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Steve Page Jul 16
God came in three
setting aside time and space
for collaborative creativity

God came in three
and in that 'us', 'our' and 'we'
metaphored mutuality

God came in three
advocating once and for all
a collaborative trinity

God came in three
illustrating that family living
is a godly thingamy

God came in three
inviting you and you and me
to join them in community

for eternity.
Genesis 1: 26.
Then God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, ...
See also Gen 3.22.
Michael Stefan Apr 2020
Inspired by a recent poem by Emmanuel Phakathi titled "Who knows it feels it."

Your brush touches paint the same
Spread simple over varied canvas
Meant to make art for eyes
That ache for scenes of beauty
And such beauty is abound
In every nuanced color of our lives

We paints do not get to choose our color
Lead stepped in manure to produce white paint
never got to choose its fate
Nor did the dyes trapped in cochineal insect
destined to be crimson
Weep for all the ground-up bones
Used to enhance beautiful ebony tones
Or the powdered precious stones
Called ultramarine, translated "beyond the sea"

We paints don't get to choose our medium
Like wooden tapestries of African Artists
Rich and earthy, beyond beauty
Or painstakingly bound hempen thread
A dedication of Italian artwork
Or the unknown fresco origin
Which gave painters joy on the Isle of Crete
To the modern U.S. canvas
Made of cotton, PVC, and ingenuity

We do not choose our color
Red, white, black, green, yellow, blue
We do not choose our canvas
From developed nation to those without
We do not choose our origin
We do not choose our ethnicity
We can only choose our actions

I choose to believe
That we are all beautiful paints
Not meant to separate
But rather to blend together
In truest of beautiful form
And spread vivid hues of color
Across this tapestry of Earth
Emmanuel, your poem really touched me.  I have been working on my graduate's degree in Neuroscience and have been delving deeper and deeper into art and history and culture.  It is hard to believe some of the tragedies that we as human beings have engineered against ourselves on the basis of difference when there are so many examples of how collaboration is the only way to truly achieve beauty.  Art is very much one of those medians.  If any of you think you are better than anyone else based on how you were born, you just became less than them.  I I truly weep for your untrue perception.
Aaron E Aug 2019
Baptized in the framework,
emboldened dregs,
stolen legs,
having the will enabled,
will stoke flares.
Hope there's enough left,
to capitalize and trademark,
Mark.
These machination metaphorics may get way dark.

Witness the churn,
turn barrel, pour fuel.
Envision thrift in the burn.
Unequivocal innocents in the thick of it learn,
gun metal, flower petal.
Power is sick of our tone.
They play their tricks on our young,
to build a system above.

We killed the sadness
fit to galvanize
a truthful spirit,
loose beneath the masses.

lifted powder keg,
rug and broom,
others soon to be suiting fashion

Buried in a priory cast.
Wire he tapped,
isn't the first,
was a fiery blast.

I heard the ground stir, out turned choirs of wrath.
Give baron bread, give miner shaft,
and all the pigs just laughed.

All the swine surrounded, founded "Freedom".
Heavy quotes aligned to,
"leave em lying".
We declined to deify, redefine our civil vision .
Twisted lips and sirens, rent,
systems turn, climate,
worth, time to learn to hear and listen,
kids,  earth, diet.
'On the list I promise'.
Truth can't hurt if you stay quiet.
Truth in earnest moves the strongest.
Our seeds to earth are truth in kindness.

Grow.
Amy H Oct 2017
Mike Hauser had a brilliant idea to “Pass the pen” and see where it got us.  This, Friends, is the result.

I write of the stars
I write of the moon
I write of the things
That I love to do
I write of the lies
While telling the truth
And when I am through
I pass the pen to you


I read the things
that went before
and add my thoughts
for you to write more
of things we love
and things we hate
so here's the pen,
now contemplate!


I wait like a kid
the anticipation
breaks my quiet
like a train in station
with thoughts
pouring out
like the traveling weary
so here's the pen
"now what's my hurry?"


While looking at this
And studying that
As our poetic peruse
Comes up to bat
With much more in store
From the writer's’ knack
I jot down my last line
Then pass the pen back


and now it get's fun
with my lines and yours
at least it keeps me
from doing my chores!
fingers be nimble
brain be quick
I finished this part
now here's the Bic.


With words tattered and torn
I have you here to mend
Don’t know where I’m going
Brain lights on dim
With little or no warning
Here it comes again
All on a whim
I hand you the pen


*so who will care
if we make no sense
“these poets here
must have the bends!”
but all the same
we’ve had our yen
it was a good run
let's retire the pen
Thanks Mike!  That was fun.  Now maybe some of you can grab a buddy and see what happens.  To put this in context, all the stanzas went round in under an hour.  A dizzying frenzy.
Steve Page Sep 2017
Let's collaborate and coordinate, cooperate and disseminate.
Let's not disassociate or dare to hesitate, rather let's keep going til we reach a state of counterweight that celebrates the gifts our Father freely donates for us to re-dedicate and elevate His name til we resonate with the angels at heavens gates.
Amen.
Learning how to write with others.  A wonderfully challenging discomfort.
D Holden Jul 2017
An innocent child taught to share.
Taught to know that the relationship;
the journey to share knowledge, love, ideas
and our difference is key.

An educated adult never forgets the child's lesson.
But fear drives self-protection, materialism and pride.

To share what divides us is to plant the seeds of learning.
Comradeship grows from understanding,
and acknowledgement of those differences.

Build a fence. Build a wall.
Create the divide and create the perfect,
repugnant bigot's nursery.

Destroy the very values one thinks will be protected.
Fail to share as only a child learns and build humanity's failure.
Dee Oct 2014
Your words pulverized me again and again
I saw each little arrow
that lead me in circles
back to your doorstep,
wanting to reach out, touch you
but was afraid you weren't there,

Did you understand the love we shared
Deeper than the depth of the Pacific,
but the schism of the abyss deepened,
like a cracking Mariana, imploding unto itself,
as I play each scene through my mind
what did I do to make you turn away
I wonder…
it was hard to say
good bye…,

My angel, it has been long, since I saw you
yet whatever little moments that we spent
were blessed pearls in shining oysters,
worn around our hearts
I aver it still hurts to know
you are still there somewhere
How I miss…
the endless, senseless talks
wishing for more of those precious moments,
but life, does it value treasured seconds?
I wonder…
then why is it that
I miss the most…us?

I hope to awaken when the sun comes up
and rubbing my eye, I see the dream crash
see you standing before me
as if you had never left my side.*

The parallel worlds.
My princess, just peep out of the castle window
Do you see that glorious steed?
A knight atop, in his shining armour
Perhaps not…
Since with changed time’s dimensions
I stand on the tor while your castle is in the vale,

Each looking at the other as a mist
Yet still there, where we were…
Nothing has changed, yet there is no constant
The eye of the storm has changed the breeze
The sailboats changing tack, yet on the same course
All a matter of perception…

Look out of your dream and you shall find
Us, standing on the same shore that we last left,
The travels and travails seem to keep us adrift
Bobbing up and down, times tides
Synchronous, dancing to the beat of the waves…



Dee
Debbie Brooks.
Love, sorrow, collaboration

— The End —