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Kabelo Maverick  May 2014
Church
Kabelo Maverick May 2014
Last I read, the Alpha said Jesus gave us Wine, Bread and Fish. The Way, Light and Truth was spread for nothing in return, a moving Church made wide, stead for each. Today I see business in Church all made part of some tradition, no valid permission...just a twisted perception of the less in the lurch and the rich in the mission. All due respect, I've seen Priests get lured by church female adolescence, truth. Priests are mentors especially to juvenescence, no wonder now church feels like a fashion parade courtesy of young essence, youth. Our Kids are now spiritually weak, they think going to church cleanses the sins for the following week. Adults say they've tried, but I see God holding a cane...whoever rebuked my Aunt's burial, pray you're not first in the lane. Where do we run to when Holy places are not such an Oasis? When white man doesn't travel to the moon with you? I don't know your faces...just mine, Black Jesus and Yahweh as basis...
"The Lord knoweth them that are his" (2 Tim. 2:19)
©hurch
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
Ruman Hafsa Aug 2016
O my childhood come back to me
Again like a child I wanted to be
Embrace me in your arms
Soothe me with your palms
O my childhood come back to me
Again like a child I wanted to be

There were no worries, distress or fears
And without any pain were my tears
Only my homework was I to worry about
For only my chocolates I usually fought
Mum's Lullaby song would send me to sleep
And dad would embrace in his love so deep

Grandma told me stories of prince & princess
Stories of hers & his highness
And dangerous battles won by brave knight
With grace & courage who would fight
I would always get so many sweets
Many more chocolates & candies to eat

Those were the days of my juvenescience
Those were the days of my joyful presence
Then we're the days when time would tweet
Then were the days when bliss always greet
A horn just snapped me out the memory lane
Seized my childhood, made me adult again...
How much I miss my childhood... admit it everyone, how carefree we would be then. But now...(sigh)
Quiescence:
The world yet to be;
change is imminent.

Excrescence:
The world as holistic;
change is traumatic.

Juvenescence:
The world as wondrous;
change is fascinating.

Adolescence:
The world as oppressive;
change is institutional.

Tumescence:
The world as idealized;
change is self-discovery.

Hyalescence:
The world as conceived;
change is forgotten.

Obsolescence:
The world as impossible;
change is unimaginable.

Senescence:
The world as finite;
change is death.

Obmutescence:
The world beyond conception;
change is māyā.

Latescence:
The world as a memory;
change is time.

Putrescence:
The world as continuous;
change is nature.

Rejuvenescence:
The world in utero;
change is birth.
A contemplation of the circle of life.
This is not a poem.
This is my dedication to a man who touched my soul and gave me the gift of the most valuable knowlege I have ever gained in school.
I do not know how to explain Mr. Fowler in a paragraph and I feel as though any representation of him in just one small paragraph would be inadequate.  However I will do my best to share with you how he impacted my life my ninth grade year.  Ninth grade is a major transition year for everyone.  New people, new school, and still a little bit of that middle school juvenescence.  I was no exception to such awkwardness (as much as I'd like to believe I was) and Mr. Fowler inspired me even on the first day.  He had a passion for biology and even more than that he had a passion for dispensing his knowledge (as well as his own meandering thoughts) to his students.  He expressed his love for his work to us often; mostly just sprinkling it over his enthusiasm for a lab or whatever we were doing that day.  I may not have had an ideally left-brain thought process as you would wish for an honor biology student and yes I did struggle but Mr. Fowler would not have ever left me behind.  However he did not only touch my life academically.  For three weeks at the beginning of my second semester in high school I was absent due to depression, cutting, and bulimia.  My mind was at war with me and I told my parents I needed help.  They checked me into a rehabilitation center for the next three weeks. While out of school North Springs was not easy to get in touch with. In fact they didn't even answer my mothers calls to get my work until I was finishing the program and coming into school the next day.  Due to my school's lack of organization and incompetence I was three weeks behind and kept falling further and further.  I was supposed to be put on a plan by my school to make my recovery less stressful and to help me catch up.  That did not happen either.  My school didn't even count my absences excused despite the hospital notes… Two months passed and I was even more behind and growing more fearful that I would have to repeat second semester until I went to Coach Cushman and Mr. Fowler.  Mr. Fowler offered me support and I will never ever forget how kind he was too me.  He told me we all have health problems but that doesn't mean we can't move forward it just takes a little confidence and work.  He let me come talk to me whenever and gave me passes to stay after class.  He has a beautiful mind and a caring heart, and although it was severely hard for me to reach the level of understanding of the material that I had missed not only in biology but in every other subject I passed.  I cannot express my gratitude towards him for I may not be a tenth grader this year without his help and patience.  My condolences go to his family as well as the family he has with the North Springs staff.  I would also like to say that though Mr. Fowler may not be with us in a physical realm he is still here with us in spirit and one of the many lessons I believe should be taken away from his time with us is that you should love your work.  If you do not live for what you do, you are simply doing the wrong thing.
Bria Grimm Oct 2016
An inconspicuous wedge
Lodged between you and I
for quite some time.
A barrier so thick, I
misconstrued it as a child.

