"anoints" poems
the count starts now (tired of tired)
I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook
you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...
rise this day, start another way...
count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one
use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed
count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.
more? more.
mirror. find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.
add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.
you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.
wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.
go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted
walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other
one.
and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
infinity
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
A Silence stirs within the people,
As the King anoints his knight.
The man of righteous renewal,
From the very start.
So it began,
His journey across Tamriel.
Searching for a way,
To save his people.
Armor of White,
Spear of the dragon.
He comes to fight,
Those who oppose him.
His only distraction,
A fair maiden.
With lips of ruby,
Hips of curve.
She can ****** anyone,
Then rob their home.
She sneaks within the night.
Only to serve.
Nocturnal the Daedric Goddess of the Dark World.
Evergloom shail it be.
When they cross paths.
Each night they meet...
So goes the Son of Skyrim,
Being tricked.
By the anointing Imperial.
Mother of the Pack.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
the simplest song (seek your prime)
the one that likely never finishes the course
tune that never ceases though it knows well stilling quietude,
one passenger verse in a lean vessel that reveals, declares,
anoints the outwards atmospheric condition with the conditions
of what’s within,
compulsively, incessantly demanding- seek your prime
write yourself a poem, be a poem, write of your becoming
bring the simmering sauce to a furious boil,
the words placed in your soil by your own five,
reap the fruit even if wormed, bruised, overripe
or trite
this is your song
breathe it into my mouth
until the last one,
making me glad to know you
and your becoming,
prime music
yes, this is a love poem
12/10/17 8:38am
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
a half moon rises
as the sun sets over
a golden Charles
the Fens
luminescence
guide scullers
chasing the days
ebbing light
shimmering
upon near
stillness,
as dancing
black ripples
push silver
splashes of
floating sheens
toward the
gentle slopes of
grassy banks
fisherman cast
the day’s final
hopes upon
gracious waters
as shad fry
breech to
proclaim
a promise
of a dutiful
return to fulfill
a future bounty
this accessible
river, the pulsing
heart conjoining
two cities;
flows as a
democratic spirit
drawing all to its
hospitable shores
my eyes remain
transfixed on
the glowing ember
of a twilight Charles
drifting under darkened
portals of the
Harvard Bridge,
while the rise
of a sunset breeze
whispers a cool
end to the
summers day
I imagine
Luna blowing
a goodnight
kiss to a
yawning Sol,
as she winks to
young *****
lovers embracing
the long shadows
and sweet fragrance
of tall bulrushes
a slight puff of wind
anoints my minds eye
as lazy water rolls
toward me, lapping
my feet, lollygagging
along, slowly strolling
towards the bay
as I salute pilots
navigating this
most friendly
course
Music Selection:
Grant Green, Moon River
Cambridge MA
7/7/91
jbm
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Beyond the Eisenhower context
We still have to guard against
The military industrial complex
Which requires in every respect
That our government be checked
As we’re forced to question, what is this?
It’s reminiscent of Guerin’s book
Fascism and Big Business
We can clearly see a certain confluence
So we must guard against
The acquisition of unwarranted influence
When surrounded by generals and billionaires
It can directly impact how the populous fares
Because these are un-chartered waters
And didn’t the Nazis claim to be
Just following orders
In Germany, then a democratic state
Neumann said that the Nazi’s sole ambition
Was to uproot what existed there
Until they could come into position
And we need not forget
As we look at the current cabinet
History frequently repeats itself
So we are to blame and no one else
When the great leader
is surrounded by acolytes
Who defend his positions
Whether wrong or right
It gives us many sleepless nights
And the media gets, a thousand sound bites
Comprised from their various talking points
Out of the mouths of those he anoints
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
A colourful butterfly,
male of the species,
utterly romantic,
in his pattern of behaviour,
says it all simply
by the his style of flight.
It is a kind of skiing
up in the air, as if on ice,
He practises it, to tail her,
a duty he quite earnestly
took upon himself.
She is visibly pleased about
all the attention she commands,
revealed by his spectacular aerobatics
her every response, tells it.
With his jittery moves,
he gives her good cover
from other pesky suitors,
with loud painted wings.
By flitting right to left
and then the reverse
he smears colors on her wings
his inadvertent gift, of love,
in the process of the courting ritual.
With his passion, he anoints her,
with all the fervour he could muster,
you'd see him tremble,
with uncontrollable delight.
as he defies the rules of the wind,
hovers over her as if she is vanquished,
Only she,sees it with a pair of different eyes:
"Love makes us both victorious,in this game"
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Can I ever appreciate metaphysical studies
on the very nature of being and existing,
without consideration of God my Creator,
when I’m an extension of His breathing?
Did He not breathe life into Adam’s lungs?
Without Him, I can do nothing meaningful;
doesn’t practical application of The Word
teach me to live peacefully with life full?
I don’t require divine power to sit idly by,
since God acts when I chose to share my gifts.
He provided direction and correction, when I…
cleansed my mindset with His Paradigm shift.
Under the sacred unction of The Holy Spirit,
I have access to the Counselor and Comforter.
He is never repelled by my human weaknesses;
He anoints my hands as Providential Supporter.
I’m Stepping out in faith with my resolve-
desiring to be in sync with God and His flow.
Until heaven is brought down to bear on Earth,
how can I be satisfied with the ‘status quo’?
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Gen 2:7; Luke 4:18; Acts 2,10:34-48;
1 Cor 12:1-11; Eph 5:18-20
Ontology: The metaphysical study of the nature of being and existence.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Cast your eyes to the fall sky.
Where golden clouds expand
to celebrate the moment
as leaves make a drifting tapestry.
Cast your eyes
to the winter sky.
Where winds drift with snowflakes
and breath can make you
remember your divinity.
Cast your eyes
to the spring sky.
Where sun anoints flowers to open
and songs echo behind birds wings
as one takes to dance.
Cast your eyes
to the summer sky.
Where rainbows drift and angels carry
wishes for all to be peaceful
as one walks sandwiched between earth and sky.
Yes cast your eyes upward,
to the beauties present.
FOR it is FROM there,
that love can be anchored
and bliss can culminate
WITH BREATH AND INTENTION.
StarBG © 2017
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
Fantasy minded tied up and binded **** kindness ethics I don't mind it regular social norms I don't live by it the inside if my head during this is totally quiet
Deep cuts in the mutt hydrochloric **** you can jack off in between the violent ruts
Engage in the regular norms of reverse mentality, it may be cryptic, but it's cliche so really they're is no abnormality
Suicide is a biological abnormality
Jesus accepted death and doubted his mortality
But you'll die tonight an enigmatic causality
A vision of johova speaking to burning flames while a pentagram of blood and spirits call my name
A tragic masquerade of hate turned into mallevolant beautiful evil if I **** your tonight that will be a favor with no equal
Affection is no fix to so called anti social disconnection it's because I've been baptized by the blood which you'll be drenched in
Dark travesty who could happen to see ? A malevolent masterpiece of murdering your infernal travesty
For the light is not ending or bending for your masquerade of humanity is ending
Leaving you cut with a razor causing scars which they'll be no mending
sending to the er don't wory about blackouts and spazms you won't see psalms
A knife point is a nice point to stick in between joints my hate anoints, the 3 leaf clover won't keep you safe from a razor ,Wes craven I brazenly imitate doing Beelzebub a favor when I wet the place
Smash your ******* face then leave the organs shifted out of place with tool of steel kept on a fuckkng plate, get wiser to my torture crate
Concealed body's liter all over the place with hydrochloric acid it's they're fuckkng grace to leave the world seeing my face
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
From labyrinth in Istanbul, my eye spied a familiar cord
Education
How can any education
Be a sufficient insurance
For a pathetic population
Keeps favoring ignorance
From <https://hellopoetry.com/>
Truth known makes free,
truth hid is not ignored,
it waits the fire the next time innocents
are sacrificed to lies. ... thanks, you gave me a spark,
as real as any angel a self anoints another, go
be a lying spirit in the mouth of the tyrant's prophets,
let all the wise
laugh at the possibility of one peacemaker's leaven,
leavening the entire lump, liked or not.
Plop. On to the publisher's desk, piles of wonder and ifity.
A fantasy realm,
counter trope, here the so-called victor-victim ratio,
is imperceptibly low,
we have a regulation: each day requires
its sufficiency of evil,
no harm done is intentionally not possible,
otherwise you get a dimension of flat metric orthogonal
constructive critics
assuming unassigned roles. Do you dance? Or only read along?
Behold how great a fire words may kindle in a satisfied mind.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 5:27 PM UTC
the first time we passed in the hallway
our energies awakened
to the presence of a like spirit
it was that instant that you
became my friend
although neither of us knew it yet
a year later, mouths and hearts opened
empathy
spirituality
humanness
and humor
linguistic nuances and predilections
sing with ease and asylum
the enlightenment and
liberation of being heard!
for this, i vow my loyalty
years, miles, and actions
are inconsequential
here i stand
confidante
encourager
synchronicity
how much you have been
to me is fathomless
the who you are, is soil under my feet
your words breathe air into my mouth
your kindness anoints my head with oil
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
.
Still pale grey earth is turned,
Deep is the loam moisted,
Lone by the Ploughman.
The rows of the brushed patches,
Sweating the breakneck blood,
Are painted by labours.
Messiah doors out cathedral,
With iron plod anoints the soil,
Exposed unto mercy sun.
His hands are knobbed in stone,
His eyes searing of the star,
His face dark as deep loam.
Each day ablutions of sod earth,
Heaved out tilling unfree wills,
Burdens of harnessed beast.
Dark is the turned loam moisted,
Water flame heat of veined mist,
Seeds sown explode to bloom.
After thorny works, crowned blood,
Sun leaves to wine red fruition,
Ploughman maker is done.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
She always wondered what it would be like to be loved
And not slipped under someone like a glove.
She always dreamed of not being a man’s trophy.
Yes she
Wondered why
No guy
Seemed to truly love her
Enough to stay.
Day by day
She’d think to herself
This may well be the reason her daddy didn’t
Stick around
Long enough to hear the sound
Of her first cry
Because he too knew
Before she was born into the world
Deep down inside,
There was something wrong with this girl.
So she chased every guy who smiled in her directions
You see,
Seeking love was her infection
Passing the shards of her heart
To each ‘brand new start’
Thinking they were the one
Who would put her together again
Yet every encounter left her even more broken
Each ***** gentleman left a token
Of their ‘gratitude’
Which was pain etched on her pieces of heart
Leaving her further away from the start
“What’s wrong with me?
Am I not worthy of love?
Or am I just a girl
Destined to be second in another world?”
She’d cry out.
Then she’d search about for the one.
Yet it never occurred to her to
Seek out The One
Who could truly save her
The One who died on a Calvary Hill
Healed the demon-possessed and the ill.
The One who bled dry to save,
The Ancient of Days,
The Prince of Peace and Lord of Lords.
Yes Jesus the risen Christ,
Who mends hearts and makes them alright.
The one who two thousand plus years
Defeated death
And Is worthy of all praise and cheers.
Then one faithful day they met
Her heart could not believe the love
After so many years of neglect.
The Jesus she always cast aside
Pieced her heart back together
And gave her access to forever,
He cleaned her sin with His blood
And anoints her with His everlasting love.
Yes the broken she
Was now the beloved Princess
Of The Perfect He.
//t.a.b.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
There is
an interlude
within silence,
a white on white chimera,
that anoints the thee and thou
in transubstantiation
that wafers us.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
A question grave but known has greeted thought
For one to hurt another whom they love
Would not a thought that's greater need to shove
that of their love to places to be fought
and freed from under strain? But then what point
is there to through the others she loves fight
when knowing all that you have done is right?
Allowed allow your heart and mind anoint
her flesh while she anoints all, you as well.
And placed beside, that ******* gladly takes
position with your apparition. Fakes
his love is jealousy until you've fell
thus leaving him with one less man to ****
And watching all her jesters play and drop
her thought is entertained which made you stop
to wonder if your love was just a thrill.
For if a love proclaimed has led to pain
take comfort that your love has entertained.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
There is something about the skin
of a woman that makes my fingers
want to sandpaper their bones
until they curve like
her waist does.
I want them to bend
around her hipbones,
come out the other side saying
Baby, my knees are so weak
you could carry them away
in your prayers.
And I bet she would.
This girl, she would pray
so hard it would move
straight through her,
every breath is a dance
and she's trying to move
so fast that the world
couldn't even touch her.
I want so badly
to touch her. I wish I could,
if only I could rewrite my story
until I became someone else,
I would find her eyes at the bar,
let her teach me where the cold
comes in so I can fill it
with my lips.
I want to see the way
her God anoints her forehead,
how He shows her the light
in the times she needs it
the most. My God, She tells me
I'll never be able to love you
with the lights left on, and
I think She's right.
My body quakes whenever I
step onto the sidewalk, because
I think they can smell it on me.
I think they can smell her on me,
these trees they whisper
as soon as I turn away,
and I think that means something
about the way I've learned
to make love to this Earth.
These girls, they love so much
differently than a man does,
a man can tell you that you're
beautiful but a man's hormones
have learned to speak for him
in order to get the job done, so
you never know if it was true.
If I could hold a woman, I know
I'd cradle her cheek against
my collarbone, I'd tell her I know
it will be all right, I've done this
before and I know exactly
how it will end.
I don't know how this
will end. I don't know how
I'll manage to keep her a secret
inside of me. There is a dust that waits
in her attic and I know I could climb
until I reach the sky.
At the bend in this river,
I know this course will carry me
to a clearing where she can teach
me how to smile in the sunlight. Where
the breeze will show me that my soul
is not stuck tight as the bonds
they push me into.
As soon as I can laugh
the way she does,
I know
I'll be able
to come
home.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
I enter a doorway,
of silence to see.
Light and wind
yes hugging me.
I enter the moment,
in quiet with beams
breathing deeply
to center in dreams.
I enter an archway,
of rainbows grand light
letting go judgments
so all will go right.
I enter cave dwelling,
inside of my heart
to hear guidance
and make a new start
I enter and stay,
meditating for bliss.
Spirit anoints me
with a special kiss.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:54 PM UTC
Souls dance,
Following the shadows.
Nocturnal has become their world...
She is a powerful Daedra,
Her spiritual pressure,
Unmatched.
She anoints those who serve,
As Sentinels.
*Nightingales sing,*
Follow thy master and sprout wings.
May it sing..
The company will become your friends.
Sons and Daughters of Nocturnal,
Nightingales of the night..
Sprout your larcenist wings..
Become....
Nocturnals..Guide.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
today’s pigeons are heavy they carry churches on their backs
they rest on my windowsill when it rains like oiling
and the world anoints to heal its lack of love
i get angry because i cannot make them leave
they stay as long as they please knowing what i will never know
with their placid eyes in the light of this century
sometimes white-feathered
i reread the bible and my old letters under magnifying lens
my bow-tied memories
cut them as if a deck of cards to see what’s drawn out
it’s amazing nothing changed i grew old sitting at the wooden gate
on a wooden chair in a life with basil drying under rafters
and grapevines uprooted
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
As imperfect as I am,
He still loves me more-
than I can comprehend;
so I take time to explore
His everlasting desire
to be in relationship
with this soul knowing…
that it goes beyond worship.
As a created being of His,
I’m not the final point-
only God has the right
to chose those He anoints.
Though it may seem that He
has no reason to love me,
I’m still one of His children
and my love for Him He sees.
Despite my human flaws,
I can have much success,
for I’m made in His image
with His poetic finesse.
.
.
.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
John 3:16; Gen 1:26-27; Jam 3:9;
1 Cor 11:7; Eph 2:10; 1 John 4:19
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
My love is my salvation, I shall not want.
She maketh me to lie down in sweet seclusion
she bathes my head with cool water
restoring my broken mind:
She layeth her hands upon me, taking from me my pain my ache
and thou I reside within the darkness of my troubled thoughts
I will fear not the dark for she is with me.
Her eyes and her smile they comfort me
Through her words am I cleansed of my daemons
she anoints my brow with kisses as my eyes runneth over.
Surely I am blessed to have such a friend as she in this my turmoiled life
and I shall stand before my Lord and attest our friendship forever.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 6:50 AM UTC
i let go of myself mid-air,
suspended like a plastered sun goddess —
i long to be smaller. younger. incorporeal
but grief is royal mantle dragged in the mud,
draped on my shoulders, down to my limbs:
like a pair of sunbeams gone astray
and the sun has long left without
so much as a sorry letter.
still, i feel its hands
creeping to the parts of my lungs left untouched.
its glare spreads like rust,
telltale in the daylight glow.
soon, i will implode from all this alien warmth
like a colony of bats, a revolution for the dusk.
soon, the sky will recognize this ancient sadness
throbbing inside a mortal body
like a rejected ***** wanting to escape.
i let go of myself mid-air:
vivid and ugly under the softest parts of sunlight –
all dying in the dusk in slowest motion;
it washes over me. anoints. screams out in mourning
screams out ‘no’.
but i have taken my flights and fall.
i let go of myself mid-air.
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
4:15am
once and once again, the clock does not sound,
for in nether time,
there are no material measurements,
no actuality of numerals,
no millimeter notching's on skin for ordering
nether night nor dawn, an orderly dark disordering,
as time quietly flows all about your head,
as if it were an obstruction in
a gentling stream's path,
you, but a modest disruption,
a ripple of disappearing existence,
purposed for erosion
yet the unsociable media anoints me marked,
older, an e-naissance contusion upon the body,
your day of creation, your hour of invention,
has gone and passed
Paul calls,^
two melancholy men to melt into one
in word, in song, a comforting troubling
even,
an explanation proffered for the meaning of it all
the grand children,
send a generational appropriate video greeting,
an amorphous, porous, hug of electronic pixels
that will outlast every one of us
even
the last archeologist
nether this, nether that,
the lower register,
the upper hand,
the body, the work,
the body of work,
greeters both, sending morse messages uncoded,
your cracked vessel leaking deep water oil,
reminders that a horizon but another world,
another word,
for unobtainable,
all gone is just, all gone,
a blended beyond, marker of the nether place
of yesterday's and tomorrow's
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Sleep has made a fiend out of me
Every night I try to hold out
And in the morning, painfully
I do what I can to keep the light out
Sleep took the love I had for night
Sleep, the jealous nagging wife
The only true cure for my plight
Is the one who threatens my life
Sleep is pulling me below
It waits down there for me to drown
And when my breathe comes low and slow
Sleep anoints me with its crown
Sleep takes from me time and energy
But all is forgiven in a dream
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC