"devotions" poems
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
Tell me that I'm beautiful,
say it aloud tonight.
Tell me I mean everything,
confess I am always right.
Say that I'm like magic,
treat me just as a queen.
Speak words I long to hear,
let me live in a dream....
Shower me with promises,
drown me in your desire.
Whisper sweet devotions,
tho I'll know you're a liar.
Tell me how much you love me,
say you will never leave...
Feed to me these little fibs
I want so much to believe~
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
I'm bored, as bored as someone can be
I'm bored, running circles around my thoughts like a bumble bee
I'm bored, with every breath I take
I'm bored, and boredom is the only thing in people that couldn't be fake
Fake smiles you throw
Yet your fake smiles don't work because you still look like a crow
Fake laughs so high
You think high pitch can make the time fly?
Fake faces you reveal
You eat up on lies like a happy meal…
Fake body you wear every day,
Yet at the end of the time, no one's interested in your body made of clay
Fake gazes, fake stairs
Fake intentions climbing up the stairs
Fake jewelry, fake phone
This is a list of fake I could always go one
Fake hearts, fake emotions
Fake intimacy, fake devotions
Fake marriages, fake divorce
Fake sympathy and fake remorse
Fake empathy, fake duty and chores…
Your lies are fake, which makes them true
But again, your truth is fake too!
Fake thoughts fake you
Fake thoughts fake you
I will go back to being bored, for boredom is the only thing that's right
Fake rights make you go left; fake lefts take you out of sight
Fake lives you lead a head of you, but you can't get your fake boredom that's why I cherish my boredom so much
Fake groups of happy, you're not happy, you're just a fake ignorant bunch
I'll go back to my boredom for it gives me a sense of sanity
And takes me a bit away from your fake ego and vanity
Fake hugs fake care
Fake lungs of fake air
I'll go back to my boredom, for my boredom is unique
And my boredom made me realize how fake you are as we speak…
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
[email protected] rights reserved
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
When grandma laid me down to sleep
she prayed the Lord my soul to keep
and if I died before I woke
she prayed my soul the Lord would yoke
Post-psychedelic black door dreams
monsters climbing in the breeze
Running, falling, flying, stare
yet with the morning not a care
the wafting flow through morning light
Madame’s kitchen fueled the air
The children sang of fresh insight
With voices pure and futures bright:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Slipping, sliding, sowing sin
Sipping cider in the sun
Seeking soaring savoir faire
Serenade non-sequitor
Life’s a joke at seventeen
Painful angst, gray misery
With one look the light pours in
Eyes to see, now born again
Fresh squeezed juice is just divine
Grapes and berries off the vine
over easy, over hard
Weeds have overgrown the yard
And all the brothers in their haze
with lifted voices sang their praise:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Mother’s teeth and Mother’s paw
Mother’s cradle, Mother’s bough
Mark the day’s devotions done
in the back track He looks on
The Sun is setting in the East,
and though the Magi know the truth
The Book of Lies, lies in disguise
of jagged tooth with mangy hide
The night recedes, the morning calls
Memories of far gone days
Memories of yawning halls
Memories of random joy
Though the hand that feeds we bite
now sing we all, with all our might:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary
*This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.*
Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!
Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device
Beamed back and forth to The Cloud, you see
With mega-mega gigs of memory
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary is just the thing!
The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!
Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue
A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks
The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style
The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air
Designed in Germany, made in China
High-definition beads; there’s nothing finer
Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
And we’ll send you a second all for free
Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions
Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary – O make it sing!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
Rock and Roll and Rolling Rockers
Her eyes shine like wet graffiti paint
slow motion emotion
showing dubious devotions
You own nothing right now
cause you can't handle anything
Teenage mouths babble
Teenage minds travel
in fast cars driven carelessly
words fly by
Doge
Doge
Don't collide
With a mouth a spitting out words
they add up
pile up
till they become their own little world
you don't won't to hear that
or even see
yet all the time you are wondering
where is a little world for me
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
तत् त्वम् असि
*for sitar, mridangam, vina, musical spoons,
washboard, Jew’s harp and banjo*
(*the names Swami and Guru-ji can be replaced by
any other mystic names the reader wishes to substitute*)
Swami and Guru-ji went to the river
to wash their souls in the ***** water
filled brass pots while they were at it, singing:
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji flexed contortions
twisted minds and limbs in knots
sold each other secret mantras
to erase akashic records when the body rots
Swami and Guru-ji taught disciples
how to fast and hum and chant;
bound their ***** with priestly garments, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji swallowed prana
purged their guts, then farted light
launched their chakras into oneness
in the ida and pingala of their third-eye sight
Swami and Guru-ji built a temple
around a monstrous calf of gold
bowed before the six-armed idols chanting
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji studied parchments
by the dim light of a feeble ray
railed and wailed at the sinful heathen
in the filthy Kali-yuga of the dying day
Swami and Guru-ji made ablutions
offered incense and holy foods
ate their share and smoked the profit, humming
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami’s blissed devotions
entwined their members with the temple belles;
stuck their yonis up their lingams
in the twenty-seventh circle of the seven hells.
Swami and Guru-ji offered puja
wrote it all off as a karmic debt –
forced a shudra to bear the burden, screaming
“These are Gods –
worship them, worship them,
these are Gods –
won’t you worship them please”
Guru and Swami-ji meditated:
pure omniscience in eternal now –
drank fresh ***** from a heifer’s bladder
for they knew that it was soma from a holy cow.
Swami and the Guru merged with Brahman –
then went home to the wife and kids.
Told the servants to polish statues, saying
“These are Gods – worship them, worship them,
these are Gods – won’t you worship them please”
THE MORAL:
(slower solemn rhythm, no banjo or Jew’s harp)
Aaron’s calf is ground to powder,
cast upon the Ganges’ tide.
Every tribe shall taste its poison.
“This is God –worship Him, worship Him –
this is God – let us worship Him now…”
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;
And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind--
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the ***** strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
3.5k
Here comes The Change
That has the range
Of emotions
And demotions
And devotions
Of a perilous populous
That likes to raise a fuss
When they eventually learn who I am
And treat me like I'm the Son of Sam
To be specific
They discover I'm gay
And begin to filet
My mentality
In totality
For fatality
Merely by acting differently
If my sexuality isn't the first thing people know about me
I get to witness The Change
Like a dog with mange
I am shedding my hair
While screaming no fair
Because of the shift I see
Because of the **** I need
To make my heart bleed
There is a steady bellowing burdensome baggage
From those that want to ****** some *******
So I search for weight lifters
But only find shapeshifters
That become great grifters
When The Change occurs
And The Change burns
So The Change turned
Me into an interdimensional changeling
And an unintentional rage king
After they use words like flaming
Because the results are so draining
It becomes hard not to hate people
Who are inspired by hate steeples
They say I'm going to Hell
While I notice the smell
Of being buried in their banal ****
While they play their greatest hits
That are as unoriginal
As they are cynical
They say I'm a degenerate
An embarrassment
A parent's lament
I want to change into a carefree bird
Instead I stay in Hell with the herd
Wanting to escape like Lupin the Third
Rather than be oppressed like the Kurds
But there is no relief
Only re-grief
When changes aren't permanent
But The Change is
There's an illustration of my life
That will change your perspective
The picture is in my words
When the painting is what I choose to say
And the canvas is your mind
Whose textures I could never imagine
So I jump off a cliff blindfolded
Expecting to be changed once I land
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:13 AM UTC
Embraced in your grasp so, I gaze into your ocean blue eyes, and I am loss in a sense of fantasy and ecstasy; which so happens to be far from reality. Although I don't care to be near reality, because it means that I can continue to be near you. So let this dream become our own reality, and let it mold our worlds into one, and let it carry on our deepest emotions and our most secret devotions until not even the tick of an awakening nightmare could tear us apart.
Close your eyes and dream with me my love; take hold of my hand and fly with me into the depths of our hearts. Let us create our own universe and state of euphoria in a land of precise perfection. The love we feel can combine with our imaginations so that even our natural world could never compete. Are you with me my love? Are you ready to live the dream of dreams?
