"discharged" poems
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I feel the scratch
of the itchy cotton gown
on the narrows of my back
as it climbs up and down
Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel
It seers into the crevices of my bones
I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real
I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones
Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace
poke and **** & tap and touch my face
and then proceed to leave without a trace
with no hint of knowledge of my medical case
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl
I begin to chant in a simple rhythm
as small as a ball I begin to curl
I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism
The dead silence creeps inside my brain
I want to scream to fill the deadly gap
but the cold thick air of silence brings pain
I comfort myself and say it will be ok
My breathing begins to quicken
my eyes dart around the room
only comfort is the fear which I am stricken
my sight goes bleary as darkness looms
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Tears sting the corner of my eyes
I want someone to hold my hand
Oh God how I want to cry
but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band
The test begins with the thickness of barium
It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus
It tastes like chalk and pandemonium
they want me to suffocate I guess
I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped
x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back
Drink more Drink more They tell me to do
Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Even more poking and prodding ensues
but of my stomach, ribs and *******
I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch
I grow weary of this tiresome rues
The tests are done
and the coast is clear
I am left alone
to dress myself in fear
Dismissed and discharged to walk away
they file my chart with a robotic smile
now for the wait of endless days
I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Pins & Needles Pins & Needles
I wait for the results
Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both??
In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
for Nick and Kaitie
1.
Yesterday, right when our call got dropped,
I was going to tell you something about marriage.
I was going to tell you something gnomic,
a maxim worth getting engraved.
I've since forgotten,
but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth,
marriage is impossible to define in verbal space.
So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words
would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter
or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact.
I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,”
though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics –
namely, at least it has the ability to take place,
and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness.
So, I'm happy our call got
dropped,
for the dial tone was
the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced.
The key word is “produced.”
2.
This is what marriage is not:
Socrates gurgling hemlock
on his dusty prison cot,
giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****
Nietzsche tenured for philology
at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching
Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology
predetermining the team for which he was pitching;
a poem; a hotdog; *******
a discharged Kalashnikov
engendering generational pain
somewhere in Saratov
circa 1942;
this is what marriage is not:
hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo,
obsessive yearnings for a yacht;
this is what marriage is not:
anything one pair of hands has wrought.
August 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
All I wanted was a cigarette.
We weren't allowed to smoke.
He knew where to go.
We swept sidewalks together.
Raked sand together.
Talked about life together.
His window was across from mine.
I think he saw me changing once.
Maybe more than once.
He was getting dishonorably discharged.
I didn't think he was a good man.
I didn't think he was a bad one, either.
It had been two weeks since I landed in Monterey.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He knew where to go.
I bought the Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He carried them with him to his room.
I didn't think anything of it.
We raked sand together.
We ate lunch together.
We watched movies together.
We sat on a makeshift bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
We drank and smoked and laughed.
I taught him Farsi and he taught me Russian.
Russian for "hello" and "goodbye."
Russian for "This is allowed."
Russian for "This is not allowed."
I think he saw me changing once.
He tried to kiss me on the cheek.
I told him no, my boyfriend wouldn't like that very much.
We smoked some more.
We drank some more.
We laughed some more.
It was 2130.
I had to be in my room by 2200.
He said not to worry, I'd be back in time.
I insisted and tried to leave.
I fell to the ground.
He didn't help me up.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He kissed me on the mouth.
I did not kiss him back.
I was immobile.
Paralyzed.
Drugged?
He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.
I did not kiss him back.
I had a boyfriend.
All I wanted was to smoke and drink and laugh.
He grabbed me by the ankles.
Pulled me over the ditch behind the army barracks by the installation fence.
I could hear soldiers coming back to their rooms.
I was paralyzed.
I always thought I would fight.
Fend him off with car keys stuffed between my fingers.
I looked up at the tree branches above me, my watch said 2147.
That was the last time I prayed to God.
There were leaves in my hair and dirt on my arms.
There was something less than a man between my legs.
It looked at me with hate in its eyes.
We swept sidewalks together.
God kicked back and swigged a PBR
while I was ***** behind the army barracks,
over the ditch by the installation fence.
He helped me up.
I couldn't stand on my own.
How sweet.
I vomited by a tree.
I was disgusted with myself and him and God.
I wanted to drown in Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He walked me to my barracks building.
How sweet.
I made it to my room by 2200.
All the girls watched me stumble down the hallway.
I was so violently alone.
Taps wailed outside the window.
I left my hat by the bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
He brought it to me the next morning.
How sweet.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
June 1st, 1998.
A child born,
A boy,
With a mop of brown hair,
And complications.
Pulse weak,
Not getting enough oxygen...
But the complications?
They were handled.
June 1st, 2003.
Blowing out your candles,
Looking forward to things to come.
Like being the ring bearer in your parents' wedding.
June 1st, 2005.
Forfeiting your birthday wish,
Because your wish is coming true.
Your brother is born July 26th.
June 1st, 2012.
Looking back on middle school,
And ahead on the monster known as high school.
June 1st, 2013.
Looking back on freshman year,
And celebrating 6 months with the first girl you ever loved.
You're positive she's the one.
June 1st, 2014.
Looking back on sophomore year,
Relishing the thought of being an upperclassman,
Yet still mourning the loss of your first love almost a year before, on June 26th.
June 1st, 2016.
Going to the meeting and signing the paperwork.
Feeling more pride than ever in your life.
You leave for basic training in August.
Little do you know, you will be medically discharged in November of the next year.
June 1st, 2018.
I will look back on all I have done.
My failures most of all.
Because they're all I have.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
-10-
Regular Albert Whisker,
FE Squadron,
born 1939,
joined up at 18.
First time away from home and loving it, sir!
-9-
One day,
I’m just minding my own
at the airbase in Stranraer
when two officers appear
out of nowhere
and they ask
they ask if I’d fancy a long weekend?
Why not? I say.
Why not?
-8-
We’re staying at the Governor Clinton Hotel,
It's in New York.
Everything laid on.
Trip to Broadway and all.
Three whole days of paradise
All on the MOD.
-7-
Oh Gor Blimey!
What a sight when we stepped off the flight
onto Christmas Island for the first time.
Crushed white coral dust.
Like nothing I’d ever seen.
-6-
Our job is mainly to just do our job
which is mainly just military driving.
Land-rovers, lorries, tankers and that.
And avoiding the island ***** -
three times a day, they'd all crawl up the beach -
but they didn’t pay us for that.
-5-
Someone showed me their diary today
and it had a letter ‘H’ under today’s date.
So I’m working on the beach
when the tannoi sounds:
“Sit down and cover your eyes.
Testing will begin in five, four…”
-4-
And there was light.
A flash right through your skin and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard.
A flash.
Through your skin and bones and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard in all my life.
-3-
Then it was over.
Nothing much changed.
-2-
Except the mushroom cloud was there for quite a time.
And the Canberra bombers, the white ones, they flew through the cloud like little spores.
-1-
Then one day they just said “You’re done”
and we queued up to fly home to England.
Saw the new ones, the ‘moonies’, getting off the plane.
Sad to leave I was, yeah.
It was a good posting.
And nice weather, never rained,
Not rain at any rate.
Then, not long after, I was sent home for good.
They said I’d caught a cancer off a someone and
for me own good
I had to be discharged.
-0-
Sad really.
It was a good posting.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
Through the serendipity of a naive act,
A mere rumour of the bygone tale.
Perceived by a small offense,
Was the story of Riverdale.
A machine of parts and *****
Built for an arithmetical crusade,
Channeled with high voltage,
The tool for every complex barricade.
For science has toyed with his destiny,
For his life was a written code,
For his face was made of metal alloy,
For his troubles laid on the same road.
For his calculations were neat as heaven,
As his binary numbers were perfectly synch,
Like the sun rising on an early day,
Like the rain falling on the same clay.
But the story took a seismic turn,
His mind was on a number's high,
When like lightning came she,
A thunderstorm from a clear sky
A mermaid out of the blue sea,
She touched his metal face,
For she had seen none of like him.
But that touch created a little spark,
In the metal heart out of chances that slim.
As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave,
For the metal mind felt the aura,
For the metal body moved to dance,
For Riverdale loved that girl,
For she was his fading chance.
But do the humans understand love?
I doubt they do, for the metal heart,
Was driven out from the lands.
For his story never had a start.
The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain,
For his metal heart rusted in vain.
Over his kingdom of broken dreams,
Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign.
As his metal body rusted away,
In the aura of an insane world,
Where love is a jewellery reserved,
For this misery has now unfurled,
He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
Discharged outlet,
Putrid vapours released,
Asphyxiating, foul scent.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Your words are precision Bombs from slow junkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.
They hit smoke at best.
The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years the shards.......
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,
The sarcasm of your arsenic love language.
Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. falters
Awaiting hope in pirated waters.
Our love is war
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
You wait on the smooth and shiny floor
of the arrival area with mixed feelings,
you're a groom expecting his bride
to be led to him slowly and unscathed
on the sliding plastic pieces of carousel.
You think about how relieved you are
for making it out of the plane,
how you managed to mumble
an indistinct farewell to
the pretty flight attendants
that filled your in-flight fantasies.
