"antithetical" poems
When we think about the choices in our lives
When we fight and we bicker and become bitter
When we think there is only power or powerlessness
If we can realize that there is power and powerlessness
Then haven't we began to acquire consciousness
In that instance haven't we began the process of choice
That there is those who have not have given birth to this consciousness
To those who have only lived powerlessness
And know nothing else
Haven't you owed them part of your consciousness
That you have ceased to be one of them
Or your mere power has denied one of them
That there is no choice for them
Because they haven't birthed that consciousness
And if you choose power they'll remain powerless
Because within you there is no loyalty, right?
It is a choice predicated by an erroneous concept of self-preservation
It is a treacherous dichotomy; doesn't make sense
This is not an indictment of your desire not to suffer
Because surely to hold power would cease your suffering
But it is this type of power that thrives on the proliferation of powerlessness
This conceptual understanding of what it means to have power
That is not what we've come learn, but readily ascribe to
That a mind and body can cultivate power
That can be harvested, shared, communal
For the sole purpose of the survival of the other, not the self
That that can survive in this world is impossible
Its antithetical to the modes of production
In which our societies operate and thrive
How can workers begin to derive power from their collective efforts
How can workers' purchasing power equal the power of the production of their labor
How can any community in any corner of the world escape
The misanthropic missions of first world free trade capitalism
When will we reclaim our escaping humanity
When will we cease to keep feeding the system with our minds, our bodies, our labor
How much longer can we become fodder, scraps, waste feeding the machine
And don't think that you are safe when you have made it
When you have entered the circle of dominance
Because it is then when you will loose your humanity or die
It is at that apex of power that your presence becomes
Just as dispensable as that of the powerless
Because to maintain that circle of dominance
Requires a total conversion to misanthropy
The rigor with which your power will be required
To keep proliferating powerlessness will give no break
And when you become useless, it will replace you
So that we must realize that the modes of production
That we allow to exploit us
In powerlessness, or the semblance of power
Can never safeguard our humanity
How much further will we allow power to be concentrated
So that soon we ourselves, or our children won't have a choice
Won't have the consciousness of power just powerlessness
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
I watched through tears
--That streamed like the one out back
And the scattered clouds
--The ones that floated overhead for years
A twilit ridge inurn the sun.
It was one of those rising hills of my youth,
One my infant eyes always thought
Gave birth to the moon
Time and again.
With its innocent face smiling
That worldly crispness is lost
And the foggy past is far more defined.
Who are these forms I've lost?
They are but phantoms,
(I tell myself)
And now intangible, those memories
Acidic and dusted with sugar
Held suspended and taunting, like
Feet at the mouth of an open casket.
The cold, bitter knives of impersonal
Reunion
And rejuvenated promises
--Only now remembered, only now forgotten—
Illuminated once again
In the dark.
Passing onward and through
--Like our time together—
Exactly like wind through these **** dead branches
And this grave: winter-bare.
I remember the vivacity
How enlivened the sky, that I
Each day for granted took
And how so much smaller, in my youth,
The mountains afar looked.
But there is no home,
It died when I left.
The poison I fought
Has become the blood which pumps the heart,
Now corrupt,
Antithetical.
Nothing is more colorless, not sky,
Nor hill, nor moon,
Or ever more formless
Than what I once called home.
Now that only exists is deteriorated
A rotting house:
Four walls and a roof to keep
Hatred dry,
Windows and lamps, so
Hatred has eyes,
And all the people that
Hatred hates most.
How cozy it must be to sleep in
One’s own bed, no?
To have some stable place,
And an ounce of certainty?
As for me, that will never be
Again.
Though the house is open,
Lock, room, and all
The home is closed forever
Without a proper epitaph.
Vain death.
Vain,
Vain,
Death.
Now all I can only turn back
And flirt with shadows
Just outside my arms
Walk with images
Shifting, growling, and oh, so dark
--mere abstraction
--future so stark--
With no companion but defeat.
I can’t hug a memory,
Nor cry on recollection’s shoulder,
Nor can my mother or sibling console me,
And I cry alone.
