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  Jul 2016 Darrel Weeks
SøułSurvivør
Blessed is the man
who does not take offense
I'm speaking in the present tense
There is no sitting on the fence
This poem will now take me hence...

An offense will make us stumble
Forget the bluster and the bumble
Our defense will surely crumble
In all things we must be humble

When we see another's error
Are we really all the fairer?
Look Within it will be clearer
Are we looking in a mirror?

When we see reflection's bust
Do we see lines? Perhaps some crust?
Being honest is a must!
What have we done
that WE can't trust?

True of the bird as well the bee
We are all one cloth you see!
Self-assessment makes you free!

This is true humility.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/23/2016
Yes. I could learn the lesson in this, too.
We're always learning always growing.
Let's stop fighting and look at ourselves.

1 Corinthians 13

I won't be reposting for a while. I want this poem to stay at the top of my site.
Thanks for understanding.

LOVE YOU *ALL*!!!

-
Darrel Weeks Jul 2016
I found my love to be asleep
Her eyes tightly closed
Her dreams as far as only she could see
I wondered what wonderful emotion she could see
Though we live a simple existence
Our love is life's great adventure
Love is the meaning of life
Darrel Weeks Jul 2016
la vie est un cadeau offert  par le ciel
Accepte par nous tous
Emporte par si peu
La haine est le plus grand mal de l'humanite
Offerz  une priere
Life is a gift offered by heaven
Accepted by us all
Taken away by so few
Hatred is the biggest evil of mankind
Offer a prayer

I beg you to spend a minute in silence for the lives lost yesterday in Nice
Humanity sheds another tear
  Jul 2016 Darrel Weeks
Denel Kessler
I stood flat-footed upon an eroding hill

Here the sweet peas, on tip-toe for a fight
With wing of coarsest black o'er delicate night
And spiteful fingers grasping at all beauty
To bind us all in deeds unworthy

Oh, toxic wind and fertile rain
Disperse the fragrance of this pain
In healing gardens root a seed
Sprout the bliss we sorely need

This tiny pulse of life we hold
Thrives in soil tilled with love
And tender vines create a bower
Of sweet pea tended, brought to flower


I stand bare foot on an erupting volcanic mount

Here the sweet peas, on tip toe for a flight
With wing of justice verity o’er delicate sight
And nails that compassionately snowball serenity
To bind us all with concord and altruism

Oh, acidic rain share the tears
Wash thy tainted eye-sight
Then crux us in the high-yield land
As we germinate to heaven’s height

The seed so robust and fertile
A shell encased with human forms
The greenness of reflected sextile
Oh Sweet pea, our mirrored storm



Inspired by a stanza from Keats' poem:

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill

Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wing of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings."
I wrote the intro line and first three stanzas, Sassy J the second intro line and last three stanzas.  

It was truly a pleasure to work with Sassy J - master of flow and cosmic rhyme.  Her quick mind, sense of social justice, huge heart, and loving soul make her a must-read if you don't know her work already.  Thank you, my special "sweet pea", for suggesting the topic and wanting to work with me!

The sweet pea *(lathyrus odoratus)* derives its name from the Greek word lathyros *(pulse)* and the Latin word odoratus *(fragrant)*.
Sweet peas symbolize bliss or delicate pleasure, they are often given as a thank you.
  Jul 2016 Darrel Weeks
Sarah Spang
It's Novocaine, in a way
Slathered over my brain
In a chemical cocktail
That's supposed to keep my mind
From the endless cycle of self imposed
Punishment.
There's no On or Off
And therein's the problem
Capping off something
With no particular filter.

To clarify, I'm a bit all or nothing,
And the promise of peace they gave me
Also implied artistry of my thoughts;
The conversely sharp and wonderful inner workings
That once gushed forward effortlessly
Are locked up inside in the plugged up
Pool of sludge.

What a paintbrush they have these days,
Drenching things in black and white;
I see the logic in settling, to gripping these little oval promises
Of a better life for sanity.
This cold clarity enables me to remember
What once was with a measured calculation
Of the good weighed against the bad.

Grey is a foreign object after my descent into the Matrix
Red pill, Blue pill,
I finally understand Cipher.
Somethings are better left unknown
Sometimes ignorance IS bliss.
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