Then you also think about
the last time you came through this airport
and your luggage did not arrive;
how the uncountable footsteps
and phone calls yielded nothing.
That's when little beads of sweat
begin to flock on your brow.
The first few luggage are discharged
through the small opening in the wall,
arriving with subdued fanfare on the carousel.
An all black Samsonite cruises by,
followed closely by a blue Nike sports bag
that puffs out its chest as if in a military parade.
Then a green and white plaid bag drifts by
and you wonder if the owner is from Ghana
or perhaps a proud Nigerian.
The plastic draped Travelpro catches your eye,
half torn to shreds - a good reminder
of the hazards of cargo handling.
Four minutes go by
and you've become a detective
swiftly and skilfully scanning the bags
as they drive by in their solemn procession.
Then you spot that red and black duffel bag
wearing your Mum's purple ribbon
and your eyes instantly light up.
Your cheeks push up in delight
and your lips become glued
in a perpetual clown smile.
As it moves close and you pick it up,
you notice the early rays of light
that have begun to filter in
through the concrete slits in the wall.
Suddenly you realize:
what a great day it is!
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
Atmospheric rage,
Luminous obscurity.
Discharged sky barrage,
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
1) Mental hospitals are more like dramas/comedies than horror
films. When people think of psych wards they think of criminally
insane people rocking back and forth, talking to their imaginary
friends and throwing chairs. Don't get me wrong, there's some of
those. But most of us just do word searches, color, joke about
serious things.
2) We aren't monsters, we are your brothers, your daughters, your
mother, your co-worker we are just regular people who have lost
our way and need some help finding the path again
3) I am closer to people I knew for 2 weeks than I will ever be with
anyone on the outside. Yes we all call it the outside
4) Sometimes talking to people who understand what you're going
through is more therapeutic than the actual therapy groups. This
is not to say that the doctors there are crap it is just to say that no
matter how much they read and listen they will never truly
understand what it feels like unless they have been there and we
can tell who has been there, they go the extra mile to make us
feel like people
5) It's not a vacation, it's not fun, it's not an escape from the real
world. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is work.
6) Everyone in there is a person in unbearable pain but it isn't just a
bunch of people sitting around crying. We go from group to
group and then color and go to bed nothing about it is really fun
but you get used to it
7) The mental hospital is like a camp for empty people, just like a
band camp we can all relate to each other and makes you feel
less alone
8) Getting discharged it a great feeling because you are free, but it
is also completely terrifying, in the hospital it's safe, people get it,
there is always someone to talk to and now you're all alone
9) Just because I've spent 7 and a half weeks in a mental hospital
over 2 stays doesn't mean I am fixed there is no cure for my
illnesses and that's just the way it is
10) We are not who you think, the kindest people I've ever met
were also the ones hurting the most.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
Carry me out
Into the wind and the sunshine,
Into the beautiful world.
O, the wonder, the spell of the streets!
The stature and strength of the horses,
The rustle and echo of footfalls,
The flat roar and rattle of wheels!
A swift tram floats huge on us . . .
It's a dream?
The smell of the mud in my nostrils
Blows brave--like a breath of the sea!
As of old,
Ambulant, undulant drapery,
Vaguery and strangely provocative,
Fluttersd and beckons. O, yonder--
Is it?--the gleam of a stocking!
Sudden, a spire
Wedged in the mist! O, the houses,
The long lines of lofty, grey houses,
Cross-hatched with shadow and light!
These are the streets . . .
Each is an avenue leading
Whither I will!
Free . . . !
Dizzy, hysterical, faint,
I sit, and the carriage rolls on with me
Into the wonderful world.
2.3k
cast out
chucked away
deep-sixed
discarded
discharged
disposed of
expelled
flung aside
thrown down
jettisoned
deserted
jilted
vacated
left in abdication
aggravated
outcast
rejected
eliminated
forgotten
given up
godforsaken
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT
[Dedicated to George Cecil Jones]
At last an end of all I hoped and feared!
Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard.
Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
I doubt me soerly if the hermit heard.
To all God's questions never a word he said,
But simply shook his venerable head.
God sent all plagues; he laughed and heeded not,
Till people certified him insane.
But somehow all his fellow-luntaics
Began to imitate his silly ticks.
And stranger still, their prospects so enlarged
That one by one the patients were discharged.
God asked him by what right he interfered;
He only laughed and into his elfin beard.
When God revealed Himself to mortal prayer
He gave a fatal opening to Voltaire.
Our Hermi had dispensed with Sinai's thunder,
But on the other hand he made no blunder;
He knew ( no doubt) that any axiom
Would furnish bricks to build some Donkeydom.
But!-all who urged that hermit to confess
Caught the infection of his happiness.
I would it were my fate to dree his weird;
I think that I will grow an elfin beard.
2.3k
(Hebrews, iv.2)
Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.
The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
"Behold, I bear your sins away."
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
2.2k
She breaths octane
gas polluting my heart,
and paralyzes my emotions,
love straining to restart.
Blue blistering toes,
pneumonia-driven prose,
she aches the bone inside of me
delivering a cold.
Moving towards
my aching soul,
she finds my
emptiness, tenfold.
Gaseous toxic dust
confides within my lungs,
her selfish evil breath fills me,
permanent distrust.
She drinks blood through
my straw-thin veins,
detracts my serenity;
swallows it all the same.
Disfigured masterpiece discharged
and broken on a hospital cart,
you're jealousy tears me apart,
I wait for the autopsy chart...
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 8:53 PM UTC
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she
struggles to intubate a cat.
I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage,
pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than
practitioners are with humans—
hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,
the sternum sore.
Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was
opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.
After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and
walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week.
Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue
after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.
The flip of the coin. The thin line. The blessing or the curse.
The absolute darkness of a body bag. The cold chill of absolute zero.
The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the
light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the
brain shoots off minutes before death.
The eleventh hour,
isn’t that what it’s called?
We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.
We have to, but it won’t register.
After a loss, after a trauma,
we are on autopilot.
I think of my mother,
six feet beneath frozen soil in
a pink padded casket and think:
I don’t want that.
I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out
next to her in an above ground crypt and think:
I don’t want that.
Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.
Putrefied flesh. Bones visible. Muscles eaten. Tissues disintegrated.
We don’t talk about it.
We try to think the opposite. The positive vs the negative.
(But that’s not always possible or healthy.)
I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking
blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes
on a clipboard in the back of the room.
I couldn’t do these things.
My hands tend to break what they touch.
The glass bowl in the pet store.
The clay project in art class.
The succulents, the basil, the orchid.
I’m good at things I don’t have to think about:
good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,
good at trauma.
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
Dude! Disco dancing dogs devouring Dill duds
Digging ducks drew dreads
dreaming don't devour drool
Decked duet
Dimples dandylion deftness
Drink dead danimals.
Discharged!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
My brother doesn't see what he is doing
Only calling when he wants something
So needy, when I need you more than as a convenience.
I cannot give you more than I have.
I gave you my support when you joined the military
When they discharged you for hearing loss
I held your head as you cried and told me that you had no worth.
I remember when you were small before your growth spurt, when people picked on you--when I picked on you.
I am truly sorry, maybe it is my fault you are this way....
You are a gentle giant some days, helping disabled children ride horses or help with large workloads.
Yet you treat others so badly on most days
You bully our mother
Cuss the man that stepped in
As our own father left us
I hope this is simply a phase to grow out of.
You act as though you are a freak,
And you must fight anyone and everyone to prove your worth.
You proved to me the night that I was ***** that you can be a man.
You were only ten back then, but you slung your fist at him so hard I heard bones crack.
I want that man as my brother, the man I know that you are capable of being.
Why are you so arrogant?
Why do your friends treat you as a god because you are abnormally tall?
Does it make you feel good to put others down?
I hope you see the error of your ways, before you look around at all the bridges you've burned, and you suddenly realize you are on an island completely alone.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Yes, we have been discharged from The Law,
but we’re not freed from our responsibility;
as Children of Almighty God, we acknowledge
the duties of our spiritual accountability.
We’re to be obedient to the Spirit’s prompts
and not blindly to a codicil of written rules;
the framework of Godly principles assists us,
when circumstances of Life suddenly turn cruel.
The underlying difference is when perspective
changes from a slave to one of His servants;
with a proper mindset and divine viewpoint,
we become… the embodiment of His new covenant.
Are we just disregarding the old regulations
or are we redefining them by Love’s Salvation?
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Rom 7:6
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I am not praising you,
With any unwanted words.
Whatever I come across,
I just write in few words.
My pen cannot remain idle,
It just feel like writing down few verses, which I cannot tell on ones face directly.
He is a man with a passion for his work, so dedicated to his work.
With flattery words one cannot win him ever.
Send him birthday wishes, he will never love.
But with what dedication you do the work, only pleases him ever.
There cannot be any explanations for the excuses if any.
Just in plain words speak the truth.
His eyes are too sharp to judge you perfectly.
His memory is too sharp and
Blessed with great sense of humor.
Shaking hands meeting eyes to eyes,
His eyes speak of boldness.