Prancing thoughts of inadequacy
twirled in my mind,
Full of naivety.

Now? I see you.
The damaged woman you are,
I see you in whole, your
Metaphoric ******.

I was never your enemy.
You only reflected as such
because my being seeped tenuous
bits of you through the
Weaker portions of my juvenescence.

I am sorry you are broken.
I love you,
and I aspire one day you will
Love yourself, too.
James Leggett Jun 2016
youthful spirits race through the green of the meadow
boasting worth as if it needs to be proven
unaware how or when their laughter will turn to tears

the shape of the sun captured in a car window
holds energy for future release
backseat romance is best kept in the dark

springs in between steps fail
to mention the secrets
spreading their wings in
empty space
without room to nurture any wound

boys and girls hold each other
and face the world like it's a movie
they keep each other alive with
endless affection
sometimes fearing it only exists
in verbal security

and a sky which sometimes goes gray
during games and adventures in trees
can tell you the heartache that may have been a phase
is now permanent condition
stretched farther
than the outstretched hands
like prayers to a nameless god
seeking a day where beauty can exist
from beginning to end
Kara Ashley  Jan 2019
Growing up
Kara Ashley Jan 2019
Twinkling fireworks on a warm summer night
I’m enthralled by the starkness of radiance,
The thunderous boom and magical shine.
And yet they flee
I watch them falter and fall,
Quietly acknowledging the sentiment

They banned us from building more castles in the sky,,
so we made forts in the basement instead
Clanked our glasses for freedom and self- determination
Embracing our glorious reign

Pencil drawn blueprints, methodically planned
Smudged lines of dreamlike destiny
We would have made it too.
Had we not carelessly lent them to fate

The blackness of the sky made them perish
Glittering ashes settled at my feet
Nothing but a smokey shadow marked our sweet juvenescence
The stars and the moon unscathed
It really was a fantastic show.
Noah Thomas Feb 2013
Weary soul, hear tell what is to be said.
Our juvenescence haunts us, taking the form of many things...
A smoke, a ****, a pop, a drop.
An excuse not to stop.

In the mean of failure,
The obsidian night remains,
And only darkens by the tick tick.
Sometimes, the answer to life sounds like a click click.

But the waves move once again.
Not in favor of those who turn a deaf ear.
They influence our preference,
In regard to our deference.

Sobriety seems overrated,
Words often said,
By those who **** their own mind.
How can we be so blind?

**** the influence,
The generation of foes who neglect the implication.
As for you my kin,
Don't think twice, as to avoid a grin.
betterdays Jan 2015
float my body
over
the sea of stones**

each one,
a memory
composed from
the mountain song
of my life....
calved into the river
of love.

to swim away
from me,
in a mission
of exploration
to the rims of reality.

float my body
over
the sea of stones.

that i may see
again,
the places i went,
the lives i lived

and then,
lay me down
in their cold embrace.
that i may ,
once more
live in the hard edged
ecstasy,
of my juvenescence.
the jagged days
of,
middle age
and the
slowgrindingdown
of
the latter days...

let me settle down
to
sleep,
amongst the
whispering rattle
of the stones,
as they
sing a lulluby
to my aged, decaying bones...
first line
borrowed with thanks from....
Steven Hutchison's
untitled piece.
Check out his work...
a talented writer indeed
Vyiirt'aan Dec 2017
Predatory traces remain amongst the spread soot
The ashes that bore the incentive of a smile
A lonely ribbon flew along the scene - it was caught;
Grasped by the canids of a desperate pastime.

"Papa, can you hear me?"
"I will be holding the candles today"
"You have returned at last..."
"... but why did you leave again?"

Muffled screams, stinging pain, faint echoing of what remains,
The vitality that lingered in the sun,
Disappeared, in its stern gleam.

Trails of anguish resonate through the field, a grand feast
Clotted tufts, sent with grief, are held and spread over the field
My dearest father,
When the light shone down and revealed its deceit,
A realm that struck me headfirst, belittling me,
As you dance with the wind, I cry for an eternity.

The hounds of decay sing a melody, so daunting, intimidating tones
In deafening ecstasy, the games the shepherds play,
The ceasing of a prosperous juvenescence, killing feisty innocence.

In a loud cascade, the scenery deteriorates
Lush wisps of fire, dulled petals flourish in the wind
Dim embers, odoriferous leaves that dwindle amongst the feet
In anger they remained at the efflorescent poppies
The putrid grave that yielded

The warmth of the snow felt enticing, exciting
The numbed senses within the blank slate.

"I will be home tonight"
"Crying in the darkness"
"For my dearest smile..."

"... exists no more."
28/12

This poem is to be read after "Homecoming, incorporeal oath".
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2277180/homecoming-incorporeal-oath/

anger games loud pain sing vitality eternity smile papa ribbon
Joe Wilson Oct 2014
It was just a shadow
but the way it moved
scared the bejeebers out of me.

I was just about to put the key in the door
when the ******* shadow
passed through me and cast itself
right down the hallway

…and then it was gone.

It was raining and very windy
and after a short sharp shake of the head
I dismissed it and entered
and switched on the lights
– all of the lights.

Hang on…
How had a shadow been cast in the pitch black darkness!!

I was already miserable enough
I’d had a really difficult day at work
Dealing politely with someone you’d call a ****!


Suddenly – there was a sharp rap at the door
which upon opening revealed
children, one, two, three, four
“Trick or treat, Mister”, the young leader said
at which I grinned heartily
and recalling the juvenescence of earlier days
I was rushed back to reality and to him I said
“Trick”
fully expecting and prepared for a hideous mask or something.

In less time than it takes to say ‘Abracadabra’
the whole scene before me
turned red
I couldn’t make out at first what I was seeing
but then I realised that everything, everything was red.
Houses, trees, cars, even all the people
were all red.
Fiery red!!

I was in Hell – and I was terrified.
There was a long deep laugh
coming from – I didn't know where.
it just surrounded everything
including me – what was going on?

And then I remembered.
“No!! Treat!!,
I shouted at the top of my voice
and just as suddenly as it had all appeared
it vanished.
“That’ll be a dollar Mister.” the youngest lad said.

I gave him five dollars
and closed the door
and locked the door
and very firmly slid the bolts home
and put the chain into its slot too.
I went into the study and poured myself
a very large whiskey,
and sat down, still shaking,
in front of the fire.

I had never been so scared in my life.


©Joe Wilson – Trick…definitely not a treat…2014

— The End —