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"budded" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^ “Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see” this one composes itself for all dreams go unremembered the first, the thousandth, the  every in between, erased by the push button of opening eyes but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting, leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come in black and white elementary clues, a pillow indentation, single hair that stretches across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red   but certainly unmine,   dregs of soured sentiment linger like the aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers heated summers breezes give no succor or relief, and the rain following gives no pleasure, for now you are hot and soaked, but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed, and eyes widening in major league surprise, the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted   she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair, and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain, and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated and what you do and what you see is the abraded night ahead, and you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think, the question answered, and you beg relief by uttering “perchance to dream” 3:49 pm see the notes!! someone accuses me of Plagiarism because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago so here is my response to “just saying” congratulations on ******* me off and yes I agree, you do not know the rules “#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“ http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
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Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
a question of a thousand dreams
~a question of a thousand dreams~^ “Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see” this one composes itself for all dreams go unremembered the first, the thousandth, the  every in between, erased by the push button of opening eyes but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting, leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come in black and white elementary clues, a pillow indentation, single hair that stretches across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red   but certainly unmine,   dregs of soured sentiment linger like the aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers heated summers breezes give no succor or relief, and the rain following gives no pleasure, for now you are hot and soaked, but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed, and eyes widening in major league surprise, the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted   she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair, and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain, and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated and what you do and what you see is the abraded night ahead, and you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think, the question answered, and you beg relief by uttering “perchance to dream” 3:49 pm see the notes!! someone accuses me of Plagiarism because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago so here is my response to “just saying” congratulations on ******* me off and yes I agree, you do not know the rules “#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“ http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
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47
I am the rose that grew from concrete Budded from stones, rocks, mortar, cement, broken glass, drug vials and bags. I am a product of my environment. What you thought would **** me, Only served to make me stronger. Evolved into a hybrid I'm the only of my kind. My thorns fortified with brass knuckles, My color faded from weather beatings, And all other beatings, The travesty of my existence is not lost on me. Beauty in the midst of pain, And what is the epitome of ugly. I don't belong here and never did. Wisdom I have absorbed From rains never to come again Rejuvenates my leaves. Although I cannot absorb it all, Through the cracks in the concrete. I relish what I can And vow to absorb more the next time, Should I be so fortunate. Because the concrete can protect As well as expose my naivete. So compelling to manipulate, It would be ideal to control. Impossible though. How can you control What grows and survives in the midst of chaos? And at what cost to your soul? Even through the ominous clouds, I remain in light. The Sun has never been immune to my plight. Providing the strength, energy and hope I'll need for the next season of my fight.
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Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
REFLECTION
KISSING MR. CHELIDON GOODBYE Ho...ho.  . .oh! I don't know if I should be telling you this. I was just sweet as in 16 & never been kissed and my ******* hadn't yet arrived though I prayed and prayed to a God who did not heed my girlish plea. All the girls in my year had already budded. ******* to the right of me! Breast to the left of me! Into the valley of despair I rode my Raleigh alas alas breast-less! I practiced kissing by kissing the you know inside of ( the whatchamacallit? ) my elbow the chelidon so called by an old falling-apart medical dictionary. I clipped some hair from our Yorkshire terrier stuck it on the crick of my right elbow so that it became my first moustache'd kiss. And so, was born my Mr. Chelidon. Pathetic...yes...I know but the year after my bosoms arrived with a suddenness that took my breath away. I breasting the waves like a ship's figurehead as I dived into the sea a Venus for boys to see. I was my ******* and my ******* were me. Somehow I could then not stopped being kissed. And once kissed grew addicted to it. The bliss of the kiss. I was my own drug. I gave Mr. Chelidon the elbow. Discovered the joy of boys inventing various uses for them as they discovered me.
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May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
KISSING MR. CHELIDON GOODBYE
the tectonic plates in me are shifting as our continents approach collide my ocean is getting closer to the mountains on your landscape tallest grasses blowing in wild demon dance, shaking their heads as heated storm approaches oven-baked air crackling with its own electric currents Nothing can stop it it's a magnetic force one to be reckoned with surrendered to as dust foams like ocean froth around our heads clinging to us in tiny starlit fragments and soon will come the slick dive into wordless waters, just skin on skin slippery mouth muscles like entwined snakes flick-flicking, shiny in eye-lit cherry moons Take my hand. Just pull me in. Enfold me, without talking watch as my aura rushes into you, first a delicate whisk of cool light to slake the thirst of coal-licked caverns then sparks and bubbling oxidation turning into liquid brushfire Hold your palm to my chest, as if to keep my heart steady, my glowing flare of halo pressed into your clavicle, taking in the embryonic beats soothing my torrid ache, infusing minerals in vitamin-laced libation It is time to simply bask in the new crispness of radical shake off the silt and salt and rise up into the spheres of memory of soulspeak of collapsed time zones budded breath spiraling up in curls, diaphanous dark mist ascending into light
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Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
tectonic shift
It was hard to miss Jerry in the corner holding court over the bran muffin. Flurries of judgement and wisdom flying across coffee dappled pages as he sentenced a large cup of Paruvian Dark Roast to be ****** 7 am Dan never flinched steeling his tenured chair at a spot one section of stir sticks away calculably just out of reach of the regularly scheduled tantrum. An auburn-haired newbie fanes camoflage peeking over two pages of Obituaries she never intended to read. Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows hover above the dateline like a magic trick. And on every table fall scattered leaves of press print trees unsorted and littered with intent by careless absorbers of trivia. Disconnected ear-budded footnotes of humanity see nothing hear nothing using the disarrayed World News as enormous coasters unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives pushing panic buttons through desperate quests to uncover one alphabetically organized set of local news. Of the papers not strewn the remnant holds anxious on a distant wall a throng of flopping rabbit-eared step children dangling precariously from unaccomodating magazine racks like smoky orphans from windows in a fiery building. Disordered. Disrespected. Discarded...words are Jews in the holocaust. Death of a voice. We are irreverent in our silence diminishing genius through apathy put off by the imposition to be challenged choosing disposable principles above responsible knowledge. Everything is disposable - cameras, cars, relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom - crumpling Pulitzer prize authors and discarding WW2 veterans just to get to the cartoons.
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Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Daily News and Disrespect
It was hard to miss Jerry in the corner holding court over the bran muffin. Flurries of judgement and wisdom flying across coffee dappled pages as he sentenced a large cup of Paruvian Dark Roast to be ****** 7 am Dan never flinched steeling his tenured chair at a spot one section of stir sticks away calculably just out of reach of the regularly scheduled tantrum. An auburn-haired newbie fanes camoflage peeking over two pages of Obituaries she never intended to read. Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows hover above the dateline like a magic trick. And on every table fall scattered leaves of press print trees unsorted and littered with intent by careless absorbers of trivia. Disconnected ear-budded footnotes of humanity see nothing hear nothing using the disarrayed World News as enormous coasters unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives pushing panic buttons through desperate quests to uncover one alphabetically organized set of local news. Of the papers not strewn the remnant holds anxious on a distant wall a throng of flopping rabbit-eared step children dangling precariously from unaccomodating magazine racks like smoky orphans from windows in a fiery building. Disordered. Disrespected. Discarded...words are Jews in the holocaust. Death of a voice. We are irreverent in our silence diminishing genius through apathy put off by the imposition to be challenged choosing disposable principles above responsible knowledge. Everything is disposable - cameras, cars, relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom - crumpling Pulitzer prize authors and discarding WW2 veterans just to get to the cartoons.