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
weaved into her thoughts
are the disturbed images and the maniacal music
carousel music from the macabre circus of the mad
and in the absolute center of this
steampunk master vision is her pretty little face
sitting with a lace umbrella
and a slow thick smile
she eyes you head to boot
and reaches out a single blood stained finger
and says accusations are for the weak
her pasty red lips are
sour to the touch
she makes no apologies
but rather relies of her smile like charms
which she wears like
a patchwork quilt of maniacal methods
stitched with loving care
and the devotions of the needy
who pay her fare without questions
she is stylin on the main street bus tonight
with her entourage of hungry strangers
just looking for a bed and breakfast
and its delusion that
after a time
the clouds passed
after a time
measured in the millions of years
that her touching your face lasted
looking into your eyes and telling you that she loves you
after a time everything would change
and she would remember what it means to be happy
after a time under a maniacal lace umbrella
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
**Angel Come
Angel Come; Come with a Whisper,
With tongues of Mysta
Come in the Night,
And bring us the Light
Come unto Mystery,
To elude our Misery
Angel Come- Angel Go**
*Angel Come
Come Like a River
To Inhale this Fever
Overshadow me with Shivers,
To see me thus Thither
Like a river Glorious,
In a secret Joyous
Angel Come; Angel Go*
**Angel Come
Remould my emotions,
To fit my Devotions
Come into the Dark;
And get rid of the Black
Encamp me in your Palms,
To wrap me in your Arms
Angel Come- Angel Go**
*Angel Come
Come into my Subconscious;
Awaken my Unconscious
Come like an arrowing Rain,
Invade my narrowest Pain
Let me hide my face in You;
For I seek a space in You
Angel Come: Angel Go*
Ovi Odiete©
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
Frozen moments,
embraced,
visions of
luminous things,
unpretentious
pearls dancing;
embers of memory linger,
elegy of the lachrymose,
this horizoning self
lying low in saturnine
tranquility
and repose – paternity lost
to the provisional.
The cross of lassitude,
forming
scars of loss;
estrangement,
preface to
ineluctable autonomy.
Earthen treasure - immortal
footprints, the migration
of fair maidens across my
effusive heart.
Venus trio in bloom,
aesthetic allusion,
ephemeral incarnations
of beauty - perishable fruit,
transcending the plebeian.
Aerial substance-
the hermeneutic,
betraying desire’s
ambrosial tyranny;
The permuted passage -
savor the sojourn, submit
to the fated peregrination.
Purple orchids blossom,
immortal creatures,
culminating
in perfection
from the sheath
respectively,
each plume,
singular,
the continuum of
splendor, mediate
the inviolable.
Eternity compounding,
time and essence suffuse
the already and not yet
into an
orbiting mosaic.
The susurrant devotions
of a satellite father,
summon the quest -
both, and,
absence and proximity,
conduits of
distress and peace
ironically,
solace and
terror
traverse the
same path.
Plunge though,
deep, the depth of pain;
deeper, sweeter
the taste of pleasure.
Engender and witness,
window into
preeminence,
surface azure,
the sacred -
inimitable gravity of
grandeur,
ma petite,
you - are
lived poetry
seen and heard;
cosmic order,
a mediating heuristic -
to love is to see,
in the dismal,
gift of distance.
child of delight,
evermore, Don’t I hold you?
Beauty and strangeness,
music found
in linear,
secret places
beyond the tangent,
purview of limitation,
arousing imagination -
infinititude as near
as it is far.
Long loneliness -
dissonance that
resolves;
perceiving,
the tertiary refrain -
as exquisite verse,
and matchless liqueur,
sublime gratuity
derived
through
doors of surrender.
Daughter,
in adoration and wonder,
I hold you.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
They say it's the distance that kills the flame
Puff sizzle and pop
The dying ember of love screaming its last breath
To the stars
The moon
Heavens ears are muted
These wailing screeching tryst
Happen daily
Yearly
The product of love that laid to close
Curdling like sour milk in the jealous heart
Burning like rancid acid
Chinese water torture to the brain
Maddening mundanity to fill the void of meaning
Like monkeys their minds seek to dull it's own screams
Love left rotting
Stinking in the distance that dragged it further spreading the filth
But the distance isn't the deceiver at least one can see the evidence of betrayal
Before it sneaks behind
And stabs them with their own thoughts
Confuse them with their own feelings
And drag them under to feast on their own flesh
No distance doesn't ******
It is the heart that deceives
It is the heart that renders false reality
Blinds the eyes to its own pain
And tricks the tongue to speak
Where it has no place
It is the heart that is its own martyr
The godly victim
Whom's motive is selfish
To **** what wounds it
But it's justice is the death of itself
And these sheets held love
Whispered melting
Scalding devotions
Held the iron hot to brand itself the dutiful
But in obligation left once more
Leaving blood fresh
The heart murdered once more
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Years of my tears dry to stale grit
Rusting my skin with crusting corrosions
of Yesterday's emotions frustrations devotions
With time, composting into a dirt coating
Renourishing layers of decomposition
Green seeds in germination with anticipation
Sprouting fresh roots of deeper perception
A Glowing. Growing. Living. New Me.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
she waits for me
in the warm sunlight
she calls to me
in the beautiful night
she sends love notes in the breeze
filled with her longing
filled with the bright beauty of together forever
she scatters her devotions along the river of my dreams
fills my heart with such comforting joy
fills my world with her beautiful soul
love letters written in the sunshine
adoration written in birdsong
she waits for me
on a springtime's beautiful sandy shore
waiting for my long winter to end
don't worry my love i will be there soon
and we can run brave through the rain hand in hand
and never ever let go
we can be together forevermore
wait just a little longer my love be there soon
and we can watch that sunrise together forever
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Know you fair, on what you look;
Divinest love lies in this book,
Expecting fire from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings,
Think you’have an angel by th’ wings.
One that gladly will be nigh,
To wait upon each morning sigh.
To flutter in the balmy air
Of your well-perfumed prayer.
These white plumes of his he’ll lend you,
Which every day to heaven will send you,
To take acquaintance of the sphere,
And all the smooth-fac’d kindred there.
And though Herbert’s name do owe
These devotions, fairest, know
That while I lay them on the shrine
Of your white hand, they are mine.
2.2k
In the beginning was the Word…
And only then was the world.
Out of chaos and the darkness,
Out of nowhere and the blackness…
Something more than a miracle happened
Filled with warmth and light that sparkled.
The world got name and became alive!
All around began to thrive.
Not in gratitude, not out of a sense of duty
It believed in truly saints and only beauty.
Eyes opened and stood in delight
It could invite, excite but not to affright.
In the beginning was the Word…
And that word was God.
Earth and sky, the stars and oceans,
Without emotions but with devotions.
Rains and snows, beauty forebodes
And even the dust of not traversed roads.
It would be ridiculous and naive
To dream about the dawns, be a sensitive.
To be the hands on the starry clock,
To make on the land a beautiful woodblock.
As all that had already been put wise.
And in time the Sun could arise.
In the beginning was the Word…
And that word was Peace
Everything could freely breathe.
If you remove it, the chaos will again start,
The universal fear and black exhaustion,
The indifference and world of combustion.
The worm of doubts shouldn’t gnaw the heart!
The rest is later and the second will be smart.
For some it is unusual and one can’t agree
But as to me in different way it could not be.
You have to hear Him to be reborn again.
His Word is saint and everything explain.
In the beginning was the Word…
And that word was Love.
The beginning of all beginnings and all the springs,
The beginning of all the most beautiful things.
The beginning of all the sources and a new start.
You have to hear it and know as it is Gods art.
In the beginning was the Word…
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 25th of January, 2013
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
I wish to go to Nova Scotia
And long to play in Breton fields,
Faraway and over the oceans,
For ever a bonnie soul shall lead.
I wish to row for Nova Scotia
And glide above the seas trembling,
Far beyond my earthly devotions,
Where ever a bonnie soul shall lead.
I see long oars in every tree,
In ocean swells, a boat for me,
A lull of melodies in seabirds call,
Beyond the wave is music and song.
I will follow a star to Nova Scotia
And suffer on seas of forgetfulness,
To play a fiddle with joyful Scotians,
For ever a bonnie soul has needs.
I see long oars in every tree,
In ocean swells, a boat for me,
A lull of melodies in seabirds call,
Beyond the wave is music and song.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
Naked bodies are meant for each other
To hold and to touch and to bother
I've spent some time not caring
but my anticipation is blaring
I left a good soul in good torment
He had video games on his mind
It was easy to see, we let love ferment
I was no one but a ***** bind
I said, enough.
Twenty five years
I've grown
I've slipped
I've been torn apart
Three years
I've wasted
Uninspired
Aching for
Inspiration
He came to me from the mines
His hard, rough hands
used to be so soft, when he was a boy
Boy has he grown
He holds me with a grip
As if I've slipped before
He came to me in the night,
unable to sleep
I heard his plight
My heart was buried deep
But I let him touch me
and look at me
and want me
These are not empowering feelings
A woman was meant for a man
A man, with primeval notions
A woman, with cultured devotions
We succumb to our basic human desires
It either feeds us
Or destroys us
Everyone wants to be the object
of the other's deviant subject
We look for distractions
something for attraction
Life is not a reality
It is a fiction
With every step
a new direction
I am free now
to love
to play
to dance
It gives me immense pleasure
to go back to previous measure
I don't care if I'm alone
I can choose to be used
I asked if he missed this
"Yes."