Maturation is merely widening a distance, so
I should let them go,
Bid them adieu
Because, I can't be homesick
For a home
I can't go back to.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
Trouble through calmness
Fancy of simplicity
Smiling through sadness
Just a little antithetical
Mere dislocation and unison
Sewing our lives apart
Burning because we are in love
Thirsting for no more feeling
We're disgusted at being so fed up
Prying from the freedom
Running and crying from trying and safety
We're alone while we're together
Noise against the silence
Kisses and shots from a gun
the time is going on pause
Just a little antithetical
Mere dislocation and unison
Sewing our lives apart
Morning sunset
It's the beginning of life
But the end is dawning
Quickness not too far behind
The end makes us scramble
For some semblance of stability
Looking for what is not lost
We await for the night's sunrise
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 8:07 AM UTC
Cheers from inside the catacombs of just-alive vagabonds & miscreant self-delusions of sagacious sabotage & pyrrhic moonscapes, brandishing our eternal return
a tabula rasa for respect & character - bottoms up, too. Mona Lisa
Shroud of Turin, ******* on a trunk. Gamble 66
for trays, dealing steam carrots.
Gag reflex to polite televangelists giving viewers auspicious immunity.
Habits cede to Power, acquiesce to Power, love power.
Peculiarity can recognize & organize to displace.
Something suspicious may run amok , antithetical to the divide & conquer trite.
Defeating paragons, i , Plumed Serpent of release & capture beats, borrowing color from a skylark in forever-flight, conjure remedial winds
Guide inimical bows subsumed in a cosmo-prole dew against the fasces of a few.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
if i have to explain it to you
then it probably never existed
in a well-represent'd enough form
to deserve acknowledgement of
the highly embellish'd state
of your own mind and actions
that brought the mingling of
souls once cherish'd abroad
sunken to fetters of not chains
but words with meaning as
the force propelling them
paradoxical in that
propulsion is antithetical
in terms of the definition 'fetter'.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
I was a strawberry chapstick
And you kept your lips dry
Rough like bark splitting into my skin
A sensation I never attempted to remedy with my balm.
I was a beach wave
Softly toppling across the sand
Rolling over and over until I became at the horizon again
And you were a sand castle
One which I kept pressing against
Never meaning to ruin a master piece but persistent enough to create a diamond of your dirt.
I was the falling leaves
All shades of amber and chestnut mixing together into the golden wonderland of the season
But you didn't like the way I killed your grass
You were a rake
All sharp teeth piercing into my stems
Pressing me together pile after pile lining your garden
Suffocating in plastic bags dying out and colors fading.
I wanted a love made of reds and yellows
Shining glows and warm fires
Everything seemed so simple
Until I learned that your love was made of blues and purples
A soft shimmer of coals burning out
We were thoroughly antithetical.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
i leaned to smoke
from film noir
the gritty grey frames
i first saw in cloudy rooms
completely antithetical to the vibrant blockbusters
from my childhood
if i can afford it
i still buy a non-filtered soft-pack
and puff them
three puffs just before
anything is inhaled
mostly for effect
drama
but when i cant
i just think of bogart
tear the filter off
and proceed
but it was never
so much about the act
drawing in a cloud
of overly-processed plant matter
but about the etiquette
if you have ever burned down
something without cotton
you know it is certainly a messy ordeal
but what hepburn and tracy taught
what grant and cagney spoke
with their actions of course
is that there is a reason to this madness
i practice
and i try to teach
that this is an elegant process
while taking in a deep breath
of something
you arent encouraged to love
without any health benefits
simply out of a base habit
some of that **** is going to get in your mouth
it may taste bitter too,
depending on how your buds are aligned,
but grow up
you cant keep just spitting where
other people will soon walk
they never did that
my heroes
instead
they stuck out
the tip of their tongue
pursed their lips
as the face made by
a baby on a commuter rail
staring at you
and you echo back
with a tiny poke
of your front 10000 buds
mostly for spectacle
and when that teensy bit emerges
within or without the train
you have to gently pick
with the forefinger and the thumb
the infinitesimal bits
resting at the tip
pluck them away
rub those two finger together
and pretend
that youre only smoking
and
if you arent looking closely enough
ill tell you
things are turning back into grey
and you turn RIGHT back into
the misogynist you hated
but emulated
youre still smoking though
handing out smokes in fact
holding up "the walls of jericho"
laughing at those
who dont know how
to fold a sheet
oh. but i pledge to quit
and you to change
and us to bond
and my smokes to wain
this isnt about the filter-less
that i had at 3am
its about what i commit
and what you
can respond with
how this can work
and the etiquette necessary
let me
let me
pick the fleck from the tip
of the teasing tongue
just for you
and you tell me
when i have something
in the place that
used to be my mustache
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
darling, admittedly i love you
let me turn this lamp on
how antithetical to creeping
it is always done in the dark
isnt it?