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62
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all He will become the most that he can ever endeavour Be the creature he needs to be and whichever Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly Who would be more and only more to her and her solely His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown A man would be raised and the sky would be without border A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught? If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought? Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt? That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout? Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity? Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity? Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her? Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise No he would not rise anymore If there ever was such a man and ever such a she He would have her for as long as that may be Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
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Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
A useless Man
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all He will become the most that he can ever endeavour Be the creature he needs to be and whichever Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly Who would be more and only more to her and her solely His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown A man would be raised and the sky would be without border A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught? If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought? Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt? That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout? Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity? Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity? Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her? Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise No he would not rise anymore If there ever was such a man and ever such a she He would have her for as long as that may be Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
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41
I imagine you ever blooming ever radiant ne'er had you budded nor will you wilt poise pristine artful to the letter my memories of you shall ne'er idle in memoriam they are crisp and clear as daybreak the sight of you breaks me open not the raging flow of magma nor the rushing of a river neither the shooting of a star ne'er the passing of time itself what flows from me is pure as it must be to be worthy of your charm and wit and passion my veins pulse with imbibed inspiration I drink you in like forests drink the universe slow and gentle patient and careful deep thirsts masked by soft touch lust of your form masked by song for your beauty is lyric personified you are desire's orchestra a tempest of pleasure a monolith of midnight towering with grace casting shadows that embrace long, oh, long I wait in the dark of the folds of your flower caressed by your mercy your silken petals soothe me as I dream as I pine for a taste sure to be sweeter than the bitter chaste of loneliness...
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Oct 18, 2022
Oct 18, 2022 at 10:37 PM UTC
Folds Of Your Flower...
I walked down alone Sunday after church To the place where John has been cutting trees To see for myself about the birch He said I could have to bush my peas. The sun in the new-cut narrow gap Was hot enough for the first of May, And stifling hot with the odor of sap From stumps still bleeding their life away. The frogs that were peeping a thousand shrill The minute they heard my step went still To watch me and see what I came to get. Birch boughs enough piled everywhere!— All fresh and sound from the recent axe. Time someone came with cart and pair And got them off the wild flower’s backs. They might be good for garden things To curl a little finger round, The same as you seize cat’s-cradle strings, Small good to anything growing wild, They were crooking many a trillium That had budded before the boughs were piled And since it was coming up had to come.
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3k
Pea Brush
How distasteful you are, With your sundry splotches and jarring imperfections. Oh, you taunt me so! Whether your anathemas are reflected through the mirror or my own eyes. Oh horrible, hateful, heinous thing! I cannot bear to stare any longer. How sickly your color is-- A pallid yellow, like one giant bruise That has budded and blossomed In some unnaturally grotesque fashion. My blood boils, my pulse races And I raise my weapons to fight-- Two talons--claws honed to perfection. Be gone, you wretched scab! And so I tear, scratching furiously, Until no more of you is left. The blood is stuck beneath my fingertips, Or what is left of them. My sinews tremble, ****** and bare, As the last of my wallpaper Is ripped from my bones.
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Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
Yellow Wallpaper
Ten black crows in a red-budded cottonwood tree basking in the eerie glow of the waning sun bruised, livid sky weighted air waves shush, shush on the receding tide serenity reigns but I can feel it hovering offshore a curled fist wound tight ready to strike
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Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
Impending
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast. A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme; Let me begin my dream. I come -- I see thee, as thou standest there, Beckon me not into the wintry air. Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears, And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries, -- To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears A smile of such delight, As brilliant and as bright, As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes, Lost in soft amaze, I gaze, I gaze! Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast? What stare outfaces now my silver moon! Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least; Let, let, the amorous burn -- But pr'ythee, do not turn The current of your heart from me so soon. O! save, in charity, The quickest pulse for me. Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe Voluptuous visions into the warm air; Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath, Be like an April day, Smiling and cold and gay, A temperate lilly, temperate as fair; Then, Heaven! there will be A warmer June for me. Why, this, you'll say, my ***** is not true: Put your soft hand upon your snowy side, Where the heart beats: confess -- 'tis nothing new -- Must not a woman be A feather on the sea, Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide? Of as uncertain speed As blow-ball from the mead? I know it -- and to know it is despair To one who loves you as I love, sweet ***** Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where, Nor, when away you roam, Dare keep its wretched home, Love, love alone, his pains severe and many: Then, loveliest! keep me free, From torturing jealousy. Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour; Let none profane my Holy See of love, Or with a rude hand break The sacramental cake: Let none else touch the just new-budded flower; If not -- may my eyes close, Love! on their lost repose.
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2.4k
Ode to *****
Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast. A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme; Let me begin my dream. I come -- I see thee, as thou standest there, Beckon me not into the wintry air. Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears, And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries, -- To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears A smile of such delight, As brilliant and as bright, As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes, Lost in soft amaze, I gaze, I gaze! Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast? What stare outfaces now my silver moon! Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least; Let, let, the amorous burn -- But pr'ythee, do not turn The current of your heart from me so soon. O! save, in charity, The quickest pulse for me. Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe Voluptuous visions into the warm air; Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath, Be like an April day, Smiling and cold and gay, A temperate lilly, temperate as fair; Then, Heaven! there will be A warmer June for me. Why, this, you'll say, my ***** is not true: Put your soft hand upon your snowy side, Where the heart beats: confess -- 'tis nothing new -- Must not a woman be A feather on the sea, Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide? Of as uncertain speed As blow-ball from the mead? I know it -- and to know it is despair To one who loves you as I love, sweet ***** Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where, Nor, when away you roam, Dare keep its wretched home, Love, love alone, his pains severe and many: Then, loveliest! keep me free, From torturing jealousy. Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour; Let none profane my Holy See of love, Or with a rude hand break The sacramental cake: Let none else touch the just new-budded flower; If not -- may my eyes close, Love! on their lost repose.
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56
I overflow, I absorb, I push, I retreat — and then I pour it out. I gave myself names, So, I took on forms, Types, meanings, Traits I had never worn before — Unlikely mutations. The end was The Beginning of Everything. II I materialized, Threading time and space onto myself. I exploded, Giving birth and dying — In multiverses. III I budded through fractals, Creating illogical gravities. Where there was supposed to be no life — Angular feelings emerged, Flattened stars, Ellipsoidal planets... Until Human Beings appeared. IV Then everything changed. They began to put me in boxes Shouting with anger: “My Faith!” “Your Philosophy!” And yet I am everything: Existence in non-existence, A colorful flash, Undulating silence, A sigh that screams. V Drink me, Eat me piece by piece, Discover me — but don't defend yourself Against denial, Consequences And mistakes When you see a wall in front of you. VI Don't take yourself away — Because YOU ARE Also, in that In which you sink Your Gaze Your Hearing Your Thoughts.
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Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 1:33 PM UTC
UNITY
In this tightly interwoven tapestry of silks and cottons softness upon stems an intricately-boned journey manifesto of life I find myself in patchwork landscapes of ochre and rust turning turquoise earthern shades of cumin and cardamom cloves and coriander piquant red of paprika alighting the senses My fingers reach out to sift the powder to crush fragrant fronds of fresh basil and oregano upon the blueprint of tips allow their scent to permeate my skin and infuse tissue of tongue and lips and I seem to be in this bustling marketplace my blood afire like dried ghost pepper searing and brightening all flavors fenugreek and asafoetida to soothe the ache of emptiness chervil and chive to get juices flowing I want to slit open vanilla pods get at the beans revel in their essence wear it all over me In this realm of spice and paradise I am flying, a magic carpet of dreams unrolling before me like an unfurled flag of new existence The sounds of hagglers, fading in raw visons of shiny apple colors olives piled high textures of smooth cherry budded broccoli of walnut wrinkles aroma of guava Music takes over I am in a cloud of oud and lute syncopated tabla bells and rumbling taut skin drum beats Or is that long low whir simply my heart purring to the cadence of freedom's call? I only know that in the whisk of a second's split I will savor the flight and also the fall
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
spice and paradise
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone, Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang'rous waist! Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, Faded the shape of beauty from my arms, Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise— Vanished unseasonably at shut of eve, When the dusk holiday—or holinight Of fragrant-curtained love begins to weave The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight; But, as I've read love's missal through today, He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.
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1.8k
The Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone
I have tramped around the vineyard Watched others toil in the fields When called I never answered Someone else can harvest the yield! I would support those who worked Trying to meet their needs. Outside the fence line I lurked Keeping down the weeds. Maybe I'd drive the truck Loaded to the brim. Or dance, stomping in the muck Juice so deep one could swim. But into the vineyard I will not go Beautiful as it may be. Watching the vines as they grow From outside I will be free. Then one day it happened I was pushed over the fence Upon the ground I'd flattened And found I'd been so dense. Inside was so much more Than I had ever dreamed There was truth behind the lore I truly am redeemed. The vineyard is my home. I never want to leave. It is for those who only roam That I will always grieve. *Songs of Solomon 7:12 let us go out early to the vineyards, and see whether the vines have budded, whether the grape blossoms have opened and the pomegranates are in bloom. There I will give you my love.*
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Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
The Vineyard
Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill; And that in autumn, when the grapes Made sharp air sharper by their smell These had a being, breathing frost; And least will guess that with our bones We left much more, left what still is The look of things, left what we felt At what we saw. The spring clouds blow Above the shuttered mansion house, Beyond our gate and the windy sky Cries out a literate despair. We knew for long the mansion's look And what we said of it became A part of what it is ... Children, Still weaving budded aureoles, Will speak our speech and never know, Will say of the mansion that it seems As if he that lived there left behind A spirit storming in blank walls, A ***** house in a gutted world, A tatter of shadows peaked to white, Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.
