I am not without emotion.
I have been pulled deep
under the sea by the rope
attached to my heart. Oysters
welcome me as I scoot
and mostly tumble atop them.
They can't speak, but
their hard shell creates a bumpy
landing. But that doesn't hurt.
It hurts me that they
don't speak.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Amidst the crowded globe there lies,
a pasture seen by the most common eyes.
There, glorious edibles are ripe;
and Eve's nectar we all delight.
Desire sends us searching for where it lies,
but vain when seeking pries.
Little words are worth
the emotion collected in tranquility.
At the gate of the orange groves,
the momentary event embraces me.
Fat hugs. Squeeze. Let go.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
Glide with the wind downward,
and pioneer the ****** dust
that's filled with opportunity,
or decay with the crust.
Rocky fruits, wait--unharvested,
while warriors, ready, stand.
Stopped fingers are on the trigger,
awaiting their command.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
As my story is short
and you are so bold,
please put your consciousness on hold.
The people I attract wear three shapes,
infants, meditative, dead.
I come in waves--a quiet hymn--
reflection, wears me thin.
My preference is existence, yet
my presence is happenstance
in the mind-filled man.
Humans are mov'n and hunt'n
for those thought jewels, distract'n--
win'n their eyes and ears over,
and blind'n them from silence.
Someth'n ain't right, and you ought
to stop feast'n Mr. Cognizant
And lay aside your thoughts.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I must be overheating,
cause my air tubes are filled with steam.
My movement cogs are rattling,
awkwardly, clashing joints screech.
There is combustion in the oiled pits,
which catch fire all to quick,
and boils stomach grease
and releases gassy silage.
The gas seeps out the crevices
and pollutes the wholesome air.
Poison in and out,
hot smog--a warning sign.
I must be overheating,
as a mechanic rushes toward me.
He wets me with his coolant,
and cools me with his sweat.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
I am so confused,
I grew up christian,
I knew we were all sinners.
We are all equal,
Drunkards, Smokers, Trans, Disabled, Murderers, Gays, Children, Sick, Bullies, Rich, Prostitutes.
Today we interpret words of a culture-book
Its words weren't wrong, but maybe the people who've explored the text are misguided.
I believe the bible can't be taken as the final verdict to our lives,
because we change, culture changes, life changes!
Maybe Jesus wanted us to explore the bible as an ongoing conversation
which begs us to join into the discussion.
Don't stand by,
Or deny,
The preaching of pastors or priests, just because they teach you.
Learn,
Explore the bible,
Read,
See what the bible says,
Then make a decision,
Will you be apart of the conversation?
Life is too short to except a path of relativism,
We are both right,
"Agree to Disagree."
NO!
Find out what you believe and back it up and argue it!
That is the only way to find truth.
So maybe God does love
GAYS, LESBIANS, or TRANS.
Maybe he doesn't.
Come to that conclusion yourself,
and not through someone else.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Partner for life,
We do as we please
And I am reminded that you've taught me that.
But I can't hear your steps as you left the house anymore.
Long gone,
I circle on.
I sleep still.
Just pull the rug from under my body, awake me.
Rekindle my heart with your wisdom.
You were never supposed to leave,
Keep a candle aflame by your bedside,
So when I arrive I can see.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
Up in the air
Birds hunger to peel us.
In the field we all wander
Cutting grass with our teeth
It is survival.
Gums callused, and scabbed backs,
We have lived too long.
Steal the weeds before someone else,
and my back will scab.
Don't steal the weeds before someone else,
or I will starve.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
I am not sure,
I know how to write a poem,
I was always rather bad at it,
I think that it was because,
I had not time,
I had not inspiration,
I had not motivation,
I rather hope that it was because,
I had not time,
I had not inspiration,
I had not motivation,
I guess otherwise,
I am not sure,
I can truly write a poem.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC