the night
reinvigorates me

evening breath billows past my skirts
soft kisses on my ankles
pinpoints of
indigo-mauve-azure
behind whispering leaves
glass buttoned sleeves brush (clink)
against chain link fences

fast light cars

— bathe me in headlights | (not spotlights)

while walking to taraweeh
zebra 1d

she thought who am i
there are so many of me
am i not veils and masks
even to myself
like a locked box
am i not peopled
with miscreant brooding hordes
of shadow selves
whispering gods and demons
taking space up within
like a coffin attic bedroom
to be rented out
for some wayward spectral family

oh children of the night
arguing like
black quilled throwing porcupines
players of dismal warbled music
that sounds like nails scratching floor boards
in the cold dread dead of night
at Holiday Hells Inn

see me she thought
am i not
an icon of responsibility
bright light
sweet and good
engraving angels on silver
making all sacred in the marvelous calm

wouldn't hurt a fly
oh no
not me oh my
showered and smelling like
Chanel
she the feminist
her favorite words

"thats disgusting
and no"

until her fingers sneak down her pants
feeling like a flowery beautiful woman
who weeps to be naked
raked over desires hot coals
and forced to worship
big cocked men
to be engorged voluptuously  
like a stuffed butter ball turkey
until her eyes roll back
like white sticks shuttering

where gratitude is met
with bay rum and vodka tongues
a celebration of thanksgiving
and thanks is really given
with a star performance
leg show
lubricated for the baking oven
garnished with pineapple
dripping
tipping head over heels
at dizzying heights
hanging from a swinging chandelier
bejeweled
upside down girl
doing butter cunt splits
to be scraped off walls and ceilings
like whipping cream whipped
and subsumed in the perfect  power and glory
of
NO MIND

Isn’t it time, that we stop crying,
for deliverance from circumstance’s
punishment, when we really should
be begging to be freed from our sin?
His Word teaches us that escaping
.
the results of ‘Sowing and Reaping’
is not feasible; our given ability
to reason, isn’t diminished when…
we have the Hope of Christ within.
Instead, we ought to be willing
.
to end production of needless pain
towards our God; anxiety and fears
prevents us from pushing forward in
victory, although we’re working and
striving towards… a worthwhile gain.

Inspired by:
Heb 12:1; 1 Cor 9:24  and

We cry too often to be delivered from the
punishment, instead of the sin that lies
behind it.  We are anxious to escape from
the things that cause us pain rather than
from the things that cause God pain.
-G. Campbell Morgan

Learn more about me and my poetry at: amazon (dot) com  

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.

the feel of blade through my skin

through my flesh

the pain it gives

the blood gushing

and to do it again.

sorry.
Chan S 2d

Is it that big of a crime
To expect so much outta mankind
or am I just overreachin'?

I keep talkin and talkin'
and cryin and talkin'
but they all just think I'm preachin'

'Cuz I speak from the heart
as I have from the start
still all they can hear is a crazy

I know I ain't perfect
but I know I deserve it
I deserve my happy livin'

Ion want no happy endin'
I'm far too good for that.
I've always wanted the best

Now I'm tryna do what's right
since I been put to the test
but everyone keep on leavin'

I can't innerstand why
and it make me wanna cry
but I ain't got no time for that

'Cuz I know where I been
but iono where I'm goin'
just know I ain't eva goin' back.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.

Cricket was started by the English,
They have a lot of spare money,
Too much more spare time,
But India has to work,
And cricket is the deterrent,
It restricts our national growth,
A trace of occupation by the English.

Cricket is such a wasteful expenditure of time and money for a developing nation like India.

Today the people of India need soccer, athletics, swimming, archery, shooting, basketball, volleyball and other sports.

Encourage Indian people to play other better sports.

My HP Poem #1598
©Atul Kaushal

The pendulum swings      and I, pivoting,
inhale the courage      of my beating heart.

13:45 - 21/06/17
State of mind: defiant; reflective.

Thoughts: from conversations - about an analogy for emotional stability being like a pivot as the pendulum swings.

Questions: How can we achieve a level of confident composure that watches over the constant turbulence of emotion? How can we be like a pivot to the motions of the pendulum?

a child's first exposure to water:
18 months, curious and shivering,
he runs on brown wet sand
under the wide cloudy sky
to the blue gray lake up to his knees, lapping against his legs.
He feels the mud oozing between his toes.
Light glimmers on the waves,
and splashing, he tries to catch it.
Hands in the wind-tossed water, he grins.
When the wind roars and pushes him back,
his hair stands on end.
he stumbles
and turns and sees his mother,
blonde like him,
her hair wrapped up in a knot, windswept
dressed in white
her belly round and soft and full
like the moon--
there like she always is,
waiting and watching with care
even when he can't see her.
Like the tide coming in,
he goes to her.

Love and it's dream...






wonderful night..

its an amazing night...

that which i got last night...

got you with me into my dreams..

danced together there as we imagined that..

kisses one the other as we really needed..

needed both a love..

that love which we felt...



sweetheart...

yesterday, i dreamt of you...

saw myself near, so close to you...

hands by hands,,

eyes were into each others...

talking with no words about love and it's desires...

felt through their hearts...

and throbbed a beat's love in a same time...

as a poetic harmonic musical symphony...

never heard and felt before...

never felt before that warmness...

two hearts heated one the other..

gave a great poetic sense...

emotions that we were seeking for...



sweetheart...

yes i dreamt of you last night..

its a real dream..

its a reality that we lived there..

there where we allowed this love to be..

to fly happily around us both...

above our hearts...

to give a love...

and to make it's great...



angel mine...

lets make it real as that real dream...

the dream that we shared...

lets dance on it's sweet melody...

lets drink each other's wine...

to make our love...

let's make it real ...

are you ready sweetheart ...

hazem al ...

when i was born to this earth,
to whom curious,
i dont come here for  grief,
i dont march on pointless pride,
i am just human being non pay for the sins,

i carry this cross,
because i still have faith in you,
but when i was sick,
you weren't there
i am tired  running away from myself,
pray for no salvation but your self,

i always am myself,
till the end and always be,
i carry this burden for you
but i get nothing back,
to hell and paradise back again,
all those drugs,
and i  don't starve till i'm done.

to each his own meaning on this poetry or song.
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