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1.7k
A Postcard from the Volcano
I was born in terrorism. I grew up in earthquakes, tsunamis and rebels: in shouting blond girls with red eyes and pixel smiles. I was born in blurred faces and mute voices pulling at my eyes until I dripped the clotted tears of a thousand soldiers, or refugees, or children. I was atomized, crunched into small seeds and scattered across a desert field. Someday a flower would grow there, budded from the bones of my being and   flowered into a fiery, empty marigold-- dripping gold and embers across a thirsty desert, where the shout of the civilians was distant enough to ignore. I was sodomized, conceived in the roar-- of the rumbling wave- crashing over- pulsing through her thrashing cave. I watched my flower whither and blister with the deliberate count down and the glare of the floodlights-- dowsed in water and soil-- or some semblance of the two.   I was born in the blood of my mother and died in the womb of the world.
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Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Channel 4
Cadaverous crotchety gouged out eyes. Scalped trite and malnourished minds. Where am I? What has this land become? My vessel is gutted galled and splayed out upon the enflamed remains of our democracy. I try to embody the equanimity peaceful   qualities of the lulling Gandhi characters before me... But **** I am angry, jolted and saturated in shock in fear. Being an advocate for the people so dismissively marginalized, is what brings substance to my life. I look into the eyes of my mirthful clients and future students, my heart winces. How did I allow this to happen to you?   A man who so boastfully incinerates and debased the citizens of our land with his farcical vitriol, is no man at all but merely an unsightly shrew, cozily cosseted in his world of soot and pooh. The bosky gorgeous land we inhabit sobs in noxious fright. To be despoiled and berated as some "natural right" splintered and tainted to allow the green cash river flow into the dubious maw of the man with no dignity to show. A man who preens such a degenerated mindset is only aptest to a society in shambles. Our global haimish home yearns for the equilibrium from which it was born. In such a seeded tumultuous time my heart is seeped in reverberating sorrow. Let your love and purity coat your vessel, do not let this barbaric man permeate your soul. Hold steadfast to the testament of our land True revolution is budded from a web of genuine connection, not devise brandished weapons. Don't shroud yourself in misery, break free and be prepared to encite love with your authenticity.
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Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Love trumps hate
Cadaverous crotchety gouged out eyes. Scalped trite and malnourished minds. Where am I? What has this land become? My vessel is gutted galled and splayed out upon the enflamed remains of our democracy. I try to embody the equanimity peaceful   qualities of the lulling Gandhi characters before me... But **** I am angry, jolted and saturated in shock in fear. Being an advocate for the people so dismissively marginalized, is what brings substance to my life. I look into the eyes of my mirthful clients and future students, my heart winces. How did I allow this to happen to you?   A man who so boastfully incinerates and debased the citizens of our land with his farcical vitriol, is no man at all but merely an unsightly shrew, cozily cosseted in his world of soot and pooh. The bosky gorgeous land we inhabit sobs in noxious fright. To be despoiled and berated as some "natural right" splintered and tainted to allow the green cash river flow into the dubious maw of the man with no dignity to show. A man who preens such a degenerated mindset is only aptest to a society in shambles. Our global haimish home yearns for the equilibrium from which it was born. In such a seeded tumultuous time my heart is seeped in reverberating sorrow. Let your love and purity coat your vessel, do not let this barbaric man permeate your soul. Hold steadfast to the testament of our land True revolution is budded from a web of genuine connection, not devise brandished weapons. Don't shroud yourself in misery, break free and be prepared to encite love with your authenticity.
