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James K Blaylock Sep 2015
Tempest Bequests

provide us something pleasant
as the darkness only consumes,

leaving our bare bones hollow
and aching - no longer moving

we're forever seeking to become
stronger than yesterday's wimps

please shine your brightest light
on our otherwise shamefulness

awaken us from the thoroughly
saddening tempest bequests...

and even if this be our last ever
request - we yearn for freedom

james kenneth blaylock
9-15-15
George Krokos Aug 2013
Worldly kingdoms emerge, rise and eventually fall
but there's one kingdom that does outlast them all.
It is eternal which means it has no beginning or end
though most people in the world don't comprehend.

It has been written and talked about in so many scriptures
yet in the external world doesn't form part of any fixtures.
No matter how grand a structure or building is erected that it may represent
or how many people daily, under its roof for worship, they devoutly frequent.

The kingdom of the everlasting Soul is to be found within us all
and doesn't really have any roof, floor, pulpit or containing wall.
Its own image and essence is all of a glorious Eternal Supreme Being
that with Its own grace, knowledge, light and love one can be seeing.

All we have to do is to acknowledge Its presence and look within,
live our daily lives in accordance with the Truth which is Its Twin
that the highest practical wisdom is based on known to mankind
and has been handed down from ages past for humanity to bind.

This doesn't mean that It belongs or is particular to just one religious belief
but encompasses them all through which people seek to find worldly relief;
because of Its glorious Eternal nature It also has unfathomable or infinite attributes
and beyond the limited mind of man to comprehend though philosophy contributes.

Even the laws of every country or state are based on the Truth;
though due to age old corruption is hardly discerned from youth.
As people have a strong tendency to seek and satisfy there own selfish interests
that go against the universal principles inherent in the wisdom the Soul bequests.

These universal principles are really the backbone of all spiritual aspiration
that have to be adhered to if there's to be any further evolution or realisation,
of mankind's true nature and individual or collective higher moral development
which is a unified and holistic existence that by the Truth of the Soul is vent.
___________________
Private collection written in 2010.
FunSlower Jul 2021
Oh deep breaths I cannot take
Before I break the surface of the darkest lake.
I see myself rising fast towards freedom,
But a lone ankle shackle anchors me to the depths
With a long chain of my own making.
Oh deep breaths I’m not yet taking.
Know the chain’s old links are breaking.
I’ve found the Softest Voice of Reason.
Ever tranquil in every season. Tapered to my chest.

Fly along, Firefly. Ignore wind resistance.
Guide me through this dissonance.
Cantankerous quests end in an instant.
Rambunctious requests reformed by insistence.
Please, no bequests for pity’s sake.
Keep those for jovialities, My Snowflake.
You bring warm stars on cold nights;
Wise words for swift flights of sorry sights.
So I’ll learn to see when you turn out the lights.
Forget me not,
For I’m still growing.
My eyes are shut
While yours are glowing.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2016
<>
"I am learning a little—never to be sure—
To be positive only with what is past,
And to peer sometimes at the things to come
As a wanderer treading the night
When the mazy stars neither point nor beckon,
And of all the roads, no road is sure"

Experience by Carl Sandburg

<>

summarizes my life, the fits and starts,
at every fork, the wrong road taken

and I lean back,
pensive from my shame,
knowingly confessing
that I would make the
wrong choices again

maybe, sadly, most likely...

the maps they provided early on,
were ok, but I never lived
on their edge,
never went far enough,
warned off,
all bordered in the red of
"go no farther,"
so stuck to the worn and grooved paths,
ventured out,
but retreated to safe center court
covered with the wounding cuts of
self-castigating tears,
for my lack of courage
and the waste and burdens
engendered permanent

maps for me,
are now no longer necessary,
for any road of mine is
closer my god to thee,
and my notice that
"the-show-is closing"warning
is a nearing destination,
slips quietly into my back pocket

now, I permission routine
to drive my simpler life,
where easy, gentling kindness
of the usual, the regularizing
steady as she goes,
are my comfy shoes upon
to tread the familiar road of surety...

that sates but doesn't fully satisfy

for the harsh hanging judge,
my resident permanent
on the top floor of my brain,
sentenced me as a young man
me to life imprisonment
in my very own self-built
asylum insane,
where all the tempting ladders were
maps that led to
This Way Out

was so fearful
to grasp and vault
from the top rung to
the uncertain pleasures
of the unknown of the other side

only here,
in the paths of my poetic words
do I venture across boundaries
and back over lines
that dare and
dare not
be refused

the great exposition
the great expiation
the great explication
of one man

words are my living will,
my testament,
my behests, my bequests,
my medals of discourage and
urges not followed,
tarnished but worn proudly

left to my
children's children
as a lesson plan
of one man

of a life poorly well and almost lived
these words are the rebar to build,
to cartograph,
to illustrate
new maps,
better ways,
signed posts
to take the risk of writing,
go gadget go abroad,
create new poems, new styles,
better than those
I that live~leave-left rightly
behind for
fellow travelers,
grandchildren,
who will - who must!
use them
to unmake the errors
I herein freely confess


12:07 Sunday July 10th of his sixty fifth year
Fay Slimm Apr 2017
Dawn and night-clouds part the horizon,
Dark muddy blues turn suddenly light
Spilling change on her hues as she rises,
And oh that fullness of sight.

Glow of greeting bequests later heat-time,
Brazen sun brooks no trace of the night.
She aims to captivate dark guilelessly
With oh such flourish of style.

Her blush in pale sky flashes a brightness
Over first tremble of her prelude to fire.
She welcomes day by blazing sublimely  
In oh what a show of surprise
JAK AL TARBS Apr 2014
On a Tuesday afternoon we crashed
On a bike which before we laughed
And say you're words of remorse
While the tears of regret are sore
And the scars that we left behind
Remain on your face all the while
Your eye, is injured and it burns
Your mouth, is weaker and you learn

That we came for you and we shared with you
All our love and tears, we missed you here
And we left for you, we cried for you
We went so far and cane with masks
Only to be hypocritical, hypothetical
Nonsensical and impossible

Just You wait till you come out
I guarantee they will shout

There'll be cars and beds involved
And beaches and roads
Why sit all day and phone and cry
When you can get out
Every single day, we wait patiently
For a piece of news, hoping it's good
Better than this better than that
Never gonna go down that road,  again

That we came for you and we shared with you
All our love and tears, we missed you here
And we left for you, we cried for you
We went so far and cane with masks
Only to be hypocritical, hypothetical
Nonsensical and impossible

Just You wait till you come out
I guarantee they will shout

And it is clearer when the light is brighter
All the clouds are whiter and the seas are bigger
But are you surer of being more than her
And is our better not to care

They take their masks off and they reveal what's under
Their paint is gone and it reveals what's under
Their hypocritical looks reveals what's under
And my impossible bequests and thoughts reveals what's under

All the makeup and all the dress up
All the mess ups and all the slip ups
Makes me wanna know whther I was right all along
You said you never cared about my songs

And even if I blame myself,  it wont be sufficient
I've learnt to calm my yearning
And even if I break down the door, it wont be efficient
They try to keep us apart and you like to ask
Questions about the simple things
And it is nerve wrecking

And I took off my mask and stopped the party.
This is for app those hypocritical people...I hope I'm not too mean
poetryaccident Jun 2017
The years are absent from my world
taken harshly by my foe
though survived, because I’m here
they are gone from memory

ruins stand where I was
remnants standing against the tide
these I honor for what they are
a trailing path behind my back

there are the voids in the years
the wheel has turned, that’s it way
months to years, then decades
all that time my spirit strayed

back to the foe, the bold brigand
slinking through the long shadows
removing what was his to give
from the board of life’s bequests.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170606.
The poem “Bold Brigand” is about a companion all have in their lives.  Many of my friends are under thirty,  and they have a different relationship with the entity that’s now becoming my adversary.
Wk kortas Apr 2020
I remember, or at least believe I do
(The memories wispy, ethereal,
The stuff of dream or perhaps simple misapprehension)
How I would be half-asleep,
The pro forma repetition of bedside prayers in my head,
Asking for benediction for Grandma and Grandpa
And all the ships at sea
As my father would come home from his lodge
(I forget the mammal in question--****** or elk,
Or perhaps some fictional comedic excuse
Akin to Ralph Kramden's raccoons)
Singing at a volume he believed sufficiently soft,
Though my mother was quick to inform him otherwise,
And the tales of poor Tom Dooley
Or some unnamed tavern in the town
Would intermingle with the remnants of my supplications,
And they would synthesize as some code,
Some argot of some unknown in-crowd
Whose patter was beyond my ken.
My father's songbird days stopped quite abruptly,
And during the proceedings paying homage to that coda,
God was frequently cited, indeed summoned,
And I suspect he tottered earthward,
At which point he proceeded to absent himself
From my further consideration and commiseration,
And I came to such a time where hazy night-time songs
Were part and parcel of my routine,
Though more bourbon-fed than sleep-induced,
And when the talk turned to such things
As the pros and cons of one's patrimony,
I was wont to opine that I was the product of two fathers,
The bequests of whom tended to wax and wane in value.
Yenson Sep 2020
Colorless smithereens birth
in the factories of fears
in dulcet irony appraise their bequests
the glittering basin of woes
gened inherently from fathers to sons
mothers to daughters alike
breezing in vapid happenstance cages
the soiled minds supreme
yodeling gaslight from their gas chambers
narrow one track minded
polluted souls in contaminated schooling
professors of life's negativity
bequeathing their Antonyms inheritances
so for whom the bells toll
they project gened inadequacies and frustrations
in picture postcards from their hell
the ****** damning
offering free pass to their dungeons of Pathetic Souls Ascension
Make his fight on the hill in the early day
Constant chill deep inside
Shouting gun, on they run through the endless grey
On the fight, for they are right, yes, by who's to say?
For a hill men would ****, why? They do not know
Stiffened wounds test there their pride
Men of five, still alive through the raging glow
Gone insane from the pain that they surely know
For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls

BY  Metallica

— The End —