"amens" poems
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
“Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker”
Leonard Cohen
<>
“Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?”
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I,
***instant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees
With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.
now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.
hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful
so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy
in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest***!
(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)
~~~~
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
#Soaring over the idyllic fields of poet's day dreams
an opening exposes some endless blue
the sun cast's his golden rod
and waits while humming his bright tune
Suddenly submerged
for his bait we had chewed
turbulence drops yellow bags
and white fog blinds our view
The sun is toying with us
letting the line out farther and farther
the old sun and the sky
a departure within a departure
Finally the sun pulls the line
screaming, we steady then ascend
are we going higher now?
better make amends
via amens
Look all the fog is gone
this isn't the suns pole
the light is fleeing and
this cabinet grows so cold
The air thins into non existence
yet somehow we can breath
in these celestial waters
watch as the earth takes her leave
Reeling faster now
how these stars pass by
what's beyond the celestial sphere
this fisherman sure is spry
Finally a golden gleam approaches
splash through the pearly gates
into the net of heaven
pietistic fingers embrace
An omniscient voice speaks
NOT AGAIN, ANOTHER USELESS CAN?
and he tossed this metal heap away
who do I eat and who do I romance
It's going to be a long journey home.
#
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle
peddling back home
peddling
peddling
stop
I dropped
My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
All intellect is dissected
Through the tunnel visioned perspectives
Stretched thin
In a stream of feed
Producing the illusion of need
Projected from old men
Who grin
Below the suicidal idols
Of the rivals
And glutton in the maniacal sins
Commenced
By brain dead Americans
Painted in the amens of the dense
Commending the hymns
Of spent casings
Atop the blood of babies
And maybe
One day
It can be better
Than the clever endeavours
To sever the head of the predators
Washing our hands of their sedatives
And delivering the skulls to the slavers
But we are pay dirt
Shoveled into trucks to work
For a leafless tree
Ready and wanting to believe
In anything
That doesn't see our deeds
As we
Are manufactured with the greed
Of sleeved wisemen
With five of a kind
In the fight for life
Putting our souls
Upon our rites
We bet
Despite the path of right
Infringing on the height
Of success
In excess
Of the tests message
We are the blessing
Of a warning
Within a forgotten story
Historically denoting its anointing
We are the disappointment
Of the warrior
Defeated in a court
Of corrupted consorts
Sorting out the blueprints
For a new fort
Distorting the borders
Of moral disorders
With orders to ****
The hoarders of will
We are the shrill screech
Of a dying world
And we are alive
But dead
Born to ****
Batteries of a shield
Building hell
To sell heaven pills
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
My sketchbook is getting damp from the spray
It's a torrent unleashed as
thunder rolls
Midnight black stripped in hot flashes of punctuated amens
Rounds of sounds of liquid laughter shake in the atmosphere
Lyrical clapping voices arise
Millions of drops on millions of leafy palms uplifted
The canopy dances
now in a roaring delight
I hear a waterfall singing your name
because you're missed most intensely in these spaces of awe
Yes
You can
Be
with
me
You are
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
the time of his death was
unknown of course
Garl walked the perimeter sticks
wooden spear at the ready
Garl saw more than he thought
therein the world of the cave walls
His dreams were to amazing
images of other worlds so
beautiful so strange
all were there dreams at night
but the amens put them
on the walls
an act of great courage due respect
in his dreams Garl saw himself
on the wall at first with
fear later with desire
the amans were also hunters
the hunt was a strong image to have
Garl was out with the hunters
he saw the hunt he saw his
image on the cave wall
He went forward to the mammoth
He is now seen on a cave wall
by thousand peoples
the time of his death
is unknown of course
Oct 15, 2023
Oct 15, 2023 at 9:40 PM UTC
Mushroom clouds hang thick with a special guest appearance by a menthol cigarette.
The same color box you carry in your back pocket.
The same chemicals in your lungs live inside mine.
I can feel you pulsating behind my eyelids while
I mouth the words "I'm sorry" at your telephone number.
I don't even know what I'm apologizing for but
I miss you terribly and
I hate myself for not talking to you.
Please don't die.
And I pray to god
"why do you make me so sad?"
And he won't tell me a **** thing
Him and you like keeping secrets from me.
While he gives people sermons hallelujahs and amens
I get an echo of words in my head.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
Meagan, Quidnishia, and Pam marched in
Dressed to the nines
(Unlike the other 5-daze)
Amens traded for
"How may I help you today?"
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
When the fog lifted, i watched the forest sway where the rain began.
It was as though a static born, when the thunder turned to storm, and formed puddles under the street lights that would dim, as i walked beneath them.
On the path I had, a cliff side view, of the wrath in waves, as they ravaged rocks, in watery quests to carve the caves, for the tide to drink, of sinking thoughts, that patiently passed in my peripheral.
Spiraling vacantly, receding back to sea, in hollow moans, toning to another side of me.
Traversing tranquility, in the sanctity of spacious seas, seemingly of me, the emptiness of swallowed shores, drifting unto shallow swells, of surrendered swamps, to flooded lands, my emptied head, unto empty hands, to grasp the darkened clouds, of shrouded amens.
As time slowed, the thunder closed, on the lightning, as it lit the trees, summoning silhouettes over the shaking streets, that dance before me, smearing the tears, and the burning defeats, until withered away, as the sun breaks, in spectral hues, that washed away, the dirt.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
There are no days too dark,
Light cannot filter through,
When its too hard to face the truth,
Behind the clouds the sky is blue.
When tears are all you know,
You can always wipe them dry,
They will not last forever,
The storm will soon pass by.
When life's music is a sad lament,
The words are too hard to sing,
There's a melody that resonates,
When plucked upon each string.
When all the "whys" go unanswered,
You can always ask the "whens",
As the curtains open wide for you,
And you've said your last amens.
In the stillness of your solitude,
You are never all alone,
When you've tossed upon your bed,
And your pillow is a stone.
There's a reason for the moment,
There's a candle for the dark,
There's a fountain for the thirsty,
And a page to leave your mark.
The cold and weary feeling,
Will give way to peace and rest,
At the crossing of the narrows,
And the final human test.
To stand and breathe the sweetness,
Will reward the vigilant soul,
At the passing of the torches,
When the lost have reached the goal.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
I don't recall year one of life,
But I'm here now,
So they got it right.
Yet I remember being one,
On a mattress, in the sun,
The smell of bacon and farm odors,
Were part of me as I grew older.
But I never asked to grow up.
I walked first steps
In my father's shoes,
Blathered blissfully when I was two.
By the time I turned three,
I was sure youth suited me.
I could reach the outside door,
When I grew to the age of four.
Now the world's mine to explore.
But I never asked to grow older.
Then by five I tried to hide
From the travails of an older child;
The digging, weeding, painting, work:
My escape to school was my re-birth.
But I never asked to grow older.
I didn't ask to turn six,
Seven, eight, nine or ten;
I shuddered at our portends,
I didn't like how my world ends,
I finished fishing with Amens.
But I never asked to grow older.
I made twenty years ago,
When decades moved ever so slow;
Thirty came, forty gone,
And fifty didn't last that long.
But I never asked to grow older.
Since I must,
Please remember,
Dip my soother in Irish whiskey,
Include me if you solve the mystery,
And reference me and my life's history.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC
Muscle memory has made our movements
so cyclical
we
tangle ourselves up monthly
entering each others presences
with our
amens
your back an altar
that I worship at,
your arms the extent of the world that I acknowledge exits
for now
but the sunlight will always find its way
between us on your pillows
and will always rise
sure of its self
that is has picked the right moment because,
it is the golden boy of the family
and you
will always rise sure of the fact
that you must leave
because it is your ritual
to never expose enough to be a full picture
and I will allow myself to learn again
that the sun
is the brighter star here.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
why..why do we all want to go to the place..
where everyone follows the rule..
where every where
..and...everything is clean and ti-ty, quiet, and BLAND!...like plan oatmeal
..Why not! go to a place...
where everything is a crazy upside down world when everyone breaks the rules..
takes chances and goes wild. (God did you ever think of it like that..well, I have) and I think it would be fun to have the misadventures and doing what I want
WOOO!
to feel more alive when I’m not.. have you ever felt that before and be honest.. really have you.
I understand that I would rather have zombies at a party then nuns. Nuns are vicious
Its like choosing a fire ******* over a M1 Abrams tank.BOOM!
If I was to rest for eternity I want it to be adventurous a world up-side-down,
not a place where there is nothing to do but listen to silence. Like a fracking library God i hate libraries
When someone tells me that I have to Believe what they believe
so i can be happy all I say “sorry bro,already watched tosh.0 I know where i’m heading”
Why say your amens when you can eat almonds with chocolate
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
Will words come?
Ideas weave themselves
Like strings of spring vine?
Now it’s time …
A solemn answer,
Just your best.
Eyes cast upward,
Downward, right,
And left.
Eyes that beg
In dramatic
Silence.
Eyes searching
For minute
Flickers –
Tossed out by
Vague heres-and-theres.
Thinking, blinking,
Reaching backward,
Ah! Something ... something,
Rememb'ring at last!
Grabbing a time,
With sparks
Of relief;
There they are!
I see them, too!
In those baby eyes.
Follow the steps –
Pour on the juice –
Butter it up –
A kiss for Good Luck.
Our Stories,
Our Amens.
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 2:42 AM UTC
Mark me with the sin of desire
my skin is tainted flesh.
Communion wine spilled,
on the bride's wedding dress.
And when all is said and done,
I do's, blessings, and Amens,
They will consummate that marriage,
and live in the sin of regret.
Jan 7, 2024
Jan 7, 2024 at 4:37 PM UTC
My trembling,
pimpled little
yawp
on its way over
the rooftops,
Was blown by a whim,
bounced off
a gable
and fell into
the backyard
of a preacher
It was spitted,
and brushed
and cooked to a turn
Then served up
with coleslaw
to a chortling
crowd of
the brethren
after a sermon,
of course,
and hymns
and grace
and a chorus
of heartfelt
amens
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
hate sings a love song,
blithe, pretty, little tune
in honor of its heritage.
hate sings sweetly, a song
of marches and hangings,
of ghettos and slavery
it hums admiration for its people.
it sings of this land.
the majestic peaks and playful meadows.
it sings, with love, of blood-drenched cotton and
trenches adorned with crooked bodies.
it sings of its forefathers-
the conquistadors and pioneers.
saintly butchers and child rapists.
hate paints it’s history holier than the Sistine Chapel,
singing blindly like a hymn.
hate sings a love song,
possessive and vicious.
it scrawls the lyrics on
subway walls and sycamore trees.
it sings in symbols and metaphors,
accompanied by the beat of temple gunshots and kicks to the ribcage.
hate sings through the pulpit and the pew,
clipping it’s verses from a holy book,
it sways to the rhythm of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs”
hate breathes down my neck and yours,
knocking door to door,
bearing music with a message,
it weeds out the undesirables one by one.
for the greater good,
hate tortures children therapeutically,
and executes those presumed guilty.
it erases generations
in concrete rooms
and in the bellies of ships.
it explodes homes,
smashes panes of glass,
and burns every convenient symbolism.
hate roves and rages and spits and howls,
singing the song of a beautiful future.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC
This is the Anniversary,
of a gentle night in May.
The call came from the nursing home.
to say you'd passed away.
You lay there still and silent
already growing cold.
The Priest already come and gone
to tend to other souls.
We whispered sweet endearments
to our mother good and kind
Released from her infirmities
marked with the Savior's sign.
I wonder did she linger there
to her our sad amens
like she listened to our prayers
said at our childhood beds.
Voices cast upon the wind
beside her final bed.
I'd like to think she heard the tears
and the prayer my sister said.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
Take a deep breath, dont stress
Your face is sweaty, plams are heavy
Your attitude is fire, up for higher
But on the surface your calm and nervous
Never forgetting with what you have was over
NOT
Get on the cabby, change your abilities
Hit up the blasphemy with your rice burnin *** to me
Punch me not, you had one hit one chance to take
Make amens and hit the spot but where you rock
Is where my chance failed,
it turned around an hit the ground
Faster than the fat man who fell to the ground...
BALLED FIST HURL AT YA
WHILE YA FALL TO YOUR FEET
GIVE ONE CHANCE AND HE'LL **** YA
IN THE MOMENT
YOU GOT ONE CHANCE TO MAKE THE RIGHT
WRONG IS SOMETHING THAT KILLS THE LOT!
Blood drips down your face, your a putrid disgrace
Tears are hot, feeling like a Melting ***
The skin boils and foils yet your regrets toil mercenaries who are paid to retort their moral
Make you grasp your souls strength
Call it hard knock, call it half cocked,
Give me a scent that replenishes with repent
Reprimand me for all that I said
NOW I GOT THE WORLD ON MA SHOULDERS
LITTLE TO LIFE WITH THE NEW WORLD ORDER
GIVE ME GOLD OR ALL THE BOARDERS
BRING IT NOW OR BACKHAND THE RULER
AND ILL BE ****** IF I EVER LET YA GO
IN THE MOMENT
YOU GOT ONE CHANCE TO MAKE THE RIGHT
YOU BETTER FIGHT IT OR TAKE FLIGHT!
Get up on the edge where the place is the when
Would you put yourself on your feet again
If you had that problem progressively following
Facilitating itself itchin'
Where it kills itself in digression
With your dreams fulfilled
The grudgeless tension
Feasting on the suspension
You'd have never let it go
IN THE MOMENT
MOMENTUM FLOWED AS THE FIRE GOES
GHASTLY DENYING OUT OF THOSE SPYIN
OVER THE HORIZON SETS THE GOOD KAISER
SWOOPING OVER LOOMIN YA OUT
In deseption you fall from the aggression
This fight has driven out of sight
From what you thought was right
Might is what you had, now your nothing
And the enemy has won!
IN THE MOMENT
YOU LOST YOUR FIGHT
GIVE THAT DISREGAURD TO YOUR BLITHE
BELLIGERENT BUST YOU POPIN YOUR MOUTH
MUFFLED MATTER COMES OUT
ITS RED RULE
SO IT NOT COME FROM DOWN SOUTH
so cold and broken
Merely unspoken
Coughing up lament
Showing yourself........ Truely some self disrespect
Take your loss and uphold it
Create something more than a foiled moment
Get back up cuz
IN THE MOMENT
YOU GOTTA MAKE WRONG TO RIGHT
SET YOURSELF UP FOR ONLY WHEN REDEMPTION ONLY SEEMS RIGHT!
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
A Myspace friend at first.
Then you jumped on the Facebook wagon.
And then you became my dear friend.
Just found out you passed on.
My tears betray me.
My hurt sways me onward.
I refuse to....
Maybe someday I will finish that last sentence.
Now the sadness fills me up like a full glass of bitter tasting wine.
Can't help how I feel.
To know that I will never hear from you, and chat with you
again.
A loss of time...
Our friendship times.
Gonna cry a lot.
My grief is going to be on the morning, afternoon and evening shifts for a while.
I love you my departed friend.
Never had a chance to say goodbye.
O I can finish that sentence now.
How are you doing?
Send me a heavenly...'Hi there!' from time to time.
Missing you. You are my veteran friend.
I send a heavenly salute to you and....
lots and lots of forever "AMENS!'
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
Pigeon holes in parkay
Table manners setting Time to
Silvery blades tuning the leather
Strap by the cackling fireplace
Spitting as it speaks,
Slapping his back
Dear God, she rasps
Her dismembered finger
Wavered above the page
The sage thickening the air
To a sack with no end
And no way back
There is no saving the Flesh,
And this, sung
Hung above his ear
Left on the floor
Revelations 3:16
The moon drifts past the door
The Roar of the minister
His arms settling thunder
Shivering burlap wraps
And more buried under
The scepter fern
Burn these pages, she skeets
Between pulled teeth
The rot of breath
Eating its own meat
Creep, the Time and
So her biding
The knots grow, and tighter
The Blessed Unkinding
A rhapsody, not a Hymn
Begun with Amens
Ending with a *****
Soil, and my arms in
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
.
Come down off your poem
long days have all gone
Somebody you can hear is calling
Running deep the river bends
moving on with amens
Some things just keep on gnawing
The winter will be ice
I'll get relief at last
When I lay under blankets of snow
All those days once before
Memories rich and poor
There just to let you know
I can see the greens of spring
Summer's blissfull loving thing
Still I hear the mournful call of winter
Come down off your poem
Leave your words as you were born
The river has frozen over
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
"I was once alive!'
a dead man cries at the heavens;
raising fist with impatient gestures.
The clutching of the fingers,
the breaking of the bones.
The heavens open up
to the evil we do.
Bloodshed from wars,
bloodshed from illnesses.
The Blood of Christ given
and
yet
disregarded
"I know only living!",
the solitary man demands.
But the circle of life
has been drawn.
The fate of certainty
proclaimed and published.
Alleluias and amens
flock like napkins
folded into place.
Winds scour the sky for axioms
as weeping Mary floats her prayers
through vibrant songs of heavenly protection
Be still hurting flesh.
The pain shall pass,
the misery will vanish.
"I once was alive!"
he moans as his skin
explodes in tumours.
Victim to stigmata dreams
and
a
hearse
travelling
in
purposeful
direction.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
ek glo nie,
maar vanaand bid ek,
nie vir wat of wie,
maar vir wat ooit was,
vir my onskuldige jeug,
toe ek plesier kon haal uit pakkies swiets, toe ek nie geweet het van oud word nie,
ek glo nie,
maar vanaand is ek op my knieë,
want iewers het ek my onskuld verloor,
my plesier word nie meer geput uit sondag oggend cartoons,
of met vriende speel na school,
met vrees in my hart sluit ek my oë,
en verdwaal in hierdie jongere drome,
vanaand is daar geen hallelujahs,
en geen amens
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 7:02 PM UTC