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Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
  Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set,
As far removed from God and light of Heaven
As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—
  “If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed
From him who, in the happy realms of light
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder; and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contentions brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods,
And this empyreal sybstance, cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”
  So spake th’ apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:—
  “O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers
That led th’ embattled Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heavenly Essences
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o’erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate’er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it the avail though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?”
  Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied:—
“Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—
To do aught good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destined aim.
But see! the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,
Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid
The fiery surge that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there;
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.”
  Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate,
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th’ ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as ****** tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn
On Man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.
  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driven backward ***** their pointing spires, and,rolled
In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights—if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,
And such appeared in hue as when the force
Of subterranean wind transprots a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength,
Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
  “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”
Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?”
  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub
Thus answered:—”Leader of those armies bright
Which, but th’ Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults
Their surest signal—they will soon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!”
  He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear—to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—
He walked with, to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marl, not like those steps
On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
While with perfidious hatred they pursued
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld
From the safe shore their floating carcases
And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,
Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep
Of Hell resounded:—”Princes, Potentates,
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,
If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern
Th’ advantage, and, descending, tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
  They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch
On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
‘Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain:
A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen ***** to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, form every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander—godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;
And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones,
Though on their names in Heavenly records now
Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life.
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
Got them new names, till, wandering o’er the earth,
Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,
By falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and th’ invisible
Glory of him that made them to transform
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions full of pomp and gold,
And devils to adore for deities:
Then were they known to men by various names,
And various idols through the heathen world.
  Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused fr
you may not know me
face to face,
but you and I have connected
heart to heart through words.

Our lives are woven together by
the tapestry of words,
and into a living breathing poetry.

you and I are no longer strangers,
but fellow poets and sojourners
on this journey of creation.
The Moon and Sun shared Ecliptical Longitudes the night They murdered The child.

Beneath a stelliferous empyrean,
Like Sojourners among the quiescent Twilight, Mother and child, Ventured to meet the woman’s husband, the father of the child.

She, no more than five and ten years Old,
The child, a girl, of only months,
Lay swaddled across the Woman’s
*****, tucked inside a papoose.
A rustic device carefully woven
From wool and hide, in it contained a
Priceless world.

She cooed and clucked in the frigid
Night air.
The sound penetrated the
Spectral calm and was matched only
By the maternal soothing of a muted hum.
Together, they represented the
Heathen form of the wilderness,
The Tempi Madonna among the
Silver and shadow moonbeams that
Glimmered like the dust of diamonds
Across the river’s obsidian sheen.  

Ahead, where the river narrows,
The silence stirred and was broken.
Hushed voices rose from the outer
Dark.
The woman strained to listen.

(British Soldiers, she thought)

Foreign words...

        (Drunken and ravenous)

                         ...slithered from their mouths like Venom. Fear bloomed in the woman’s Chest.
Her heartbeat quickened.

        (Touched by the chill of terror)

Her eyes darted madly about the
Darkness.

         (Alone no longer)

Their  shadows manifested like
Smoke along the tree line.
Their
Features blurred in the darkness.
Their gestures muted.
Like birds of
Prey, they set motionless upon their
Perch along the stony shore.

I say, a man said. Indian children are natural born swimmers,
Capable at birth of swimming great distances.

Utter foolishness, old boy, another opined.

We will need proof of this claim, my good sir, an anonymous voice Quipped from somewhere in the dark.

She let escape from her full lips
The tiniest of shrieks.
Followed immediately
By
Sick
Regret.

(stupid girl, her mother’s voice echoed in the dark.
                             You always were too impulsive.)

Rage consumed her as
She struggled against the current.  
She tried to paddle for deeper
Water as the men broached
The black sheen of the river.

The moments passed by
In jagged surrealism.
There was no sound
When they pitched the woman
And child into the
Frigid abysm.

The splashing of water.
The gasping
For air.
The primal
Grapple and
Grunt of men.
The cold, pungent scent of
Fear and sweat mixed with the
Alcohol-stale air.
The twisting of
Hands that groped about the
Darkness.

         (Her rage now eclipsed by fear)

She inhaled.
Her body, numb.
Her appendages quaked.
Her body fading
As they fall upon her.
Their thick bodies
Blacked out the stars.
Their gaunt faces
Pinched and rucked in the
Moonlight
Reflected the fury, the
Hatred, and
The disgust for what would come next.
Their hands moved across her
Ravenous
Like demons as they
Groped at her small body
Beneath the choppy wash of the
River.

(A hand grazed her thigh and she shrieked in Terror. Another
         gnashed at her buttock. Another fell upon her back. Her mind
         reeled at the possibilities of what would need to come next.)

They tore at her clothing.
Her body jarred about the water as
She writhed against their grasps.
She clawed against the murk.                  
    
         (Escape the horror)

She released the paddle—

(Forever lost to the deep, useless to her now)

Hysterical animalistic thoughts
Trounced off their tongues as they
Laughed at her doom—

        (Like a pack of hyenas)

She kicked at them in nameless
Places.
She thrusted her hand into
The fabric where the child had been
Moments before cooing and clucking. 
Mere moments ago she had sang to the
Babe the same song her
Mother had once sung
To her.

             (she felt nothing where the child had been…)    

She struggled away from them.
Her mind frantic with pain, the cold,
And panic
For the child.
She no longer cared for
Herself, or what they would need to
Do with her body.
Her appendages
Flailed and churned in the dark water.
          
         (A single gasp of air followed by
              The burning inhale of water)

A shrill call to the child—

(a name lost to time)

Her voice cut through their maniacal
Laughter.
It echoed off the water and vanished,
Disappearing entirely
In the outer gloom of the wilderness.

        (like afterthoughts, lost)

She groped relentlessly among the
Water for the child.
The men, near
Frozen, lost interest and returned to
The adjacent shoreline.
It was more ****** that way.
They jeered at her,
Proud of themselves.
          
        (The seething lust of the mindless savage, she thinks)

Their mouths salivate
As they watched
Vicariously.
Her struggle
Became the current
For which she bore.
The impending death of the woman even
More satisfying than the feeling against their flesh of her cunning, wet crease that lies exposed between
Her brown legs.
They watch like wolves
Unable to reach their prey,
Desperate for fresh meat.
Despite the frigid cold,
Their *****, hard,
With the anticipation of death.

The woman clamored among the darkness
She searched for the child.
Heavy fingers fell upon woolen fabric
By chance—

(Hope bloomed in her constricted chest)

Her body finally beginning to seize
Exhaustion permeated
Her mind.
She freed the papoose
From the frozen depths and expelled
The last bit of energy she possessed
To swim to the far side of the shore,
Temporarily out of their reach.

The soldiers,
Quiet now,
Returned to the spectral woods.
They disappeared back down the
Black road from which they came.

She felt the blood as it began to
Return to her appendages, the pins And needles feeling erupting in them.
Her teeth clattered nearly exploding In her mouth.
Her body
Quaked Violently

         (The child, near in her mind, cried)

She reached for it.
Her chest,
Rising and
Falling,
Rapid like the river
As she inhaled the burning,
Frozen air.
The child let loose a cough and  
She clutched it
tighter to her *****.  

(Deny the river its prize)

A stream of consciousness,
Steadily slipped from her lips.

       (A great heathen prayer calling up some
                       Great Spirit
                                As she relentlessly brokered
                                            For a
                                       Life for a life)

The moments passed by like hours.
And the
Great Spirit, with
His wanton lust
For despair, did not manifest that night.

The child fell silent, then still.
The tears came now.
Blurred vision and
Angry sobs.
Darkness consumed entire.

The river flowed by her electric as if
Its lights descended from a place far
Beyond the black taciturn veil of
Night to reflect the merciless
Tragedies among the wretched souls of
The Maine Woods.
AK Bright May 2015
Destiny will not be found
in the realm of time
Limited to our own imaginations

We are all but strangers in this land
It is those who find a belonging to this world
 who are truly lost

Echoes we chase of discontentment
Searching for pieces we think we lost
or never had

Hearing the voices inside and out
Declaring "You Don't Belong"

Wanderers, explorers, seekers at best
Life is a Sojourn
    not a place to nest
As one who in his journey bates at noon,
Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose;
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes.
Thus thou hast seen one world begin, and end;
And Man, as from a second stock, proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine
Must needs impair and weary human sense:
Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou therefore give due audience, and attend.
This second source of Men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgement past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace;
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,
Corn, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock,
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,
With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast,
Shall spend their days in joy unblamed; and dwell
Long time in peace, by families and tribes,
Under paternal rule: till one shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart; who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
Concord and law of nature from the earth;
Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game)
With war, and hostile snare, such as refuse
Subjection to his empire tyrannous:
A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled
Before the Lord; as in despite of Heaven,
Or from Heaven, claiming second sovranty;
And from rebellion shall derive his name,
Though of rebellion others he accuse.
He with a crew, whom like ambition joins
With him or under him to tyrannize,
Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find
The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge
Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell:
Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build
A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;
And get themselves a name; lest, far dispersed
In foreign lands, their memory be lost;
Regardless whether good or evil fame.
But God, who oft descends to visit men
Unseen, and through their habitations walks
To mark their doings, them beholding soon,
Comes down to see their city, ere the tower
Obstruct Heaven-towers, and in derision sets
Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase
Quite out their native language; and, instead,
To sow a jangling noise of words unknown:
Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud,
Among the builders; each to other calls
Not understood; till hoarse, and all in rage,
As mocked they storm: great laughter was in Heaven,
And looking down, to see the hubbub strange,
And hear the din:  Thus was the building left
Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named.
Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased.
O execrable son! so to aspire
Above his brethren; to himself assuming
Authority usurped, from God not given:
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation; but man over men
He made not lord; such title to himself
Reserving, human left from human free.
But this usurper his encroachment proud
Stays not on Man; to God his tower intends
Siege and defiance:  Wretched man!what food
Will he convey up thither, to sustain
Himself and his rash army; where thin air
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross,
And famish him of breath, if not of bread?
To whom thus Michael.  Justly thou abhorrest
That son, who on the quiet state of men
Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue
Rational liberty; yet know withal,
Since thy original lapse, true liberty
Is lost, which always with right reason dwells
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being:
Reason in man obscured, or not obeyed,
Immediately inordinate desires,
And upstart passions, catch the government
From reason; and to servitude reduce
Man, till then free.  Therefore, since he permits
Within himself unworthy powers to reign
Over free reason, God, in judgement just,
Subjects him from without to violent lords;
Who oft as undeservedly enthrall
His outward freedom:  Tyranny must be;
Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low
From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong,
But justice, and some fatal curse annexed,
Deprives them of their outward liberty;
Their inward lost:  Witness the irreverent son
Of him who built the ark; who, for the shame
Done to his father, heard this heavy curse,
Servant of servants, on his vicious race.
Thus will this latter, as the former world,
Still tend from bad to worse; till God at last,
Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw
His presence from among them, and avert
His holy eyes; resolving from thenceforth
To leave them to their own polluted ways;
And one peculiar nation to select
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked,
A nation from one faithful man to spring:
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing,
Bred up in idol-worship:  O, that men
(Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown,
While yet the patriarch lived, who ’scaped the flood,
As to forsake the living God, and fall
To worship their own work in wood and stone
For Gods!  Yet him God the Most High vouchsafes
To call by vision, from his father’s house,
His kindred, and false Gods, into a land
Which he will show him; and from him will raise
A mighty nation; and upon him shower
His benediction so, that in his seed
All nations shall be blest: he straight obeys;
Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes:
I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his Gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur of Chaldaea, passing now the ford
To Haran; after him a cumbrous train
Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude;
Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who called him, in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains; I see his tents
Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain
Of Moreh; there by promise he receives
Gift to his progeny of all that land,
From Hameth northward to the Desart south;
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed;)
From Hermon east to the great western Sea;
Mount Hermon, yonder sea; each place behold
In prospect, as I point them; on the shore
Mount Carmel; here, the double-founted stream,
Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons
Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills.
This ponder, that all nations of the earth
Shall in his seed be blessed:  By that seed
Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise
The Serpent’s head; whereof to thee anon
Plainlier shall be revealed.  This patriarch blest,
Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call,
A son, and of his son a grand-child, leaves;
Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown:
The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs
From Canaan to a land hereafter called
Egypt, divided by the river Nile
See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths
Into the sea. To sojourn in that land
He comes, invited by a younger son
In time of dearth, a son whose worthy deeds
Raise him to be the second in that realm
Of Pharaoh. There he dies, and leaves his race
Growing into a nation, and now grown
Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks
To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests
Too numerous; whence of guests he makes them slaves
Inhospitably, and kills their infant males:
Till by two brethren (these two brethren call
Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim
His people from enthralment, they return,
With glory and spoil, back to their promised land.
But first, the lawless tyrant, who denies
To know their God, or message to regard,
Must be compelled by signs and judgements dire;
To blood unshed the rivers must be turned;
Frogs, lice, and flies, must all his palace fill
With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land;
His cattle must of rot and murren die;
Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss,
And all his people; thunder mixed with hail,
Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptians sky,
And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls;
What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain,
A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down
Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green;
Darkness must overshadow all his bounds,
Palpable darkness, and blot out three days;
Last, with one midnight stroke, all the first-born
Of Egypt must lie dead.  Thus with ten wounds
The river-dragon tamed at length submits
To let his sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn heart; but still, as ice
More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea
Swallows him with his host; but them lets pass,
As on dry land, between two crystal walls;
Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand
Divided, till his rescued gain their shore:
Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend,
Though present in his Angel; who shall go
Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire;
By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire;
To guide them in their journey, and remove
Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues:
All night he will pursue; but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning watch;
Then through the fiery pillar, and the cloud,
God looking forth will trouble all his host,
And craze their chariot-wheels: when by command
Moses once more his potent rod extends
Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;
On their embattled ranks the waves return,
And overwhelm their war:  The race elect
Safe toward Canaan from the shore advance
Through the wild Desart, not the readiest way;
Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed,
War terrify them inexpert, and fear
Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather
Inglorious life with servitude; for life
To noble and ignoble is more sweet
Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on.
This also shall they gain by their delay
In the wide wilderness; there they shall found
Their government, and their great senate choose
Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained:
God from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top
Shall tremble, he descending, will himself
In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpets’ sound,
Ordain them laws; part, such as appertain
To civil justice; part, religious rites
Of sacrifice; informing them, by types
And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise
The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve
Mankind’s deliverance.  But the voice of God
To mortal ear is dreadful:  They beseech
That Moses might report to them his will,
And terrour cease; he grants what they besought,
Instructed that to God is no access
Without Mediator, whose high office now
Moses in figure bears; to introduce
One greater, of whose day he shall foretel,
And all the Prophets in their age the times
Of great Messiah shall sing.  Thus, laws and rites
Established, such delight hath God in Men
Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes
Among them to set up his tabernacle;
The Holy One with mortal Men to dwell:
By his prescript a sanctuary is framed
Of cedar, overlaid with gold; therein
An ark, and in the ark his testimony,
The records of his covenant; over these
A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings
Of two bright Cherubim; before him burn
Seven lamps as in a zodiack representing
The heavenly fires; over the tent a cloud
Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night;
Save when they journey, and at length they come,
Conducted by his Angel, to the land
Promised to Abraham and his seed:—The rest
Were long to tell; how many battles fought
How many kings destroyed; and kingdoms won;
Or how the sun shall in mid Heaven stand still
A day entire, and night’s due course adjourn,
Man’s voice commanding, ‘Sun, in Gibeon stand,
‘And thou moon in the vale of Aialon,
’Till Israel overcome! so call the third
From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him
His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win.
Here Adam interposed.  O sent from Heaven,
Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things
Thou hast revealed; those chiefly, which concern
Just Abraham and his seed: now first I find
Mine eyes true-opening, and my heart much eased;
Erewhile perplexed with thoughts, what would become
Of me and all mankind:  But now I see
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest;
Favour unmerited by me, who sought
Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means.
This yet I apprehend not, why to those
Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth
So many and so various laws are given;
So many laws argue so many sins
Among them; how can God with such reside?
To whom thus Michael.  Doubt not but that sin
Will reign among them, as of thee begot;
And therefore was law given them, to evince
Their natural pravity, by stirring up
Sin against law to fight: that when they see
Law can discover sin, but not remove,
Save by those shadowy expiations weak,
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude
Some blood more precious must be paid for Man;
Just for unjust; that, in such righteousness
To them by faith imputed, they may find
Justification towards God, and peace
Of conscience; which the law by ceremonies
Cannot appease; nor Man the mortal part
Perform; and, not performing, cannot live.
So law appears imperfect; and but given
With purpose to resign them, in full time,
Up to a better covenant; disciplined
From shadowy types to truth; from flesh to spirit;
From imposition of strict laws to free
Acceptance of large grace; from servile fear
To filial; works of law to works of faith.
And therefore shall not Moses, though of God
Highly beloved, being but the minister
Of law, his people into Canaan lead;
But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call,
His name and office bearing, who shall quell
The adversary-Serpent, and bring back
Through the world’s wilderness long-wandered Man
Safe to eternal Paradise of rest.
Mean while they, in their earthly Canaan placed,
Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins
National interrupt their publick peace,
Provoking God to raise them enemies;
From whom as oft he saves them penitent
By Judges first, then under Kings; of whom
The second, both for piety renowned
And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive
Irrevocable, that his regal throne
For ever shall endure; the like shall sing
All Prophecy, that of the royal stock
Of David (so I name this king) shall rise
A Son, the Woman’s seed to thee foretold,
Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust
All nations; and to kings foretold, of kings
The last; for of his reign shall be no end.
But first, a long succession must ensue;
And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed,
The clouded ark of God, till then in tents
Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine.
Such follow him, as shall be registered
Part good, part bad; of bad the longer scroll;
Whose foul idolatries, and other faults
Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense
God, as to leave them, and expose their land,
Their city, his temple, and his holy ark,
With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey
To that proud city, whose high walls thou sawest
Left in confusion; Babylon thence called.
There in captivity he lets them dwell
The space of seventy years; then brings them back,
Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn
To David, stablished as the days of Heaven.
Returned from Babylon by leave of kings
Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God
They first re-edify; and for a while
In mean estate live moderate; till, grown
In wealth and multitude, factious they grow;
But first among the priests dissention springs,
Men who attend the altar, and should most
Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brings
Upon the temple itself: at last they seise
The scepter, and regard not David’s sons;
Then lose it to a stranger, that the true
Anointed King Messiah might be born
Barred of his right; yet at his birth a star,
Unseen before in Heaven, proclaims him come;
And guides the eastern sages, who inquire
His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold:
His place of birth a solemn Angel tells
To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night;
They gladly thither haste, and by a quire
Of squadroned Angels hear his carol sung.
A ****** is his mother, but his sire
The power of the Most High:  He shall ascend
The throne hereditary, and bound his reign
With Earth’s wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens.
He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy
Surcharged, as had like grief been dewed in tears,
Without the vent of words; which these he breathed.
O prophet of glad tidings, finisher
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand
What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain;
Why o
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...

“tell them
about the dream
Martin”

transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future

from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...

from  the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags

“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky

cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho

today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...

from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares

advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children

yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...

Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis

witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse

he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage

Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed

Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…

Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on

Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho


MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Eddie Matikiti Jul 2016
The people have endured hardships for a while now. They have prayed and fasted for a better day but none has come. Prophesy has been given but has not been fulfilled. There have been moaning and groaning in every heart, in every home and in all the streets. Tyranny and misrule have become the trademark of the Mugabe rule. Finally our hope is at an end and our patience faded. It is time for a new Zimbabwean renaissance!
Zimbabwe does not belong to a few, it is not an aristocratic organisation. No one inherited the birth right to the white house. No one person is entitled to the presidency alone. It is the people who make Zimbabwe and it is they who rule. The president is nothing but a glorified civil servant. He or she works for the people and not against them. The people are the masses and they have the ultimate power. The Police and Army are mandated to serve and protect the interests of the people and not to fight them. The government should be for the people. Governments are nothing without the people!
Mugabe is the most shameful of African leaders. He was a beacon of light that turned into an apocalyptic darkness. He was the colourful and joyous son of Africa now turned into a ruthless dictator. The unlikely and even undeserving candidate who now imposes himself to be the king for life. The incorruptible one who has now become the father and a haven for the **** of corruption. Mugabe is a man disillusioned by his own grandiose imaginations that have been brewed by his over-prolonged stay on the seat of power. He has become the educated man who turned into the most foolish amongst us. Lost all sense of morality and cannot distinguish between what is right and wrong. This icon of a man has ****** on his own legacy. He has torn down his own statues. No longer shall he be remembered as a great revolutionary, he shall forever be vilified for the political villain that he is. The angel sent by God to redeem us has become the devil to us.
Mugabe is a testament that education and wisdom can be parallel. Maybe he has succumbed to the vices of old age and lost his original senses. Or maybe he is now just a stooge and stage puppet controlled by others behind the scenes. It could be that he suffers from dementia or some form of schizophrenic condition. He has a deranged personality void of all manner of reason and decency. Maybe he has become blinded and cannot see the reality of the Zimbabwean condition.
I am neither Zanu PF nor MDC or any other sham. I am red, white, black, green and yellow. I am a Zimbabwean. I cannot believe how I supported this madman and his cronies blindly for a time. I was once deluded and believed in the sovereignty dogma and the right for Zimbabwe to influence its own politics. All the time the country was deteriorating as the Zanu PF cancer was spreading across all corners of this beautiful nation. Those in power were busy abusing it and looting wealth for themselves. They looted farms, properties, companies, gold, platinum and diamonds. Everything they touched was stained with failure.
Some of the most educated people in Africa have now become nomads and sojourners in this world. The beauty and grace that distinguished Zimbabwe from the rest has been greatly compromised and diminished.  Zimbabwe has become nothing to write home about. Our previously less prominent neighbours have outgrown us.
The people go hungry, the banks have no money, industry has lost its footing, unemployment at its highest, crime and discord rampant, nothing but lawlessness and disorder. No electricity everywhere and  water supply is erratic. The roads are in dire condition. The industries of Bulawayo have suffocated to death. White collar workers have been reduced to vending. We are now a nation of scavengers and families grow hungry. Exports are a thing of the past and the Zimbabwean dollar is nowhere to be seen. The whole economy is in a constant state of illness and misery. The health sector has been hit hard. Zimbabwean youth have become jobless and confused. The working class goes on without receiving wages and salaries. In the meantime the police has become more corrupt and draconian, ZIMRA keeps squeezing the little money the poor have and there is mass censorship everywhere. The man who was tasked to manage this country has failed and must step down. These are more than enough reasons for change.
Mugabe and his government have turned the reputation of Zimbabweans to nothing. Zimbabweans are now seen as weak and destitute people all across the world. In certain places they have become pariahs who survive by hustling, robbing and conning. We are scattered all over and it is not by choice.
The pride and dignity of the Zimbabwean flag has been tainted by this man. As heinous and evil was the Ian Smith regime and his supremacist government, Mugabe is worse. We will never wish to go back to white rule but we wish for a black competent government that is effective. We just want things to work in Zimbabwe. We want to restore the beauty of our glorious nation. We want Zimbabwe to be better than it was ever before. One thing is clear, Mugabe has done his part and has run out of ideas. His time is done! We need fresh thinkers in the white house. We need real change in Zimbabwe. A new dispensation with none of the failed old guard. They have served their role and it is time to resign and retire.
Mugabe is not a uniting force anymore. He has become a symbol for division pretty much like Adolf ******. He is just an old man hiding behind a suit and his hordes of security men and puppeteers. Even the great Fidel Castro relinquished power! South Africa has seen more democracy than Zimbabwe. Change has swept across most of Africa and it is now knocking on the door in Harare.
We the Zimbabweans across the globe unite and in one great voice we shout, “Enough is enough, No more Mugabe and his regime, No more suffering, we want a new and better Zimbabwe! We want a government for the people! We want jobs! We want local industries! We want agricultural growth! We want a country that works!”
My recommendation to Mr. Mugabe is that he researches about the Seppuku ("stomach- or abdomen-cutting") or harakiri (“cutting the belly") and practises it. This is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment. It was originally reserved for samurai. Part of the samurai bushido honour code, seppuku was used either voluntarily by samurai to die with honour rather than fall into the hands of their enemies (and likely suffer torture) or as a form of capital punishment for samurai who had committed serious offenses, or performed because they had brought shame to themselves.
Change is coming to Zimbabwe whether the old guard want it or not. The police black boots will not able able to intimidate this away. No oration or rhetoric will sweep this change under the carpet. This is different from the attempted changed introduced by the MDC a few years back. This change is not sponsored by the British or Americans. This change is motivated by the gross incompetence of the sitting government and it is empowered by the resolve of every true Zimbabwean to see a better and healthier Zimbabwe that offers a lucrative future for our children. This change is 100% Zimbabwean and is not about colour, creed or background.
E Matikiti – 05/07/2016
Sîr Collins Jul 2018
I have been forced,
Out of domicile,
And now **** bored,
With sojourners' world worthwhile.

I used to love phones,
It's versatility in functioning,
Obeying instructions  at all zones,
I loved making calls and chatting .

That was long ago ,
When it made me feel at home,
Simply chatting could let go ,
Steam and heartbreak loom.

Not now at this century ,
Where them need airtime to pick  a call,
Where successive missed  calls arouse no worry,
When they no bother reply at all.

I won't lower my self -esteem,
Not because of them dissaproval,
That I aint  classy and fit for hymn,
Its okey if u take me for a mall.

Needless fight a loosing battle anymore ,
You won't torture me again as u laugh,
Beaming is me at nirvana jaw,
I declare enough is enough.
Passover Moon's
****** hue
eclipses
the ordinary
in veils of
miraculousness

obscure
rouge
halos
illume
elliptical arcs
guiding
footsteps in
a righteous
exodus
across
troubling
waters

forsaking
hovels
with
painted
doorjambs
dripping
lambs blood

Mezuzahs
bleat
memories

holy
murmurs
bespeaking
lamentations
of ancient
hosannas

our
desperate
supplications
flesh out a
distressed
humanity

seeking
deliverance
from the
vengeance
is mine
Elohim

may it
be nigh

we wait
watching for
an always faithful
Good Deliverer
to honor the
covenant

to lift
despair
with a
liberating
yoke

lugging
leaden
burdens
Oh Holy
of
Holies

banished
in the wisp
of a bitter herb

our
distended
bellies
fill with
unleavened
grace

sweet
droplets
of manna
consumed
with extreme
gratitude

arriving
at journeys
end to
promised
lands
fully
satiated
and free
to rest in
sanctuaries
of radical
hospitality
luxuriating
in an infinite
abundance
for all
sojourners

Selah

Music Selection:
Big Mama Thornton
Go Down Moses

Oakland
4/15/14
jbm
Nishu Mathur Oct 2016
If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time

Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again  
On but an arm, the  koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves

On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?



Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky -  Gibran
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
The TSA won't let me fly
It seems when airplane-jailed,
My muse sneaks aboard
Without paying for a seat.

Another airplane poem like 30B,
From a long ago flight,
Found dusty, in the poetry sewing box


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

with every breathe he tithes
a packet of whispered wishes,
a blended osmosis of
past and future scenes,
reviewed, previewed,
moments in time,
actual and dreamed

some received,
airborne plucked,
in his chest stored,
prepared for future
takeoffs and landings,
for ultimate insertion
in both
your recesses
and
your abscesses

some native,
combobulated, containerized
packets of seconds,
of joyous moments,
bytes of historical
hugs n' kisses,
as a child
to a child
from a child

those are vanilla frosted,
residual payments for the
good done and given,  
forwarded with all clear signals,
to his loved ones,
now resent, to you,
fellow travelers and sojourners,
intersectors of our peculiar
coded dots and dashes

thirty five thousand feet high,
composure lost,
he swoons as
Bocelli's voce del silenzio
releases tears so sweet,
which are by nature,
gravitated and transformed
into snowflakes to decorate
the Sierra Nevada's
breasted peaks and valleys,
over which his physical notion
is at rest, yet in motion,
within a Delta flying ship

Yet his fevered chest
beats rough,
for every flight seems
a time warp interlude,
a forced reflecting rhyme,
not of his choosing,
a lawful, thoughtful, imprisonment

having donated to you
his best, the remainders,
the man tallies, recalls:

ancient slights, scaled heights,
requiems for his forefathers
scored by cantorial choirs,
liberation struggle weariness,
offers taken and refused,
aces in the hole that proved
insufficient to save his soul.

goal line stands made,
onslaughts refused,
true lies and false truths,
moist lips and monster tears,
occasional A's and calcu-hell-us,
hand me downs received,
help me ups got n' given,
buildings pricked by airplanes,
death wishes granted
and nothing thereby gained,
children, found and lost,
mine, yours, ours...

The sums, always the sums!

engine noises and pilfered winds
are dulled and semi-silenced,
yet the silvered chamber prison
resonates from end to end
as each ledgered memory,
each packet of the
hidden whispered poems
he does NOT choose to send,
dents the man,
leaving claw marks,
screaming pay attention to me,
as if they were the priorities
of a six year old child,
refusing to be ignored

he does,
attention, he does pay,  
allowing rocking guitar heroes
to overtake weeping violinists,
just as newer transgressions
surfeit even his
most really *****,
ancient sins

No matter how he counts,
unable to master the additions,
no matter how many times
counts are initiated,
taken and retaken,
the tally's net net is
concluded, numbered
"forsaken"

his life's W-2 is black n' blue,
deductions falsely enumerate
and thereby underestimate
dues he has paid summarily,
earnings, distorted,
taxes paid never enough,
to satisfy the justice scales,
so wearily he
cries and enunciates,

The sums, always the sums!

THEN COMES HIS SHOUT OUT,
at his most vulnerable,
when a thin veneer of alumina
separates him,
from a fall inglorious
to an end most gorious,
a rapping beat moderne
insists that he go all out,
disallowing no
airy fairy poetry
to disguise that:

If the integers are false,
the entries of a life lived,
are sucker lies
black eyed flies
toxic shockers
that bust open
stinko lockers
where the B.S.
mocking stories
are kept

don't look close
at his documents
they ain't exactly
heaven sent
and the government men
be back on his track
their aviator shades
protect them from
burning light of the
man's furnace
where he burns their liens,
and the agent's ear pieces
drown out his screams of

The sums, always the sums!

God bless you,
keep and recall those packets of
whispered wishes, good tithes,
that the man bequeaths,
gift baskets of
expresso essentials
with God's love delivered

Tho his words,
amateurish and unvarnished,
silly and pompous,
nonetheless, they are the
return on his investments,
his yearnings for your happiness
are the savings accumulated,
though meager jewels are they,
they are ad valorem,
mixed into his confused murmurings

here then,
are his summings up,
what he wills you,,
the tally finale
the best wisdom is
found on coffee cups
at 2:47am.

Dance
Love
Sing
Live

to which he respectfully amends with a
Write.
(See banner photo)
See Nat Lipstadt
Juggling Thoughts Re Proximity, in Seat 30B
Beloved, my heart sings songs of *Your praise.
Thank You for helping me get through the day sober and free.

I am grateful I canbe present to life today.  I can give and receive love instead of being trapped in self, hopeless and full of self-pity.

Grateful I can hold my daughter with love exploding from my heart. With Your help and help of fellow sojourners, she never has to see me drunk.

Beloved, may I continue walking on the path and share this precious gift of sobriety with others that I meet on the way.

Thank You. I love You.
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
[begin transmission]

Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box

suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices

it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days

swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting ****, rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain

one day we'll settle here,
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination

[end transmission]
Onuchi Onoruoiza Aug 2010
I once scurried through a jungle of tomes
From the languid turf of hazy hagglers
To the esoteric sphere of cryptic connoisseurs
The jagged rhythm pulsating with a staccato of pebbles
Not a placid clime but a wonky wilderness
Where your eyes rove for honey of rising cadence
Only to decelerate
From an alien territory to a corny scenery
The voyage of discovery must continue...
As sojourners of change


Onuchi Mark © 2010
Onuchi Mark © 2010
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
This hollowness is tinged with thick longings a mystery that shadows your whole existence it at
Times is palpable it’s like you can touch it roll it in your fingers this elusive connection that fades in
And out its read on your face but you are unaware of its origin but in its grip you are swept up into a
Monastery high on a mountain as the vista staggers you with the grandeur a conciseness void fills
Instantly with resplendent light you see two figures the brilliance is to great seeing is impossible you
Can’t make them out but a lost familiarity floats unbound to the soul what rapture a great emotional
Waterfall crashes the body begins a dance of wonder the mind is cleansed from all impurities the heart
Finds depths of satisfying love it never has known before a peace pervades it forms a vortex that pulls
Everything into to the waiting soul it sways as the waves pass over the soul feels the mind go into
Overdrive it sees flocks of white doves flying under skies with white broken clouds above them who
Stretched the clouds and then left a great whole that creates perspective first white doves then height
Is hinted then at the perfect spot a whole in the cloud carries you aloft then stunning flows up ward with
Your feet on the ground you just continue higher and higher I stole the airy heaven there I was riveted
To hollowness an emptiness that filled me till I could receive no more the joy I felt if you are from
The desert, mountains, or forest you can go to many areas live there a long time but on those occasions
You close your eyes to dream they instantly fill with trees sand or granite peaks we are sojourners in a
Strange place yes we will ever identify with the strata of rock the soil and grass that is the earth’s
Vesture and then the mist rolls in and our minds are troubled I have no trouble associating with all
Earthen things but something seeps within this human frame it suggests an allegiance a primary
Elemental cohesive tie that I know is unbreakable but then it all begins the fading I am left trembling
Exposed because of a great moment of importance has slipped through my fingers the thought floats
Through me you can drink water but you will thirst again soulful expediency churns and throbs it makes
Me to know that I am so much more by faith it starts to create a processions of thoughts mortal is my
First birthright but continue the facts on and you are immortal coldness want sorrow belong and will
Reside in the mortal you so many times are in pain and loneliness they are in a bitter winter happiness was the first
Casualty everything else you loved fell like dominos stop stand still break out the tent that is made from
Moon beams create a colossus over head that speaks and sings of your immortal roots truly you will find
Hidden springs the unicorn may have vanished from earthen waterholes but he will drink from the
Nearby pool the night will stir with enchantment and maybe for the first time you will see the
Unalterable Truth time is getting ready to flee as shadows the trifles that man so desired will be
Consumed by glories Power and brilliance to stand you need to kneel and with mortal tongue pray that
You will be given the Grace and power to see and read the true word that will make you truly ready to
Be sons and daughters of the great Holy King Jesus all your life he has been there but he does have a
Demand that you follow Bible salvation or you will be as the word says a thief or a robber that tries to
Enter in unlawfully and you will be cast out you just can’t say or want to go to heaven you must obey
What his word says and you will truly live out of this world while confined in it
What is an American?

Is it decided by the timber of our voice,
the strength in our limbs,
the blood in our veins,
or the color of our skin?

Tell me,
for I do not understand,
unfold your thesis,
inundate my mind with statistics,
be it quantum blood measures,
origin or sociological constructs of the creature in question.

Tell me,
what it is to be an American?
This umbrella term,
I just do not understand,
is it to be a thief?
A country founded on stolen land,
and stolen labor,
sage bushed bills,
backed by gilded structures and systems of debate and seizure,
is being an American drowning in leisure?

What does this term mean?
I find myself confused,
it is difficult to quantify the qualitative,
and breath life into lifeless chiseled forms,
found in squares and plazas throughout,
a country split by hard wired ferocity,
quicksand laden dividing lines,
the vocal deciding what it is to be,
and what it isn't.

Careful lad,
there is such a thing as too much,
too much individuality,
so put up your hair,
put away the paint,
put away that sign,
sheath your weapon,
old boy,
this isn't your fight,
and besides,
what can you do with a toy?


I don't know what America is,
land of the free,
where is that?
I see only industry,
a dying morality,
drowned in ethics,
a protestant-core built on overt inequality.

What does it mean to be an American?
I can't tell you what it means to you,
only what it means to me,
and so I say dust off the document upon which this term was built,
and realize that the past is not what you should use,
just as anything else of import,
use judgement,
agency,
the ability to choose,
uphold the  freedom that suffocates in the back of your mind,
to the flame inside your chest,
to the weakness in your legs,
down against the sole of your shoes.

America is a country founded on rebellion,
a little man,
underdog all grown up,
and now he's the one throwing punches,
a story paralleled by Davidic tales,
and though he may not be perfect,
and is often reviled,
I love him still,
his rough edges,
for we are still part of the experiment,
ongoing,
the American dream.

Though the gates may be weighed down,
the hinges rusted,
a country of sojourners,
soon a country of minorities,
cultural pluralism,
though flawed,
I like it better this way,
a techni-colored mirage of what once was,
and if we must meet our end,
so be it,
guide me home,
for is it not true that all roads eventually wind home?
A.P. Beckstead (2014)
Hal Loyd Denton Oct 2012
This hollowness is tinged with thick longings a mystery that shadows your whole existence it at
Times is palpable it’s like you can touch it roll it in your fingers this elusive connection that fades in
And out its read on your face but you are unaware of its origin but in its grip you are swept up into a
Monastery high on a mountain as the vista staggers you with the grandeur a conciseness void fills
Instantly with resplendent light you see two figures the brilliance is to great seeing is impossible you
Can’t make them out but a lost familiarity floats unbound to the soul what rapture a great emotional
Waterfall crashes the body begins a dance of wonder the mind is cleansed from all impurities the heart
Finds depths of satisfying love it never has known before a peace pervades it forms a vortex that pulls
Everything into to the waiting soul it sways as the waves pass over the soul feels the mind go into
Overdrive it sees flocks of white doves flying under skies with white broken clouds above them who
Stretched the clouds and then left a great whole that creates perspective first white doves then height
Is hinted then at the perfect spot a whole in the cloud carries you aloft then stunning flows up ward with
Your feet on the ground you just continue higher and higher I stole the airy heaven there I was riveted
To hollowness an emptiness that filled me till I could receive no more the joy I felt if you are from
The desert, mountains, or forest you can go to many areas live there a long time but on those occasions
You close your eyes to dream they instantly fill with trees sand or granite peaks we are sojourners in a
Strange place yes we will ever identify with the strata of rock the soil and grass that is the earth’s
Vesture and then the mist rolls in and our minds are troubled I have no trouble associating with all
Earthen things but something seeps within this human frame it suggests an allegiance a primary
Elemental cohesive tie that I know is unbreakable but then it all begins the fading I am left trembling
Exposed because of a great moment of importance has slipped through my fingers the thought floats
Through me you can drink water but you will thirst again soulful expediency churns and throbs it makes
Me to know that I am so much more by faith it starts to create a processions of thoughts mortal is my
First birthright but continue the facts on and you are immortal coldness want sorrow belong and will
Reside in the mortal you so many times are in pain and loneliness they are in a bitter winter happiness was the first
Casualty everything else you loved fell like dominos stop stand still break out the tent that is made from
Moon beams create a colossus over head that speaks and sings of your immortal roots truly you will find
Hidden springs the unicorn may have vanished from earthen waterholes but he will drink from the
Nearby pool the night will stir with enchantment and maybe for the first time you will see the
Unalterable Truth time is getting ready to flee as shadows the trifles that man so desired will be
Consumed by glories Power and brilliance to stand you need to kneel and with mortal tongue pray that
You will be given the Grace and power to see and read the true word that will make you truly ready to
Be sons and daughters of the great Holy King Jesus all your life he has been there but he does have a
Demand that you follow Bible salvation or you will be as the word says a thief or a robber that tries to
Enter in unlawfully and you will be cast out you just can’t say or want to go to heaven you must obey
What his word says and you will truly live out of this world while confined in it
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
If cowboy hats had ear muffs,
maybe they would talk more,
though they would hear less.,
caution tossed to the winds howling.

Not for them
the hairy skins of animals
on their bare hair, too much
respect for their sojourners.

Wooly caps are for sailors,
The ones with cutesy ears
hanging down to the shoulders,
popularized by geeks,
adopted by stylish teenage girls,
well, they would rather be frostbit.

Cowboys,
the silent type,
but never quiet, their thoughts are
their stories, eyewitness accounts,
never told under oath, of the truth
about life and death, in the
Great West.

So, no ***** for them
lest they not hear the
noisy silences, cries of the frigid
Great West.
Dedicated to Mr. Don Bouchard who writes below "I come from cowboy country (Montana), and I have seen this to be true, until the wind and cold drove us all to felt hats with earflaps and hooded sweatshirts. I have frostbite damaged ears and face to prove I know 40 below with wind and cows to feed."



Megan, get a cowgirl hat!
Don Bouchard May 2012
Sun's going down...

Around my miniature height,
Gloom is gathering itself
To usher in the night.

Beside the darkening feet
Of towering trees,
Shade-cooled and looking up,
I see sunlight climb
The upward reaches
Of tall pines.

Leaving shadows far below,
Green needled branches
****** new growth:
Yellow-candled greening flames,
To see the sun,
Greeting and adieu-ing
Steady moving days.

Light and life,
Ageless quests:
Upward reaching light
Downward breaching water,
Insatiable thrusting,
Splitting stone,
Spewing oxygen.

Monstrous undertakings
Glorious oversights.
Fitting past times for giants,
Mountain dwellers,
Living at a pace too slow
For careless passers-by to see.

Silent pines
Contemplate endless days,
Moving or un-moving,
Resolute certainty,
Imperceptible sojourners
Dominating vertical empires;

Joyous, silent soldiers march
Up and down these mountain sides,
While I, mere mortal, pass
Ant-like,
Scurrying in wonder,
Aware the urgency
Of ephemeral routine,
Mortal emergency...

Beneath Tall Pines.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Where/Why and the Who,  I Am

I am a child of emigres,
Sojourners in a land that was not theirs,
Early risers, both long distance travelers,
- a traveling salesman who never forgot a customers name,
- a lover of Rembrandt, ceremonial Judaica, Broadway,
who shared her love for small stipends, traveling large distances.

They were transformational people, transformers of all they met.

Not great successes, yet well-reputed.

emphasize the small in smaller businessman,  
emphasize the part in part-time lecturer, writer,
emphasize the fullness of full time mother,

An odd couple, continentally divided,
Germany and Canada and born many years apart

Never understood the pairing, the mystery of "them,"
Different in so many ways, but inspirational to many in their own way,.

Never till just now,
got the light bulb turned on to what was their secret sauce,
the connectivity essence that wove their web
and I had a front row seat!

Story tellers both,
and if their biggest dreams went unrealized,
no matter, no matter as long as they could tell stories,
Entrancing the many Sabbath table guests, Sisterhoods,
Their Passover table included everyone on the block,
Long before 'regardless of faith, creed and color' was extant

Even interlopers, those who would beg a meal,
The professional beggars who knocked at ten pm
never went away empty handed,
Any crying child who crossed their path taken in, was restored,
Authors of good night stories that incorporated your daily escapades

Their was no commonality in their separate tales,
Their upbringings were as different as Jupiter and Mars,
But in the telling was their planetary passion released,

His ramrod posture, highlighted by eye twinkling charms,
Germanic, on Saturdays he wore a Homburg and striped pants.
Was oft disturbed by the pressures of the real world,
Never took me to Yankee Stadium.

But to this day, his children are approached by strangers,
Grown men and women now,
Who all say the same thing,
I knew your father.

The where and why of my life is still a mystery to me,
What I will leave behind that is worth cherishing may be  
Less than a zero sum game, but now I see that
Nature trumps nurture, for the story telling gene is
Strong in their offspring, inheritance, both sides.

What they gave me, all their children, was this:

The fearlessness to sign your name
to a public document like this poem,
to do small acts of public service kindness
and thousands of small private one for no thanks,
that lays yourself out, open to snide critique and ridicule,
Above all, tell stories.

The Where/Why of my parents lives'
explains mine somewhat,
or maybe even,
its entirety.  

Feb 2012,  
above the intersection of
Wyoming, Colorado and Utah
Riq Schwartz Jun 2014
Feel too much

and
if you find folly in those
freeloading fascist hacks
who tell you to write prose
or shoot photography,
tell them to take notes
      -a mental picture-
because you're headed off to the heart;
Taking back roads through
the bile of memory
to touch what it might just mean
to be.
Journalists content to watch.
Sojourners just might find.
A poet will be your guide.

Feel too much.
Please know that I do love our prose-bound brothers and sisters, and I married a photographer. I'm simply embellishing to help the thing earn it's title, as it were.

Inspired by/in response to "Feeling Too Much" by Alyanne Copper
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/754305/feeling-too-much/
Hal Loyd Denton May 2012
From Grassy Fields to Azure Blue  


Albuquerque a special time soulful sojourners came to release aloft what others find easy to scoff oh
Thy heavenly breeze from earthen habitation all sounds are found in thee laughter and tears the
Sobbing Goes to throbbing depths clouds pewter gray they show your needs and how hard you pray
Some are blessedly light others are weighed and bowed there are streams of air but the spirit too has
The lift and fall some is shear others are tender they hold all that is dear love hopes and dreams in them
You see the atmosphere as if you were sky riding at fiesta time strings of silver red golden black ribbon
They represent light hearted feelings the gust of joy that blows across many a yard and home from this
Dispositions of those that live there are discerned and carried outward and upward into playful days
Bathed in sunlight recharged with all the embodied love that continues through mankind dark shadows
Also are known their gloom are forever fixed with heartbroken tomb but just from earth the higher it
Rises its burning tears begins to fall as tender rain that mixes with tears and it not to be explained
But from this mixture golden memories derive their uncommon essence the loss is then to celebrate
Tendrils that drift across the sky when they briefly touch the ground though it be tearful a smile is
Left and in it the loved one is blessed honored and assured the swirling wind holds so many promises
Of happy tomorrows where the word separation has been expunged it no longer is a part of reality
You crossed the night train trestle your voice was the mournful whistle that announced the dear passing
Of love that went higher you were given a gift wrapped in pain but within it explained far greater truth
Than the limitation of earth’s love alone you are now aboard these sky ships as you rise your burdens
Grow Lighter your vision is enabled to see grandeur and great vistas the pulsating earth winks from
Homes far below you appear as bubbles on the wind in the moonlight glow in it is you’re refreshing
Enjoy the ride
Jon Martin Dec 2013
What happens to the stars when there are no words
to write, no songs to sing, no pictures to paint ??
What happens to the stars, when thought stops, and
flow breaks, and vision blurs ??
What happens to those great galactic giants, when
the world turns upside down ??
The sojourners of galaxies, spinning time itself out
before us, in the wake of eternity, left silent in
some poets dream...
Titanic powers of fusion fire, burning for the
lifetimes of a thousand humankinds, churning
with the gravity and desire to hold the universe
together, invisible,
because the painter cannot see...
Stardust, everything, the gears of immortality
turning useless, marching on in solid state
remembrance of romance, and lust, and love.
What happens to the stars when you leave
a poet speechless ??
What happens to the stars,
when you leave me nothing to say...
Yep, TOTALLY written for a girl.
Often times, abominations misled;
memories beyond travels abound,
with a mint of souls falsifying the "wind"
"flossing" our inner guide they intend...
maintaining a "*****-game" like "secret agents"
what’s for the future?
having travelled from afar
is this our place?
to delineate as “aliens” scudding from the surface?
Who are we-but sojourners casting a dice of chance!
hitting the freeway, but for what "price"?
followed by a little "preparing the way,"
What else would we think about, anyway?
In time and space...or anywhere else!
Phew!
We are always here!
We will always be here...


Muhumuza Kenneth. E
The "abductees" can comprehend this more "deepely".
once in a while we encounter "visitors" from afar. you can only "believe-when-you-see". (whatever else said about "them" seems to be so shallow & vain-as compared to the reality of a cosmic equation that earthside mortal intelligence hasnt managed to "answer" or "calculate" as of now. "Visitors" or not: some of us will always Love & Cherish them for what they are. it doesnt matter what they are here for. what matters is the idea of "cosmic oneness". arent we All "One"? )
Elaenor Aisling Aug 2014
I will miss Autumn here.
The crisp days of October, startling the remnants of summer
into hiding.
The homely smell of hearth burned pine and smoked meat
drifting from chimneys built
by long-dead grandfathers.
The battle fields will be beautiful.
Bathed in maples,
harmless blood of leaves, though the earth
still bears streaks
of death.
The grasses, drying, dying, in the cooling air
will whisper to the sojourners passing through,
seeking sites of ancestors
whose voices they never knew.
I will not be here
to slip the fallen leaves
between phone-book pages or
paste and sew them
to handmade paper.
My mother will stare at the tangled thread,
the blank sheets,
left untouched on my desk,
and ask my father
where the time went.
Jonny Angel May 2014
Placed on mountaintops
made of ice
& melting under
the continuous rising sun,
eventually the single drop
reaches the sea
& like all of us,
we cry for freedom,
to brave the endless crests,
sojourners
tumbling in
a pool of raindrops,
only to evaporate,
only to do it
all over again.
Surely,
we are blessed.
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
Everybody wants
to be like Bukowski,
that drunken
drug-induced
crazed-scholar
born on the edge of existence,
who tested the poetic boundaries,
who spewed forth sacred *****
from his mind of brilliant depravity
& who loved the starry nights
& the suckling robins
of the early summer.

And pray tell me
my fellow sojourners,
how does one get like that,
get strung out
on this living
kissing heaven
& embrace hell
without
the use of
tasty liquid-vices
& those ******
****** injections.

******.
Greg Obrecht May 2014
The light of a new day just started tumbling over the horizon.  A slight southerly breeze salutes the silhouetted trees.  I make my way quietly out of the house to meet an old friend. His excited ding ding ding welcomes me as I open the door.  We have made this journey many times before, and we both know this is the last.  

The road is a curious thing.  Born out of need, and more importantly, ingenuity.  She calls from the edge of darkness.  An insatiable siren that has beckoned, and not been resisted by, restless sojourners.  As I make my way onto the interstate I hear her song clearly.

The jewels of the road are in your heart.  The path is the same no matter who you are.  Let your soul turn the wheel of fate.  You'll soon arrive safely at heavens hate.

Miles and miles of fields and barns.  Rusted out windmills guard the ghosts of yesterday. An occasional whiff of soon to be bacon burns my nostrils.   I have 20 hours of bliss ahead of me.  My friend quietly hums as children with hopeful faces silently wave.

The oft overlooked Missouri River separates me from my first border.  My heart races.  I feel like a conquering hero with the blood of a dragon on my sword.

The prepubescent flatness of the land continues.  I've entered the land of the Big Red.  Flags, helmets, and banners adorn every house. A religion that would only work in a desolate land full empty people.  

A blue sign points towards rest and the promise of snacks.  I am greeted by the weary.  Bags under their eyes and children clinging to their legs.  We nod at each other with a certain understanding.  I splash icy water on my face, possibly refreshed for a moment, and head to Vend O' World.  For a measles sum the envy of the culinary world awaits my deft touch.  B2 it is.  My fate is sealed.

Welcome to Colorful Colorado. On a brown sign nonetheless.  Only a few hours until I race among the lifelines of the giants. Cattle chew thoughtlessly beneath the blazing sun.  Death is all over the interstate.  Guts, brains, and gore.  Ain't progress grand?  

The illuminated hat promises thin sliced beef. The saliva flows like a unimpeded river.  A muffled voice greets me with the rehearsed verse of an untrustworthy worker.  I grab the bag greedily, almost dropping it on account of the grease.  Ahhhh that really hit the spot.  Donde esta el bano?

I'm driving through the sky.
I knew that I could fly.
But I think I'm going to cry
Because that curve up ahead
Is filling me with great dread
If I falter then I'll be quite dead.

I stop for a moment to take in the celestial view.  I may grab some of those pearls for my future wife. The air is so piny pure. I'm reinvigorated but need some rest.  

There is frost on the windshield.  I scrape it off with a frisbee I find in the trunk.  I turtle my way down the mountain. The scene changes quite suddenly and I enter the desert as I cross state lines.

A calming peace sweeps over my body.  I am at one with the landscape and she is one with me.  Together we dance slowly.  A great vastness of nothing. A solitary land with no visible life but yet teeming with creation. Tears slowly fill my eyes.  True love at least.  Will it be reciprocated?  Only time will tell.

The purple of the night surrounds me as I enter the gorge.  Imposing buttes and mountain curves keep my knuckles white. A clearing awaits with sad trailers, forming a community, standing in the desert.  But maybe I misjudged. A bonfire of sorts shows the dancing of some sort of festival.

I come up over a ridge and a magnificent sights unfolds.  The glittering gold of hope.  An oasis for the degenerate addict.  I press on the gas as adrenaline fills my being.  It's time to make my mark on this world.  Like a lamb to slaughter I squeal and turn into the city.
I find myself speaking with God
In the company of my solitude;
As though he is present in the long walks
along paths lined with trees
Where the only noises are those of leaves of trees
rustled by the wind
And the only voices are those of birds
Who lend their beaks to the wind
As though I was another Adam
Searching for God’s footstep
As I walk over the garden
Muttering the litanies of my sins and imperfections
Ruing all that I have done which I should not have
And all I didn’t do which I should have done
Wondering what became of the little boy I once was
And how I seem like a sea
Where fragments of a sank ship floats
And the remnant of his innocence is scattered about
Like  flotsam, impossible to reassemble

I let God listen to the pains in my voice
Of being a failed sailor
Drowning the sojourners who gave me trust
Yet my second journey remains uncertain
And not-in-tandem with the wind

There is no healing for me in the world
I already added iodine to her wounds
In her pains, she screams at my conscience
And I recoil into my solitude on this solitary path
And I find myself speaking to God in my heart,
Where I find him
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
I see it written
in the graffiti
on electric-walls
& the time is here,
it has come to carry me away
to realize my dreams.

So fare thee well
my fellow sojourners,
you are the universe,
I will always
think about you
on my Earthly travels...
SøułSurvivør Nov 2020
It's difficult to understand
Hard pressed on every side
The wicked have "the upper hand"
In arrogance and pride.

In this world It's "understood"
The devil makes it "his"
Right is wrong. Evil good.
That's just the way it is...

[Chorus]
But WE are just sojourners here
Among the throng, alone.
Things are not as they appear
God's still on the Throne!
I won't give in to doubt and fear
I will make Heaven home.

Yes, the wicked seem to win
And practice every Vice
Daily we die to self and sin
And give ourselves to Christ.

The wicked spread themselves about
Like a large Bay Tree
Against the Lord they Scream & Shout
And live their lives "Carefree".

[Chorus]

"Look at what you're missing, friend!"
They chortle & they cry,
"And there is NOTHING in the end!"

This won't make me even sigh!

YES! Look at what I'm missing, here!
All the wealth and perks!
All the things that you hold dear...
The yachts, mansions, the works!

Look what I'm missing! I'll admit
You will find it odd...
I miss the Lake of Fire! The PIT!!
Eternal enmity with GOD.

[Chorus]

Catherine Jarvis
11/10/2020

The Rich Man and Lazarus

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. 20 At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores21 and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

22 “The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. 24 So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire."

25 “But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. 26 And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’

27 “He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, 28 for I have five brothers. Let him go to them so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’

29 “Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets, let them listen to them.’

30 “‘No, father Abraham," he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’

31 “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Luke 16:19-31

Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity.

2For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.

ב

3Trust in the LORD, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.

4Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.

ג

5Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.

6And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday.

ד

7Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.

ה

8Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil.

9For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth.

ו

10For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be: yea, thou shalt diligently consider his place, and it shall not be.

11But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.

ז

12The wicked plotteth against the just, and gnasheth upon him with his teeth.

13The Lord shall laugh at him: for he seeth that his day is coming.

ח

14The wicked have drawn out the sword, and have bent their bow, to cast down the poor and needy, and to slay such as be of upright conversation.

15Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bows shall be broken.

ט

16A little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked.

17For the arms of the wicked shall be broken: but the LORD upholdeth the righteous.

י

18The LORD knoweth the days of the upright: and their inheritance shall be for ever.

19They shall not be ashamed in the evil time: and in the days of famine they shall be satisfied.

כ

20But the wicked shall perish, and the enemies of the LORD shall be as the fat of lambs: they shall consume; into smoke shall they consume away.

ל

21The wicked borroweth, and payeth not again: but the righteous sheweth mercy, and giveth.

22For such as be blessed of him shall inherit the earth; and they that be cursed of him shall be cut off.

מ

23The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way.

24Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth him with his hand.

נ

25I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.

26He is ever merciful, and lendeth; and his seed is blessed.

ס

27Depart from evil, and do good; and dwell for evermore.

28For the LORD loveth judgment, and forsaketh not his saints; they are preserved for ever: but the seed of the wicked shall be cut off.

29The righteous shall inherit the land, and dwell therein for ever.

פ

30The mouth of the righteous speaketh wisdom, and his tongue talketh of judgment.

31The law of his God is in his heart; none of his steps shall slide.

צ

32The wicked watcheth the righteous, and seeketh to slay him.

33The LORD will not leave him in his hand, nor condemn him when he is judged.

ק

34Wait on the LORD, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the land: when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it.

ר

35I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree.

36Yet he passed away, and, lo, he was not: yea, I sought him, but he could not be found

Psalm 37
Ken Pepiton Apr 2023
Part 1.
Two stories warn sojourners away.

One claims it is a lie,
the other says that's true.

Loyal opposing view,
legally bound by noblesse oblige
and the ever with us, poor, survivors;

we carry on, wayward, in truth, living.

Outlaw and outcast, indentured
deportee, pioneer, settler
war-bred ordinary offspring,
reared rough
to be ready,
armed and ready,

"Big Iron on his hip" gunslinger ready.
Will to **** bred in, warrior stock ready.

The imaginary last days prophecy,
presented to me, sincerely,
sorry, hate to say it, but
you know you do not know these are
my grandchildren's last days, so
do not lie to them, if you cannot lie
to me and walk away thinking I believe
you.
- and ****** if the fool did not begin
- to preach, claim'that his call to us all.

Part 2.
So, quickly does the day arrive, blink.
You are old, and unfinished, incomplete.

Yet, your use of faith by reason is questioned.
Yet, your use of reason by faith is not.
aha
Aitia, we go back aways.
So, scatter-brained and indecisive
as to whether any remedy is worth the umph
to aim and follow through, the old man sighs.

So, squint-eye, slow-breathe, squeeze…

Richard Corey quiet desperation,
Freddie Nietzsche poor luck with the ladies,
Peace, be still.
Let loose, let go,  
confess to believing inspirations arrive on time.
Live now, pay later?
NO no no, now,
and ever
after, the power needed
to fill a cistern
to overflowing, let it rain,
is in the understanding wisdom brings,
for your use in getting the joke.
Right use, mind full, swept away asgone.
This is water. Fluid reality, specifically yours.
Zeus, Epimenides said, and Paul quoted,
in his Unknown God message, totally
in agreement, the entity
we describe as God, the way and life,
is this truth in which we live and breathe,
and have our being.

Part 3.
Information asymmetry

Stacked deck, loaded dice
- let this mind be in you -
Living stories told to hold us safe,
anchored on sound reason, solid

ever present memory, reminding us,
we, the raw material for future victory.

Fitting this military mind, reminding each
of others lost in past wars to end war,
and wars to secure trade
and wars to reset status quo, for a minute.

Then the spirit inspired to take and claim
beholder rights,
peace given to be taken as granted,
let it come upon this mindtimespace.
Beauty or the beast, attention paid
hook, look
beholds a prophet, professing ancient wit,
"hey, spirit in aspiration and inspiration,
prepare to meet thy maker, conspiring,
to settle the hot and cold front clashing
thunderous
grunts and groans,… Activa hits the gut.

Part 4.
Old,
old man,
old patterns matching

lining up to be one line atop
another
ever along the edge of both sides
-cave wall reality
flat
flat as Texas when the dust rises
reminding old wombed men of
flattering floral print flour sacks sewn

into everyday dresses nobody wore
to church.

Ever fills never with knowledge,
used to stretch the whole known
bubble of we, this observable realm
of ever changing never
remaining unchanging
while ever expands, changing
being the honest true umph
to now being after before,
morph into this moment,
in my future, you smile.

Commas cause breezes.
I rub my eyes, ideally virally dry

Part 5.
Jah,jah, joke's on me… I know, it's light.
Old man me, says he ain't poor,
he is dependent, and thus
depends,
swings as pendulum do, to and fro.

Test my best reaction time,
draw! Hour after hour, gain the fame,
- expertise
fastest cut, softest touch, listen, is it true?
Old knowns, trusted sources, bow before
the internetwork
of faithful textual search engines.
Fact checking. Pre-defining heresy, as
one such as I say the voice of truth, I hear

as may all actual others thinking thus old
yet, never ever dying ideas that ease,

Fret not. Perfected praise, from the child
in my son, speaking out, from my realm
of perfectly good reason to think we share
mindtimespace and often think together,
unwittingly, i.e. un with knowing how ness.

Lying saints, deceived disciples, cry heresy, blaming
God for all discrepancy
in the ever ready sponsoring
of the innocent and despondent.

Enter brown Franciscans, little grey Dominics,
flying nuns, and holy terror inquisitive tradition,
grace is not free, i.e., Jesus failed.

That's right, so, we had to fix the fools who said
truth known makes free, non free, oath bound minds, every child must pledge actual child
faith wise under God, as in, so, help me,
God is real in any American model child faith.
It don't matter
if every uttered word,
ever swept into a storm
of stories living long, longing
to be told
there's that temptation,
to be led away from,
rise on your own version
of the same truth told,
as all men do, we lie
say we deny the flesh and
feed not the pet lie, oath bound, we do.
We must, when we agree our bubble
becomes all the truth we feel kin'ly so's
to imagine Jesus did not finish destroying
the useless boogie men and witchery wombed men, evil manifested as war's own reason,
first child of pride, father's anointing oil, son.

Cast away your anxious mind, take a line, hold on.

Chreia, as you may know, say things intended to teach.

The man with a grasp on the simple why, why, why
did god make man?

To survive the last days. Ok. To reach ever,
after what? Now,
right. So, immediately…ever after

Feelin' right ghine, noghucking way, but win
just once

Part 6.
Value first.
Worth next, time to attend to price.
What's a unit of human bemusing worth?
Whole thought thread assistance
isisting is isting being in and out at once.
Insisting a will to stand, corrected.
existing yet-i
The authorial reality POV, me
first person to the second I involved

ready reader reading inky slow, each
sigil sign if-if-fine lining the tray,

a dust about a carbon atom thick, taking
form as the other shoe drops, you know.

Tryumphant self insured, we got spares.
ekdotos "published,"
from ek- "out" (see ex-) + didonai "to give"

EEKING OUT A LIVING! that's it.

The first hit. Nothing ever changes,
and where we remain, goes on, that's all


-- Part 7.
Rules for ryhmes crimes and times
evolve along a central point,
once made,

clearly to be seen right through

you imagine, there are more of me,
more of my kind, lacking proof,
have will, may travel, no guns
or other forms of self defense work

in the realm of words, authorized
tele-real, to feel tomorrow from today,

if it all works out this way, one day you
read this line and think,

what it is ain't what a reader thinks,
and the first reader readily agrees, so, what?

Slide passed past outsider angst,
slip into the answer to my accepted
prayer, to be led away from needless leaps,
and delivered from useless endeavors,

given peace that functions as fire does,
a little

-- Part 8.

Provocation --
Authority to prophesy,
it is true,
      there is a lying spirit,
learn-ed prophets study under
-- here there afterrrr
learning to rationalize, y'heah
to call the Bible, any version,
or any locked down revelation
backed by kings and priests,
hear ye
holy secrets only saints learn,
routes out of any hell
aha
our kind stand before kings,
we never once grovel to stand
we must, we exist in this as like
National governing entities,
under girded by ontology myths,

ordained by the triumphant one god.

Opposed by the Manichean Heresy,
made use of after all, as fearsome
spiritual weapon,
with which to defend the story churches are.

I sneeze a *** of gnosisnot, it's viral, just
a cold
hard fact, as the old point finder found,
chreia aitia and I and little-i- as inspirations

wisht you a merry life after christ mas was
announced

Peace, on this
Eretz, right ritzy here, the ancientssss life pod,
we developed from, if creative evolution
is not a local solution yet, just wait, let us
as we say in this realm of free association,
breathe, and let patience have her perfecting
function.

Ai, on the battle field, calling all three medics,
Christ, it is as if

Easter, is a season, some times, some places
always perfect outside being in weather,
where I would go, if this were heaven,

and from here, I laugh, when you learn
I learned, yesterday, to invest mystery

Part 9.

Wiseassenine Netflix Dylan grin,

"But there is nothing, really,
nothing to turn-off."

Really, I say, I shared my dreams,
made all my portals open,

tell me more, mister wizard,
when was war your best work?
when you came to bring this sword?
-- imaginations exalting themselves,
-- as corporate monstors are wont to do.

There were a few,
inbetweeners, unstable
in all their ways, accepted
as right by virtue of being self
evidently
standing upright after all's been
said and done,
judgement begun
in the area where Jesus,
has been known to reside,
with his father, since ever,
you imagined it true as it is.

Uniquely your house of God,
find all the words you ever condemned with
and redeem the roughest ghucking foul spells
full of filthy wordcontainers of filthy thoughts,

as are hidden in the deepest recesses under
the vates, come, listen, to the story
'bout a man named Joe Bob,
who's yer uncle, back aways.

Part of what makes you, soul wise

unique to the same degree,
and often more unique
due to fewer shared
chins and noses and the like,
family spirit and image, like,
like, like, like, like, we all
think like
each other thinks,
in the internet common place
attention based economy,
your time paid as attention
to me,
extremely indirectly,
so subtle when I say a million thanks,
you feel the briefest imaginable ASMR.

Kinda, subtle clinch,
nah, nothing, eh.
Also at https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1433 asking for reviews
Devon Brock Dec 2019
I dream houses.
I dream small rooms
behind small doors
in which small wardrobes
lead nowhere but trappings
of our mangled time -  
of yours and mine.

I dream chimney fires,
tongues between walls
and curtains hung like tar.
We were never long
in the vapors, strangers yes,
but a lope of gray shoulder
and a turning was you, I am sure,
everturning and blue.

I find you in the floorboards,
scuttled in dust and debt,
heaped for a match,
for a flicker,
but nothing is scorched in this.
Rather what crushes here,
the burdens of rooves on cinder,
the cracking of small rooms,
small scores
never carved from a plan,
compress what should be at rest.

I cry “Wake”, each morning,
I cry “wake” to find you,
tragic in the sheets,
bound before the fan ,
mumbling something to someone,
flexing your hand. Yes, I see you,
tangled, but dreaming I think,
twitched of some else tomorrow,
stitched to your own land pink.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
How can one think straight,
not feel anything,
when their heart's
constantly on fire,
tuning into
the beautiful-transmissions
& passionate-wavelengths,
listening to the other
fervent hearts
riding the same highway
in cyberspace?

Pray tell me
my fellow sojourners,
I want to know your feelings!
Kiprotich vinny Nov 2018
Sojourners from the mama's womb,
Travellers from the papa's testicles,
Candidates of birth and eventually death,
Death is sweet as encrypted in the euology,

Death must come  any day or some day,
Don't rush to the grave just because yu have no more light, or perhaps your heart has been broken by a cheat,
Cheats and death are not relatives.
They have different genotypes,

At tymes darkness accompanies light,
And sometimes darkness persist,
You loose what you have nurtured,
You feel the world has been turned upside down.

But before you take the step of pronouncing yourself no more,
Think about this, we are all candidates of death,
Wait and pause after all we are destined to die.
Be careful, be sensible, in kiswahili we say kujipanga my fren.
We sojourn
in a dying world
diaphanous
as the antecedent glow
of Virtue and Destiny
We scatter
and within and around and among
the sepulchral
Wind and Fire
of progress and evolution
a promise
breathes resolute
that nothing here may abide eternal
and in the imperious pursuit
of meaning and purpose
We sojourners
inexorably consume ourselves
Infinite and Whole
against the rucked pall
of history
like entwined marionettes
set upon a boundless stage
Into Oblivion
We dance

— The End —