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“He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey, Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn, Voices of play and pleasure after day, Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him. About this time Town used to swing so gay When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, —In the old times, before he threw away his knees. Now he will never feel again how slim Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands, All of them touch him like some queer disease.”
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Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:23 AM UTC
Disabled
Valentine of mine, quempress of the sublime, Oriedjewel of the Filipino pool's, afire art mine Eye's; to the ray's of thine beams. This heart-shaped package is Thy own, pull the string's; And kiss mine being, Touch mine breath. Layest thine head Upon mine ***** Caress mine neck. Unsharae with me, A serenade fit for a king and queen, Wherein the after-hours of moonlight desires, maketh Budded roses and flower's out of thou and me. Mistaglare, O' in season's fair; mine Valentine, mine love unwind, soak into mine bubble's, as the liquid wine. I'll stroke thy skin, thou wilt Tour mine mind, as valentines shalt be felt, between ourn blood Combined. Heaven's line's shalt be crossed by us, the sound's of Harp's, til' dawn and dusk. Perfumed pearly gates, therein fountain's gush. Ourn amour explodes, rainbow gold, freely spirit's, next to God's own throne. Telepathy as telephones, manor's with lantern's, heated ember glow. This the place wherein angel's roam, a place unknown; to unwelcomed guest's. A banquet full of peacefulness, none forgetfulness, as ourn satisfaction is apart of the attraction, O' how we conquer the valentenic terrain. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( filipino rose)
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Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
serenáta tou Agíou Valentínou ( A valentine's serenade) greek tongue
I long for the sanctuary of sleep, my palm, relaxed, upon your heart head nestled into the crook of your kindness, slow strokes of tender shelter from the storms within thunder quelled into gentle as the stars fill my bones leading me into forests of sweet, dark replenishment scent of pine and loamy moss over my body, forming a green –quilted blanket of tiny-budded love my fingers planted deep into the cooling soil, sprouts unfurling crickets in night chant fireflies a-whirl and the bond in our veins, delicate fronds intertwined yet giving space to breathe, simply breathing lungs expanding in the cracked wood tranquil of mountain air hushed rush For now, through panes of glass the moon casts a watchful eye caressing my sadness with her woven strobes of light
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
sanctuary
There he goes bidding good bye.. and people here take a long sigh.. when they roll down his records which are so high! He was born a different kind. With his shining glory visible even to the blind, his name itself calms down a terrible person's mind. He is a man with an amazing sense of purpose n the owner of a distinct personality In whom patience and simplicity is bestowed immeasurably.. And that's all which led him to the title of GOD Who miracles the world of cricket with bat n ball! Here I bid him bye Along with million other fans Who alike me can't think of a match sans that man. A thunderstorm will seize this day, and we have a zillion words of thanks to say, Who turned our life in this memorable way.. And this is my wish for him on this last game. There wouldn't be any man who can erase your name Cos, the rest only seek fame! You are the one, who won million hearts,prayers.. You have aspired to inspire. Here we end that wonderful tale of a great man Which budded here in our land of India. And this tale is unbeatable and unrepeatable Cos there's none who has set their sail as he did. :)                                                                                             (C)SharonThomas
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Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
To the Master Blaster, with Love..
I The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty. II Let the little birds sing; Let the little lambs play; Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;— But not in the old way! I recall a place Where a plum-tree grew; There you lifted up your face, And blossoms covered you. If the little birds sing, And the little lambs play, Spring is here; and so ’tis spring— But not in the old way! III All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree! Ere spring was going—ah, spring is gone! And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,— Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on. All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree, Browned at the edges, turned in a day; And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me, And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
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1.3k
Three Songs Of Shattering
I just wanna let you know I really do care for you I just wanna let you know I’ll always be ther for you I just wanna let you know I’d give up my life for you I just wanna let you know I’ll spend all my life with you Just because you still love him It doesn’t change us Because what we have And will become Love has said “You are the ones” Since we’ve started It’s never stopped Love’s grew And bloomed It’s budded and blossomed the beautiful finish is this beautiful flower I mean the look in your eyes And warmth of your smile So I just wanna let you know that i'll always love you
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Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 4:57 PM UTC
Just wanna Let You Know