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  Jun 2014 Zia
Camellia-Japonica
Poetess, rare in contemporary usage
yet, not rare in actuality.
Am I a poet? Or a poetess?
The word "poetry" derives from the Latin feminine noun poetria, meaning not "poetry" but "poetess.
So, confusion reigns in my mind as to what I am
but not what I do, or why I do it.
Do I write because I want recognition? Fame? Accolades? No.
Do I write because I need to? Yes.
Words soothe my soul, whether they be dark words or
words forged in the light.
Poetry allows the poet and the reader to visualise
nay experience all forms of love, hurt, pain, madness,
and suffering, the poet, the poem and the reader become as one.
© JLB
Marianne Moore famously described the poet's job as creating "imaginary gardens with real toads in them".(Poetry)
  Jun 2014 Zia
Eddie Starr
O Lord Jesus,  you are the beginning and end.
You have map out each of our lives completely.
For you know our every move before we do them.
You whom walk on water while you lived on the earth.
You O Lord whom spoke everything into existence
You whom was born , so that you could give your life.
On the cross that you could take our sins upon you.
Then raise up again back to life, so that we can be rescued.
From a life that is destine for eternal damnation away from you.
Zia May 2014
Tick-tock, the time is near
So I tell this, please do not fear
Tick-tock, He's coming soon
One starry night with the bright round moon

Our faults, we needed to confess
Obey every single thing he says
The loathing in our hearts to stop
With the blood of violence, in its last drop

The Light is there, the Light is near.
Would you sacrifice the things you hold dear,
Just to grasp that Hope from afar
And to forget the past that brought that scar?

"To be rescued, or to keep on drowning?"
A question that bothers every human being
So wait on, and be watchful
The time will come for those who are faithful...

Tick-tock, the time is near
So I tell this, please do not fear
The time will come when all are done,
'Tis the arrival of the One.
  May 2014 Zia
Patience Worth
There is a busy spider weaving webs,
Hanging my understanding with
Impenetrable mysteries—
Intricately woven.
Threatening all men, is
This busy weaver in its labor
Befogging man's reassuring.
There is a busy spider which threads the day,
Trailing its silver from wisdom to wisdom,
Enwrapping one with the other—
Until Wisdom is lost!
Oh, there is a busy spider—
Called Doubt!
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