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
My Prayer for Thee
Oh, Lord, Thou art my only Love
Thou art my True Love Dove
i treasure me in Thy Vector
and feel me blessed in my daily concerns
i know this is only hellish Earth
temporarily and no eternal worth
only Thy Signs and Thy Spoken Words
i have absorbed and am absorbing still,
Thy Holy Words and Thy Only Will
naturally, i have learned eversince;
i learned to see Thee as my Holy Prince
to listen to Thee as my Holy Father
to hear Thy Words than rather
turn my sight to satan's rites.
Thou art The Only One i worship
Thou art The Only One i am praying to
Thou art The Only One, Thou art my All
Thou art this side and
Thou art my whole side of my All;
Thou stand above my Darling,
Thou stand above my Beloved,
Thou stand above my Beloved Ones,
Thou stand above my Alls.
Thou art The Holy Father,
The Holy Son,
and The Holy Ghost.
i am a humble girl,
i asked for three special sons;
Thou gave me three special sons.
i knocked and asked for love, life and food;
Thou opened,
and gave me love, life and food
for my family, my Life's destiny;
i asked still, Thou gave me constantly.
i could not fight,
Thou gave me strength, Thou gave me Power;
i grow stronger by the hour.
Thy words are Divine;
i am craving for Thee, Oh, Holy Mine;
i am all Thine and Thou art Mine.
Forgive this humble heart of me,
for every sin i have done unto Thee.
i pray to Thee for every soul i've met;
i thank Thee for Thy mercy i get,
from Thy Holy and Forgiving Heart.
i nestle in Thy thermal,
i warm me in Thy vernal,
i warm me in Thy embrace.
No my Lord, i would not race.
i feel me ablaze, every time i praise Thee,
and pray to Thee, my Lord,
blessing feel i get for each of Thy Word.
My Lord, My eternal Love-Superiour,
Thou art my heavenly Father.
i am your constant love-warrior;
Thou art in Heaven,
hallowed be Thy Name,
Thy Kingdom come
on earth as it is in Heaven.
Amen.
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC
If being stripped of liberty,
We owe no responsibility
To tethering our ties
To a system of lies.
Insanity, defined,
If we choose to read,
Means working to thrive
Through ways we won't succeed.
The system is broken.
Turn off the machine.
If doubt has not awoken,
Ask yourself, please:
Do you question many things
That you hear spoken?
Do you admit your own views
May contain false notions?
Does our culture retain
Unnecessary devotions?
Is government improving,
Bringing peace across oceans?
Emancipate from demands
Of societal bands.
Renounce the commands
And requests that don't stand
The test of your ability
To reason with civility.
A question is a "quest I on"
Not a destination.
It leads to many places.
Go ahead. Try it on.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
Hurt is a beautiful thing.
It’s a collage of broken memories.
It’s visible, yet no one sees.
It’s a swirl of mixed emotions
And full of lost devotions.
It’s almost pain, but not quite there,
Yet still, it’s more than I can bear.
m.c.c.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Ineffable: Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words; Too sacred to be uttered.
-------------------------–-------—-------------------------------------------------------------
The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think to ourselves,
agreed upon
with our,
a whispery, silent
amen.
The still alive cries of children,
tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair,
teachers body shielding their charges, whispering
save us Lord, from your inventive toys,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again,
now four more dead in Houston,
selecting the innocent, the brave,
logic in any of this, none,
nonsensical at its worst
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
~~~~~
The first I-am-alive cries
of new born lungs,
I have grandson, stain-less, perfect,
recovering in the stainless steel delivery room,
I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison
pronouncing a Hebrew blessing,
the Shecheyanu...
(Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments)
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
These unspoken poem devotions of adoration
of the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt and
perchance in the morning thankfully recalled,
enough to be transcribed,
to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.
Ineffable.
A day, just another supplying an average day
to the mass of average.
Birth + Death = an average day.
I thank a God for the
birth of a newborn perfection
On this day the newspapers report
about silence of the God others pray to,
could be the same deity,
reporting that in his holy places,
Jew spits upon Jew,
Muslims usurp Christian lives,
all for none,
all forgetting in
whose image they were created.
to which we cannot say nor think
anything.
Ineffable.
too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these unuttered words,
know that each tear in
the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.,
my amen.
*Instead of answering
amen out loud,
wipe my eyes
with your fingertips,
silently.*
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC