Amassed an inventory of words, marvelous and concordant, reserved for the late at night, tremulous and tremor shaking, purposed to soothe with honey, milk and cookies, and coax them, the odd ones out, to emerge slowly, oh so slowly, with a magnetic resonance, yank them from their granite tombs, and employ the force of Od to convert them over to their own side, and will not pause, be placated until they are my spring waters, my co-religionists, in grace and kindness, and I will levitate them above us, espousing our collectivity, each a designer, an artist of our gemeinschaft, free to come, free to stay, free to endeavor to clarify and excavate the roots so deep of the thin reeds of their solitary society, to stand up and count yourself linked but incapable of breaking the chain (see my photo) and even though there is nothing new under the sun, let us all remind them, a Seussian refrain, the sun nonetheless will come and clang, invitation engraved, naming you with calligraphic flourishes, a fine poem planted firm in our rooted hands saying:
Welcome child
>~~~~~~~~~<
*God Blesss the Child Whose Got His Own
Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own*
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Amassed an inventory of words, marvelous and concordant, reserved for the late at night, tremulous and tremor shaking, purposed to soothe with honey, milk and cookies, and coax them, the odd ones out, to emerge slowly, oh so slowly, with a magnetic resonance, yank them from their granite tombs, and employ the force of Od to convert them over to their own side, and will not pause, be placated until they are my spring waters, my co-religionists, in grace and kindness, and I will levitate them above us, espousing our collectivity, each a designer, an artist of our gemeinschaft, free to come, free to stay, free to endeavor to clarify and excavate the roots so deep of the thin reeds of their solitary society, to stand up and count yourself linked but incapable of breaking the chain (see my photo) and even though there is nothing new under the sun, let us all remind them, a Seussian refrain, the sun nonetheless will come and clang, invitation engraved, naming you with calligraphic flourishes, a fine poem planted firm in our rooted hands saying:
Welcome child
>~~~~~~~~~<
*God Blesss the Child Whose Got His Own
Billie Holiday / Arthur Herzog Jr.
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own*
Od - a hypothetical force formerly held to pervade all nature and to manifest itself in magnetism, mesmerism, chemical action, etc.
Answer me
Why are the children
if not hurting themselves,
so busy hurting others?
I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom,
And I rise up daily with a but a single quest:
Banish the hurt, expel the hurters,
And practice the one true faith:
Kindness and Grace.
Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much,
And I walk away and store my poems in another place.
But I am reminded,
There is no such thing as too kind,
So I wander back,
Chagrined and Chastened,
Hoping one among you
Will help to raise up
Me.
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