Blended with beautiful qualities of,
Self Disciplined and inner strength.
He can sail through any storms,
which he had proved many times.
His strictness may not be liked,
as a man of disciplines.
He is a man full of life and charms.
A man, who has the courage to do the right thing.
But I will never tell,
Who you are.
I love to praise the qualities,
Whatever my eyes see,
What ever I hear,
For I know the person.
It's the plain truth I am writing,
Regarding him in my verse.
He may not read my verses,
so boldly I can write regarding him.
If someone asks who is he,
For, I will never tell.
For it can be you
or anyone who comes with
these qualities ever.
I have never seen a man, just took few hours of leave for his surgery.
Surprise it was that he directly he went to office the moment he was discharged.
So dedicated to work.
All I can tell is,
He is a rare person with so many qualities I have ever met.
Yes, I do respect him and his qualities, which he owns.
He is a unique man of rare with lots of achievements.
God Bless Him with best of health and happiness always!
Thank You!
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
*r EVOL ution
uncoils slowly by the fire
pondering of profound-flickering in the reverse-sparks
within the pupils of shifting-light*
1.
love(r) dips deep within a hardy fire-maker from another sky
body recycled and soul carried on
mind unlike any other
it’s simply a matter of Time.. holding that rusty-key of long ago
entrusted to a cavorite-place behind silent-wells whose treadle-functions heaven forgot
2.
yet what counts highest sits on a ledge of paradox
as happiness falls short upon the threshold of fornever and never after
there are tumult-fears to overcome
and it needs time, once again
as hearty does beseech temporal-cogs to ensure one full revolution
thanks are not enough for things that words fail to express
no specific thing to pin-point
of the immense power the discharged-missile holds
who is ever the same person in the marching of months?
3.
exponential growth is combustion understated and surreal-excitement catches
to find traction in the whistling wind.. only a quarter-whisper away
it has instead.. been phenomenally unreal
.. can't explain it
.. won't deny it
4.
the full idea has near-outgrown its twin-seal flanks
that choices came shaking.. aghast and
dripping its magenta-fury in heavy-drips upon the sand
half-spilling lava-filled cups of ire
near the camp-side
grabbed it by the lapels
shaking – I love you so
now, why can’t you say it?
why won’t you declare it?
what holds your yellow-ass back so?
5.
there's a power-burst in the trajectory-whirligig here..
can’t be stopped, won’t be stopped
burnt offering rises up in a scathing-hiss
and exudes such a sweet-cleansing
of
semi-cinnamon and subtle ginger
*and.. love is but a word whose letters
lie
in the sand*
S T – 11 nov 2013
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
"what do you think I should do?"
you looked in between your fingers and said to me
don’t be her cigarette
don’t let her light you up when there’s nothing to do and
put you out once she’s bored.
don’t be the aftertaste of chemicals in her mouth.
don’t be the black **** she spits onto the sidewalk.
don’t be convenient.
don’t be one of twenty in a pack of Marlboros.
so I left her.
you always knew what to say.
I never would have guessed that two months later
I would call you crying to say goodbye
hoping you would at least make a half assed attempt to care
with my phone in my left hand
and a handful of pills overflowing in my shaking right,
I never could have guessed you would’ve answered
with a complaint about how I woke you up.
I landed in the E.R.
like a skydiver lands in the ocean—
fumbling to unbuckle yourself from the parachute
sinking heavy in the salt water
being dragged down by the very fabric that was supposed to save me
trying to claw your way back up to the surface
like desperately clawing at the ceiling of your coffin
like lungs about to burst
like vision blurred
I was drowning
the thing that was supposed to save me
sunk me.
I sat under the florescent lights
that first night
wondering if you had called back
knowing you hadn’t
the whole week I picked at the white bracelet on my wrist
“female, 5’6”, 115 pounds, INPATIENT.”
While wondering if you cared
but knowing you don’t
But hoping you did
because it’s hard to hear for months the
“I’m not going anywhere
I love you
I’m right here
Call whenever you need it
at 3 in the morning or at 3 pm
you don’t need a reason to call if you
want to call just to hear my voice call.
we have something special
and I hope we never loose it
you’re my best friend
I was meant to have met you”—
********
You were my parachute.
The message I had from you
when I got discharged from the psych ward was:
“I have a lot going on and won’t be able to reply much.”
You always know what to say.
You pulled me under
you, heavy fabric
you, life-saving-invention
you, malfunctioned son of a *****
you—chain-smoker.
I have been one of twenty in her pack of Marlboros.
And now I’m one of twelve in your pack of Camels.
I've since quit smoking.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC