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I hope to awake on an open field
Where children play on swings,
Watching people walk their dogs,
And all those kind of things.
I hope to see yellow daffodils
In their thousands all in line,
Followed along with bluebells,
A blue sky and sun that shines.
I hope to see those people
The ones I used to know,
Instead of sadness in their eyes
Now is a smile that always glows.
I hope to see those animals,
Cows, pigs and sheep
Grazing together without any fear
Knowing they're not food to eat.
I hope to see a different world
A world that we've never seen
One with peace and harmony
The way it should have been.
I hope to awake on an open field
And I hope that day will be
With all those lovely people,
And my true love waiting for me.
In the dark of the whispering nave
as rosy incense blesses the scene,
old hymns once sung in chanted waves
still sail through hearts of choirs unseen;
Dimly lit by a sanctuary lamp red,
the altar lies in stony repose:
a throne for him who for all bled
and wished us love by the Holy Ghost.
Streaming, rippling ocean hues
with light washed bluer than Jonah’s whale
flow from stained glass richly imbued
by a Jewish hand with swirling detail:
This sturdy house is a bobbing ark
floating through our tempestuous time,
marked by a seagull who soared and embarked
on making his art for all sublime:
to fulfill the promise of rainbows above
for all those who seek the light of love
Inspired by the famous Marc Chagall windows seen in the Church of St. Stephen, Mainz. The “seagull” is a pun on his name in keeping with the maritime imagery of the poem. “Nave” is the term for the main body of the church, but also means “ship” (as in “naval”).
Bekah Halle Oct 12
Remember!
When the ground feels shaky
And things are falling skyward;
Peace is our gift, embrace it
with both hands.
I am undecided on the title of this poem between these three headings. Please give your feedback:
1-My peace I give you
2-Embrace with both hands
3-Open arms

Please reply 1, 2 or 3. Much appreciated.
Madeon Oct 12
I long to be silent in silence,
so that a magnolia tree may bloom in my mind,
warmed by the hands of God.
Ken Pepiton Oct 11
Daily on recollection of what you are,
Teach finding found in retrospect.
Automimic transmissive self.
Didache epiousion,
pursue our own happy state,
taking the granted goodwill done.

Cosmic inspiration,
not bread alone, teach each phraze
enough good sense
to feel a way
when darkness sets in,
to stay,
do not attempt
to change station
when suicides, all say, see, told you,
all the ones we know, and some I didn't,
linger as reminders spun
to when lives end,
unfinished, abruptly,
by entropic right,

step outside the fire circle,
be swallowed by the night,
step farther into the night,
be swallowed by the stars.

Feel the massive black hole,
spinnorially tying edges
to themselves, up
goes down, in
goes out,

ever, as far as
mortals are concerned.

Living at a gallop,
the last mile of the way,
laughing at whys nearly lost
in my dust of disintegrable missed
opportunities to force pi on phi,
making flowers open ever so
slowly in sunshine dust so
fine one must believe so

simple a child can hold the idea, as
sunbeams hold motes for eyes to see.

Galloping away,
dopplering an oscillating
instance recalculation allowing
a second glance to hold a century.

Agree to testing,
partaking not in legal usery,
calling the whole truth to judge.

Full measure for a life well lived.
Envy not the talent, know the meaning,
weight to cost of potential use for something.

You, there, listen,
lend me your ears,
let me hear your take on precise measures.

In spirit form, we may imagine, we are,
on either side of the loop thrown
around us, was it once said,

dang me, ' oughta take a rope…
hang me cut me up in pieces,
let me symbolize the cost
of FREEDOM, in will, fall
in love and wonder,
why so many lie,

she threw me for a loop, like
a centrifugal railroad mag-levitating
behind a star tied in macro manifestation.

Yet, the whole thing remains beautiful,
at scale.


Ink, where no ink is,
skin, where no skin is,

lifestyle game divisions,
fans only, believers only,

wordless worship paid
as attention, aimed at that,
training taken in after domes
enclosed crowds as big as Athens,

when Socrates corrupted the youth
in training to become guardians called

by God to honor their constant pledge,

and then,
Jesus
appears, with signs and wonders,

and the messengers make evident
the degree of authority involved,

good will, of the highest order,
most complete good will there

ever was, ever before, done
on earth, as it ever is in heaven.

Or, the story is unbelievable.

------------------ scribal note
2024 Ai advises one to know:
a talent's worth is variable, by use

Ancient Israel: used to describe the value of gold and silver used to build the tabernacle in 34 Kg chunks.

New Testament times: used the unit to represent a substantial sum of money, equivalent to 20 years’ wages for a common worker or valued between $1,000 to $30,000 today
Ask your titular agent teaching you,
In the famous parable, who passes the test in Psalm 15, using foreknowledge?
What a privilege to be alive with such assisting intellegence keeping us learning our part is easy, we think.
Lightning snaps and rain applauds
as thunder claps above horizons’ walls
Grumbling clouds march swiftly on
to booming sounds and cracks of dawn —
Here below, in the cockpit of storm,
the rain now sows blue jewels that form
on an old rose’s petals and thorny stalks
to test the mettle of the bugs that walk
up and down their rosebush world
that’s becrowned by blossoms, red unfurled:
One bug, aloof, sits calm and at peace
under his roof of a sturdy green leaf —
This one bug that I see amidst all the gloom
is who I wish to be, under red blooms
Had very stormy weather and I was watching a rosebush in our garden be swayed by the storms. I imagined being a bug on the rosebush and came up with this.
Diving deep into my memories,
Where winds whisper, and waves clash with melancholy.
Echoes of freedom, I can’t always recreate—
Yet in every storm, I anchor in faith,
Sailing toward dreams and higher conscious states,
Seeking peace and tranquility, where I calmly escape.
A poem dedicated to the sea
-In the centre of my heart

These words I speak, I speak them true,

Nothing matters to me but you!
Sunrise

Sunset

Sunrise

Sunset

sunrise

Sunset

Seren­ity

Sta­r­ts and ends
The beginning and the Conclusion
The never ending cycle that drives us
Though the day
You always know the sun will always come back
The beauty and perfection that comes with looking
At the horizon just for a couple of minutes and then the
process repeats

Serenity

Sunrise

Sunset

Sunrise

Sunset

Sunrise

Sun­­­set
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