this is your domain
not mine
did you see that one where
i was butting heads with galactic?
wowwsers
you creep so hard darling
you inspire deja vu
it requires me sitting down
to regain the notion
we cant be separated
i mean
you will stop holding my hand
when you relieve yourself
and ill stop holding you
when youre too raw to even think about
this isnt even a poem
its a rant
i should re-title
this ************
BLUE ***** the story of....
[puke]
this has turned to ****
i quit
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
it is unwise to avoid certainty
i've turned silent for landscapes
made for deprived mothers
queens to deafening men
lost of their purposes
why have they hidden her crown ?
I have your legs
but we're running such antithetical courses
Mother, I miss you but I cannot come home
I gain weight
I lose sleep
there are no lovers left for me
the wind has an ancient distaste now
for all the nights I exhaled complacency
I want to sleep with my door open
I can trust anything under a Libra moon
but never another repeated phrase
me, you
the first place I swam, the first meal
this is trust
you are love
I never learned to love mountains
but I was born with memories of them
I was born in Florida
I've picked apart women that
didn't deserve or earn it
like petals
she loves me
she loves me not
she loves me
when did I learn to grasp ?
to keep
we should be taught instead to let go
before we are learned to catch
so we aren't holding on so tightly
I strangled myself
I learned quickly to let go
& became grateful of deep-breaths
weary of knots
weary of nots
I refuse to be my own worst enemy
I am all that is mine. all that I find is fleeting. eventually all things will lift, just as they will be dropped or put down
to keep, ha !
walk into my room
I have nothing
it is easier to breathe like this
I don't like being alone with shadows
we are all royal
skin and salt
iron and decay
bone over brain
over-thinking our day
we are alive
we are afraid
we are okay
we are okay
we are
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Blood in the thoughts
Destruction and abyss
Antithetical to nurture and growth
The bleakness has become real
There’s no excuse,
Muse, but still you will loose
There’s no one to blame this time
Take it how you will but it’s not the world
Its just you
You broke the world and you didn’t even know
Trust and worthiness was left wrapped in your arms
But you rapped them both without a doubt
Now you realized what you did and it’s too far-gone
The only dove in the world was entrusted in your arms
And you shot it because your veins were raging with blood
So you lost your judgment and your sight
Don’t blame the sky for being too blue
At the moment you knew what you were shooting
And you took your aim
Now the peace has been shattered down to the ground
Even if you repair the wound there will always be a scar
And you have just tainted peace a little bit more
Instead of protecting it from the same danger
Like you promised all along
A pact between ocean and the stone that fell
Just remembrance, for the pain and joy was being dragged
To the depths of the dark hidden ocean floor
But it could not stay down forever as it washed ashore
Before it disappeared again into volumes of blue
But the moon is not forgiving for it pinches the ocean
And the stone gets spat out for the pain to be seen on the beach
How can it be destroyed before more damage is reached
Even the tides of time are having a difficult obstruction
In the dissolution of the stone for it keeps building form
Every time it comes back to the surface
Meanwhile the ocean is fighting to suppress it
Make it disappear with only but a trace
And the mess you made
Better do something with it before its too late
Don’t let it drag you away
Before you lose the way you’ve made
Oceans disturbed, doves broken, and entrustments ruptured
There’s no turning back but only looking forward
To salvaging what has been kept you moving along
If only a treasure you cared not to care
So you damaged it deliberately because you were desperate with desire
Now take what you will and detach the stone from your ocean
Save the dove for the voyage but don’t take from it what is not yours
And rescue the entrustments for it will carry you both
Aug 5, 2011
Aug 5, 2011 at 6:09 AM UTC
Pilate asked Him, “What is truth?” when Jesus stood on trial,
Bearing witness of the Truth to all who heard His voice.
Though philosophy rejected it, stood in denial,
Still, the Way, the Truth, the Life allowed mankind its choice.
“What is truth?” though, sounds urbane, superior to law.
Hermeneutics of humility smooths out the field.
I seem more sophisticated, cultured, not bourgeois,
If it’s all a mystery, still hidden, unrevealed.
So I claim, “There are no absolutes; it’s relative,”
Disregarding that my statement’s antithetical.
My assertion controverts itself (though tentative),
By proclaiming proclamations “theoretical.”
Next I try, “Who really knows what truth is, after all?”
All my friends agree with me; they wisely nod, concur.
Confident in doubt, with inconsistency banal,
Logic cast aside, to diametrics they demur.
How about “There is no right or wrong; it’s in your head!”
Satisfying concept until I’m the one abused.
Then my default is to judge the wrongdoer instead,
Never asking, “Why impose my ‘truth’ on the accused?”
“Well,” I claim, “I make my own reality; it’s true.”
If you counter me on that, I’ll argue all the way.
Think about it, though, because just how can I undo
True belief with skepticism; how will doubt have sway ?
Really, if I don’t have Truth, I don’t have anything.
Two plus two must equal four, or all the rest is void.
If we have no premise to employ linguistic string,
Then our discourse has no point; we’re barely humanoid.
Truth’s the binding to our book, the glue that holds secure
Logic, Reason, plain Consistency, our common ground,
Making possible each conversation to be sure,
Infrastructure of our culture, verity profound.
Then . . .
Let the relativist hush, he has no argument.
Making absolutist claims without the Truth is mad.
Only schizophrenics would attempt to circumvent
Rationale with their subjective unbelieving fad.
Maybe Truth’s “behind the times,” unstylish, square, uncool,
Maybe if I cling to it they’ll call me “Simpleton.”
All I know is Truth, derided, under ridicule
Still is True, and I’ll be its “minority of one.”
Yes, I’ll make that choice to speak the Truth against the tide.
Orwell’s “revolutionary act,” though I’m alone,
Pilate asked Him, “What is truth?” and history replied, . . . that
Truth, though spurned, remains civilization’s Cornerstone.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
*the temperatures are devilish tonight
made in hell's antithetical brewery
from whence uncharacteristic blasts of cold air
fly at those who are poorly-clad
so make this ghoulish frost in my heart go away
hold me against your body and pat my back tenderly
tell me it's all right to suffer the sting of the elements
on a night like this when my imagination runs riot
and i see apparitions leering at me from worlds unknown
so dear favoured one,do make the cold go away this night
and rescue my being from the doldrums of apocalyptic nightmares*
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Escape from captivity pulled off
when I came of age
boyhood begrudged,
and bested by brigandage,
but willpower sans declaration
of independence begot bravery
against British brutes
bridging caper (involving collusion)
to bust loose from cage,
and trappings forcibly to plunder artworks
and sculpted treasures
by classical masters
without causing damage
taught by professional thieves
requiring minimal equipage
whereat over time footage
sordid memory constantly replayed
plunder and pillage unwittingly
fostering getaway
from hell raising gambits
planting seed to gauge
optimal instance cut footloose
cutting dashing Dickensian goniff
to feign criminal shenanigans
running rampant with militant spunky gangs
"FAKING" das spies zing
trumpeting hostage killing
and taking, nonetheless
swallowing bitter pill
reeking havoc as honorable image
in order to survive
within world wide
web of criminals (especially
an unwelcome foreigner),
where skills as buccaneer
really put to test, and tried
maximum lawlessness partaken
in (dolled up) guise suppressing shied
pitifull looking indigent vagabond
self away by donning
"FAKE" whippersnapper
benefiting getting to sally and ride
always exuding patriotic pride
pleasing ghosts of founding fathers
against their autonomy from
crown weathering woe be chide
recrimination impossible
to enforce as bride
of Lady Liberty opened arms for those,
who made dangerous journey
across avast ocean
only to confront (whodunit) thuggery
this lifestyle ****** looting,
and burning WITHOUT choice,
but guilt aye didst abide.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Retrospective many generations since
marking birth of a nation
(The United States of America),
now mecca, sans land of milk and honey
current president imposed antithetical ration!
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
its monotonous cycle a principle of existence
unaware, unforgiving and savage by nature
it does not care for the desires of mankind
its presence applauded, its absence a silent killer
antithetical yet necessary
objective in the broadest sense, it knows no judgement
mother of mother nature yet harbinger of finality
its nonchalant attitude incites disdain
and its aggressive demeanour only knows pain
forever practical, never an outsider
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Thoughts of her often
Fall prey to the tigress
Dimensions apart
And still I slip lucidly back to her world
The one we created
Such random conception, precise of design
The product of a ballerina
And a poet
Silent composers of thunderstorm songs
Brewing within a melodic monsoon
Seldom shared
By two antithetical empaths converging
One of the swan
The other, of eagle
But all their attempts to hatch plans
Proven feeble
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
Intense
is this great,
one of
a kind country,
the
United States
of America.
Intense
is the
political
brainwashing
taking place
of those
left of
center.
Intense
and angry
are left wing
folks after the
witch hunt,
Mueller report
duped them
and everything
Russia
Russia
Russia.
Intense
is the
ratings
plummeting
of all
left wing mainstream media propaganda machines like
CNN and
MSNBC.
Intense
is the
Impeachment
talk by
the
Imbeciles
on the left
that have
NO POWER
in the
Senate to
do so.
Intense
is the
feeling
of a possible
clash
between
pink puxxy
hat wearing
baby
murderers
and
2nd Amendment
loving
American Patriots,
Deplorables,
Concrete jungle of New York "rednecks" and "smelly Walmart shoppers"
Intense
I stand
in defense
of my duly elected
President,
by the people,
President Donald J. Trump!
Intense
Antithetical
and
Anticlimactic.
written by me... ..
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 3:08 PM UTC
Centralized power proves antithetical
To your freedom - it’s quite pathetical
They ask us to be more ascetical
And let them rule - it’s quite heretical
Collectivism fails! Not hypothetical
Property and Liberty - quite synthetical
I’ll stand for freedom and wax poetical
It makes the message more aesthetical
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 9:33 AM UTC
Lisa and I got our emails the same day.
She read hers first. She made a small
sighing sound, the faintest of protests.
Then broke the news, with a scowl,
“They’re moving classes online “temporarily.”
I don’t want to talk about Corona any more
- I want to scream about it. Maybe we’ll
graduate, in three years, without knowing
what most of our classmates look like -
antithetical to university “networking”.
I’m lucky, I know - I’m only inconvenienced.
I roam, safely, indoors, impatiently untouched by
adult, real world concerns, like jobs and money.
So I’ll keep my head up and smile like those
glamorous, happy girls in ****** commercials.
Jan 4, 2022
Jan 4, 2022 at 8:20 AM UTC
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
All Angeles assembled
Swords smilingly sharpened
And The Lamb is upon the Horse
Glittering with a crown
A day to replace antithetical.
Mercy upon Anti- God
Repentance shall then be a mystery
When he raises the armour
Blood Will after the wind
And the bodies will be denied breathe
Slain with a horned beast
Weeping and grinding the teeth
Endless fire upon the unfaithful.
Sounds of mercy calling
As Alleluia hits in Heaven
Eternal blazing with spear strikes
While the faithful seat with the most high
Only one shall rule and all shall bow
Like in the beginning Glory shall be restored Forever.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC
Who decides what historical events adorn
textbooks students read,
hence a starry notion born
grew up while
this lumpenproletariat day dreaming,
Asian aw shucks husky
husbandry furrowed brow gritty farmer
barnstorming across
expansive fields of baby
(barely) barley corn
crib bed crop 'pon harvest time,
(an maize zing genre), especially
when enriched with humus
laden loamy muck cob bra,
then aye delightfully
trumpet from dehorn
of good 'n plenti kernel Sanders gave me
saluting rank and file fool's capped
fecund fashioned earthborn
dunce sing tassels,
versus growing seasons gone by,
when draught of ideas forlorn
despite futilely blowing on my flugelhorn
high and dry reap peat head paltry yield,
asper when this strapping chap
a sweaty backed greenhorn
pondering why agrarian laborious life of toil
omitted as part and parcel of "newsworthy"
posterity sagas deeming
shenanigans of highborn
and/or "FAKE" headlines crowd inborn
noble folks,
who grease palms of industrialists,
whose quaking self importance
thwarts aside rural cosseted
krummhorn grounded bumpkin mor'n
how kapellmeister coaches bourgeoisie
helping determine
zero absolute value of newborn
fated to slave away
till body electric outworn,
yet paradigm shift of
(butter late then ever)
jiffy popcorn version
sown by seeds of Jethro Tull,
whose bonhomie with brio didst reborn
agricultural revolution took root,
whence before long some did scorn
and lamented machinations
ordered simple existence ripped and torn,
where antithetical views suppressed
and unto revolutionaries
became legion and well-worn.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eyeopening ex post facto
fractiousgovernmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Aurora, it needs a break.
After years of sailing, it could no longer fake.
Ardour could only go so far,
antithetical to talent and holding
ace.
All encouraged in good grace,
Almost there. They prevaricate, clearly did not
anticipate.
A few had a slice of the honest cake, un-
aware of how they caused an
ache.
'Aye! What absurd thoughts, mate.'
Annoyed by the voice inside create,
as the pirate couldn't tell.
A message from garden or well,
are solid facts or silly doubts?
Aquivering, he supined on deck.
Anxious, desperately he seeks for his
answer. Impatiently he awaits for his
anchor.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
Where is the Kingdom? When is the Kingdom?
Sometimes it seem it is not here; not now and we
We just do not know and maybe never shall. This
Is the dark night of the soul when it seems God does
Not hear our prayers and we left with only our own
Will to survive or not. Resigned or not we endure to
The end. Imagine the Lord on the Cross. Is not this
Will to survive God Himself in ours Self? Or not?
Yet there are moments when we realize the Kingdom
Here and now is ever with us . We believe it is Eternal
That we are Immortal. When this knowing passes we are
Left with Faith and hope waiting to know Love again.
We do not alway see clearly but as the Apostle said: "but as
Thru a glass darkly" So much of what we learn of in our
Life : history, the daily news, and even science does seem
Antithetical to our belief. Tells us there is another truth that
Refutes and denies all that we would believe about Our's
Only the blissfully ignorant are unaffected but even our
Children soon suffer from the their parent's acculturation
To a prideful knowing. Remember it has been said: that the
Foolishness of God is better than the wisdom of man- But
We are not wholly lost to the Kingdom. We know joy. We
Know love. We are awed by the beauty of the Creation.
Still we Know what we Know. Ours spirit, our soul does not
Ever totally abandon its roots in all that's holy. There are holes
In the dark glass-moments when we see and know the truth
The other more glorious Truth, The Kingdom is here now on
Mother Earth not to come but always was is and always shall be
Revealing itself in so many ways. There is a riddle here an enigma
There is somethings prevent our constant joyful knowing; that keeps
Strangers, mere visitors to the Kingdom. Imperfect beings
. A paradox. Yes and no. One We are the children of God ever
On the way. Between zero and One there is nothing. God has
Forgotten all our misdeeds in the Kingdom. He who makes all
Things new means that the Divine must constantly be be discovered.
Perpetually wonderful requires a constant rebirth from the womb
Of darkness. The time between the darkness and the Light is no time
Thus we are given the Forever. We are Forever on the Way and
The Way is a constant Revelation there is no difference between
The way and the Destination are One. God is Love and our Father
In us. Who ever reads this message will be heavily burdened until
He passes it on. Soon, even now my burden is lite because I do
This. Christ said: "It is finished..." So be it done unto you. All of
You, my friends - Each in your own Way. It is finished.
Happy Easter
Mar 30, 2023
Mar 30, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC