath
Water shut off valve to the sink
Sounds of water whipping  against my little girl frame and life jacket
My fathers yells
I grab the rope
Wicked laugh to echo sound scopes
I loved you as deep as the ocean goes and like a layman at the beach I will never know the ocean floor

For once I have known what it means to be at now and be only now.
For once I appreciated a cobweb on my face at tree level as a sign of my life.
Something that used to be so scary converted to confirmations of existence just.
Oh the fright be a torchlight and yes I have made it indeed or died.
...
Is that maybe why I feel so high sometimes?
Cannot use my eyes?
Does eating coconut help for some gravity?
My body said to do so recently.
...
but so anyway I have good news :
that ongoing heartache is gone now :)
So wipe off your care about my worrisome insomnia.
...
And guess what!
Apparently I owe my new health to your new affair!
After I rang your ‘concept of friendship’ bell,
unattended highs dropped ties deep down a steep mountain valley.
Amended a past blasphemy to praise your love only.
It's like a heart delivery after halved one's compulsory adversity.
...
and there I left you under a pine tree
observing me as if ******
Shine now you the one facing the sun at dawn
beyond that steep valley
where once we danced arm in arm
in laughter and joy and purity
but I slipped -
slipped down  left
towards a darkness lit by mourners’ prayers
was that really a dream?
or have you once again saved my life?
...
so listen, listen now peacefully to the song of the stream running beneath.
Make that water sound like my spirit
and let me go back to my exile land.
...
A cow said don't worry he will be happy
Radio said don’t you forget about me
and I wept
a riverfall of farewell
but NO I cannot take you with me this time
but ditch you to purity
so call it home if you like and be me
as we have always been since eternity.

i love late night cruises where street lights are road maps and the clicking of seat belts are signaled confirmations of undiscovered adventures. i love looking out the window and gaging speeds of trees flying past and wondering who else is in the place I'm in. i love turing on the radio and not knowing which genres of music are going to cause induced emotional thoughts and memories brought on by past lovers and significant experiences. i love winding back roads that induce stress of not knowing where to go, but only in the best kind of way. the stress of discovery and unified serenity. i love  premeditated song choices set moods for the adventures we are all going to take. that talks of real things in life flow smooth and rhythmically like the turning of spinning  tires on pavement coinciding with melodies of memories. i love the sound of celiphane removed from packs of cancer sticks and buying dying has never felt so satisfying. overwhelming sweetly harsh smells of gasoline and lit matches. That sometimes in these elements you think back to when you swore off ever trying these bad habits you now can't seem to kick. getting high and driving around neighborhoods looking at dream homes like built houses of cards and wondering what secrets reside inside these covered walls. i love the pattering of my heart down to my chest when i am in a automatically comfortable place iv never seen or been inside. realizations that days like these are in fact the best of your  life because there is no concern for passing time in mind. in this city, where i reside, there are battered homes of love and sadness and winding roads that seem to lead to nowhere of happiness. but when i look out into those vast open fields of half rural living i couldn't think of another place i would prefer to be. that the fact there is nothing but vast land ahead and a tiny bit of sunlight sitting gently on horizons are something someone somewhere else may not ever see. makes me feel overly blessed that is pictured when i think of  beauty, to me.

emily a. grande

Remembered when i was 6; didn't think my life would turn out this way.
Wasn't supposed to go through situations, but new lessons are learned each day.
Reaching confirmations, lines, fake friends, and half-hearted smiles.
Innocent kids become murderers, even pedophiles.
The good becomes limited, but please don't get out of line.
There's so much wrath and hatred, and we don't have a lot of time.

Glowing in the shadows
Blinded from the light

How can a left handed ******* son
Ever make it right?

Searching for perfection
And hiding when it comes..

Searching for the reasons
These shadows chose to come

Staring at relections
And glaring retrospect

Looking towards the future
Trying to forget

I guess its not important
And nor is it real

The thoughts of my predictions
And the confirmations i would feel

Though you lose, thus becoming an intimate as a lover or friend, brother or sister, parent,
you will always lose through attrition or accident.
We know that 9/11’s are attrition and
love is always an accident, because
we reap what we sow, and never choose whom we love.
Attrition is the rain, forming
from pressure within the skies,
high and low temperatures at Armageddon:
yin and yang becoming earth’s tears.

Accident is the rain, vilifying
the evil of being from these two lessers of the skies,
love is sought but never found or found at odd places:
yin and yang becomes earth’s joy.

Thus, rain is a lie, liar, lying, saying
joy and love at the same time.

But love is not from this world. It is
not recognized, but named… “No” to the world’s belligerence.
We know love is expressed by this action, yes…
Thus, it’s not a lie. Love cannot be otherwise

or we would’ve never crucified the Savior
or our true loves for the world…

Love cannot exist naked.
It is always ready to be whipped, strangled, maimed
as Jesus or a twice victimed Iraqui,
the third world or as Salvadore Allende.

But I love the rain despite my self.
It is within the reach of definitions
but not confirmations. So, love
like rain cannot be held hostage
by human view nor divine postage.
I love as it rains, I rain as I love.
From here, in my prayer, let my love of rain be love.


Found in Voices of a People’s History of the United States, by Howard Zinn and Anthony Arnove, and the now canonical historical work of the United States by the same Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States: “Watergate had made both the FBI and the CIA look bad---breaking the laws they were sworn to uphold, cooperating with Nixon in his burglary jobs and illegal wiretapping. In 1975, congressional committees in the House [of Representatives] and Senate began investigations of both the FBI and CIA…It was also learned from the investigation that the CIA---with the collusion of a secret Committee of Forty headed by Henry Kissinger—had worked to ”destabilize” the Chilean government headed by Salvadore Allende , a Marxist who had been elected president in one of the rare free elections in Latin America.” (pp.554). For a more balanced view on the complicity of Kissinger and his role in U.S foreign policy, moreover his role in the death of Allende, see or read the acclaimed movie or book: The Trials Henry Kissinger.

Suppressed recollections
play upon the strings of my impressions,
that are fractured confirmations
of where my mind is flowing,
                             upwards
to the vault of all my beginnings.

There is a stalk that wonders aimlessly
within the crevasses of all that flows,
sustaining on the occasions that were
never meant to be its leaves deprived
of all worthwhile emotions.

Separate from what weaves above,
a solitary refection whispers against
the tide of the beginnings, floating with
the progressive clear thought.

I want them to look beyond my face and my body
I want them to realize that my best is me at 3:37 am, with a notebook in one hand, a pen in the other, and Charles Mingus playing in the background
I want them to see me
I want them to realize that I am naturally soft spoken but my voice is so powerful sometimes that MLK, Maya Angelou, Marcus Garvey, W. E. B. Du Bois, and Malcolm X themselves take turns looking down from heaven in amazement at the fire my belly has produced
I want them to feel me but not in a ****** way because I get tired of people trying to get inside me and not learn the inside of me
I want them to love me
I want them to love me in a way not even myself can love me because self-love is cool and all but admiration is for my ego and as I look around this late at night I realize one tiny confirmation from ten thousand people means so much more than ten thousand tiny confirmations from myself
Why is that?
I want them to understand me
I want them to be able to look at something I create and it touches their soul they way the person beside them cannot
I want them to rejoice in the sweet hallelujahs of connection but I don't want praises for a God-given talent
I want them to be inspired
I want to move them in a way their teachers never could and the way their parents should
I want to teach them
I want to be able to say a line the aligns with the situation that's dwelling in their hearts as they look with glistening eyes waiting for the solution I cannot fully give away to them yet
They must hang on to my every word, following my movements with the sway of their bodies until I tell them the golden word that will spark that change for them
I want them to listen
God, I hope they listen
Because being a black girl in the ghetto with depression no one would listen to cries I often let out
No one would pay attention to the warning signs I would give them
I was told to get over it and it would pass but years have passed and it's still here
I want them to pay attention
To the tone of my voice that indicates my feelings
To the way my eyes dim when darkness is approaching
I need them to be observant for when they come across another person as sad as me they know that depression isn't just a state of mind
It isn't just a trend or something you say for attention
I want them to be aware
I want them to feel
In a generation that takes pride in feeling nothing and destroying everything they touch I want them to hold emotion strong enough to be someone's healing component
I want them to love
Love as if it is the only thing that can keep them from dying
I want them to believe in something bigger than anything they can ever imagine, touch, or feel
I want them to find themselves
I want them to find worth in themselves and not one-night stands, substances, or self-harm
I don't want them to be afraid anymore
I want them to know I'm here
I want them to to be expressive and free
I want them to know I love them
But most of all, I need them to be okay so that I can have hope for myself

The indelible precision of God’s holy Word
has been fine tuned for the Human soul;
genuine application of its divine secrets
will assist us to become spiritually whole.

For the Scriptures are meant to be profitable,
and were originally encased by Jehovah’s breath.
The sacred aspirations for Man’s eternal life
are contained in principles for overcoming death.

Agnostic skeptics of circular Biblical arguments,
intentionally chose to ignore The Word’s confirmations;
meanwhile, we know that the text is open to reproof,
as we study precepts for seeking our divine connection.

For it’s only in God, that one can find completeness,
seeing that we strive to live in brotherly accord;
be trained and equipped with His divine influence
since all Scripture is… God’s inspirational word.
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Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
2 Tim 3:16-17

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.

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If I gathered all my bags
packed them lovingly and with care
folded neatly shirts and pants
taking extra precaution to carry spare undergarments

If I wrapped my toiletries in tissue paper
steam-cleaned the toothbrush
collected equal miniscule amounts of
toothpaste, shampoo, and conditioner
all medications labeled
deodorant in a special container  

If I had all the reservations and plane tickets
pre-paid
my printed confirmations with my wallet and cell phone
bags shipped ahead so nothing could be misplaced

then,



would you take me to


                               funkytown?    /

Icy doilies
Murmuring
Dropping illusions
Of pledges and confirmations

A bitter day
Visions of amore
The avenues we choose
Decide our fate

Bobbing, pirroetting, snow
Composing a concord
Of abashment and bedlam
Tipping to and fro

Advising mice and squirrels
Not to venture outside
Lest they be swallowed
By a blustering freeze

Sputter and cough
Wheeze and wallow
Litter the earth
With frosty white tears

Adam, how doth thou get misled? Lost thy head to the snakes spiteful pleasures?eternally weathered!

Congenial I feel for thou, blindsided by poisonous virtue, as eve thou hast followed her nudely confirmations!

Cyanide lands thou hast brought us, death hath thou cost us, and enemies thou hast made along the way!

With god that is..

Thou were born unto bliss, and made a slithering cuticle between the slip skipped rocks..

Born amongst the loss of all thou hast taken! Was thy tree of life not good enough greedy taker?

Misfortune seems plainer when it's thy name they shout!!Thou shark made a trout, Now ethnic only to beasts who have fallen!

Didn't thou hear thy calling?

Brutalities beast!!!

Thou had a feast and turned it into darkness, thy secrets have been revealed by that fruit that thou plopped!

Plundered? Forgot, for the dragon made a home out of thou.
Gamashes thou Now needs, doth thou wear tattoos for sleeves?

Now that clothes thou must adjust?

Insurrection thou doth bow to!
Adam and eve a rotting stew!!!

You are soooo pretty
This hallow phrase is practically screamed in a girls ear daily; serving as a reminder that her worth lies in how much mascara she clumped onto her eyes or how cinched up is her size.
The praise that we give little girls has to do with the way she dresses or how her curly locks bounce.
We love to tell them, "you are so cute!" because all of a sudden, her mouth curls into a silly little grin because it is already cemented in her brain at age four that she is worth her beauty rather than her character or her brains.
Then in adolescence it seems mom is just grappling to let her poor child know that she is still pretty even though puberty has her popping pimples and crimping her hair with an iron that smells like burned rubber.
Our attempts to fix insecurities are just confirmations of their priorities in our society. So we set these twelve year olds down the path of knowing that the parts of them that are praised, such as silky hair and shiny blue eyes are where they need to focus. and that there should be shame related to what goes unnoticed giving many grown *** women the desire to hide their not so skinny thighs and soulful chestnut eyes.