"eli" poems
© Sid Eli Theo
Please meet me now
I forever want to see your pretty face
Because beauty is within my eyes and I see you
as this pretty thing
Tell me more, I want to hear your voice
as you say out loud you aren't even
ready
I ignore it and still look at you with gleaming eyes
I want a kiss
I put my arms around you
And ask what do you think I am thinking
As I hold on tight
And go in for the kiss
But you push away and say no.
No. Is my answer.
I am not a pretty little thing.
I am someone looking for something
to connect with this feeling
that life is ending soon
and we are all just souls
holding on to the edges of the melting ***
looking for sincerity.
Learn boundaries folks, no one wants a pushy creep.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
His jealousy is like a poison in my blood
I can feel my limbs getting heavy
in my attempts to ease it
but it just gets stronger.
My limbs are like dead weight
sinking sinking deeper
drowning in the water
unable to rise
unable to feel.
I fall to the ground
so deep I can feel the hounds of hell breathing
breathing me in
the way I breathed in the smell of my coffee
the smell of his blackberry tea.
He prefers tea to coffee
it has a better taste to him
he only likes iced coffee.
His presence has gone silent
he no longer speaks.
I don’t hear from him
he’s done
he just disappeared.
It’s like it never happened.
I never watched him play
with his tea cup after it was gone.
He never kissed me.
He kissed me...
Maybe he did have a right to be jealous of him.
Maybe it made sense...
I just don’t know.
I wish his presence would come back.
I enjoy talking to him
seeing him
being around him.
But I also enjoy being around the other.
How can I expect him to not be jealous
when I know how he feels,
but I still tell him when I hang out with another guy?
Like Eli and his blackberry tea
his blackberry tea and my coffee.
My coffee I sipped at to make the moment last longer.
I’d been so scared he wouldn’t like me.
I was already wondering why he wanted to hang out with me
he’s a freshman in college I'm a sophomore in high school.
The only conversations we had before then
was always about poetry
poetry
poetry
poetry.
But what did I do?
Why did he just stop?
All I did was say I couldn’t hang out that night.
He asked at eleven at night.
I was already lounging around.
I was watching movies.
I had to work in the morning.
Why did he wait till eleven at night to ask?
I was free all day
but he waits till its dark and I can’t leave.
Why does that give him reason to ignore me?
I guess two can play at that game
but its a little harder on my end.
When you’re already being ignored its hard to ignore them
especially when you just want them to talk to you.
Talk to me.
Talk to you.
What am I talking about?
If he messaged right now
we all know I’d answer.
What’s a girl to do
when she wants to be around the person
that’s ignoring her?
Before you ask
no, I don’t like him like that
at least I don’t think
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I think.
I don’t know anything.
I don’t know me.
I don’t know you.
I don’t know her .
and I apparently don’t know him either.
But I know the other.
He’s still there
watching quietly in his jealous stupor.
He’s still talking to me
but that has made no difference.
Especially when he quotes my own poems back to me
“‘This inexpressible, uncontrollable feeling’
*for you
you
only you
no one else
just you*”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
how does he expect me to respond?
I don’t even know anymore!
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
I sit by and think of you
Eccentric yet beautiful, shy too
Vibrant aquamarine color blue
Human chemistry never looked so good
Eli Junior(c)
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
I put my Prayer in THOT…
And Now it is in Heaven
I put my Prayer In LIFE…
And Now It Knows a Happiness!
I Put My Prayer in Hope….
And Now my Faith Reveals Me…
I Put My Prayer in Love...
And Now It Knows Humanity…
I put My Prayer in Silence
And NOW the Vision Breathes again
I put my Prayer in Stillness
And feel my Hearing fall away.
I put my Prayer in Feeling
and hear the Voice begins Again
I put My Prayer in Loving
And My Eyes are Lifted Higher..
I Ask for what is Living...
I’m Shown the Pen of Peacefulness
It writes for Eli Wiesel..
and Calls the Words of PEACE..
I hear the sound of Beauty
that sings the sound Sibelius
It writes the Song of Welcoming
That plays the Perfect Peace
I turn to SEE the Mission:
The Treaty of Invisible
IT SEE's the Unseen beings
and brings them to this Home
We join at Heavens Table
that shares the Worlds and Galaxy
that sets down all the guidelines,
for Living in the Light
I hear the Sound of Bodhi
And turn to Search for Witnessing
I ask for God's companions,
not 1 but 2 for strength
We stand within PRESENCE
This Task is CLEAR
Now hear the Sound Sibelius
and Know the Vision Peace.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Igor was torn between casting
the body of a girl
or young woman,
that was merely sexually attractive -
or whether to employ a procession
of young nubiles as secretaries;
now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan,
he needed a girl or young woman
who was sexually mature;
possibly even suitable for marriage;
sexually mature; sexually attractive,
desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;
informally, beddable:
Ivan constantly surrounded himself
w/ a posse of nubile young women,
to forget, that's what Eli needed to do;
mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis
‘marriageable,’ from nubere,
to cover or veil
oneself for a bridegroom;
from the nubes the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’
of a child bride;
[risqué]
photos of coeds of the
fifties & those of
| _sex-trafficked nubiles_
from last week; |
glamour isn't glamorous;
as GMO skanks get injected
w/ female growth hormones
just in case they
decide to
to be mothers someday
slightly indecent or liable
to shock, especially by being sexually
suggestive; "risqué humor" ribald,
rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** ****
earthy, indecent, suggestive,
improper, naughty, locker-room;
****** ***** ****** crude, adult,
coarse, obscene, lewd, ******
blue, raunchy; off-color
"risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,
_past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
_New York
after a trip to Mexico, & not finally explored_.
In 1991, shortly before he died,
Motherwell
remembered a "conspiracy of silence"
regarding Paalen´s innovative role in the genesis of Abstract Expressionism.
Upon return from Mexico, Motherwell
spent time developing his creative principle
based on automatism:
"what I realized was that Americans
potentially could paint like angels, but that there
was no effective creative principle around,
so that everybody
who liked modern art was copying it;
Gorky was copying Picasso;
******* was copying Picasso;
De Kooni
ng was copying Picasso;
I mean, I say this unqualifiedly,
I was painting French intimate pictures or whatever:
All we needed was a creative principle,
I mean something that would mobilize this capacity
to paint in a creative way, & that's what Europe
had that we
hadn't had;
we had always followed in their wake
& I thought of all the possibilities
| [ ], [ ]
of free association—because I also had
a psychoanalytic background
& I understood the implications of—let's just say it
might be the best chance
to really make something entirely
new which everybody agreed was the thing to do;"
Thus, in the early 1940s, Robert Motherwell
played a significant role in laying the foundations
for the new movement of
Abstract Expressionism (or the New York School):
"Matta wanted to start a revolution, m [a movement w/in
Surrealism].
He asked me to find some other
American artists that would help start a new movement;
it was then that Baziotes
& I went to see ******* & de Kooning
& Hofmann & Kamrowski & Busa & several other people;
& if we could come with something;
Peggy Guggenheim, who liked us said that she
would put on a show of this new business;
... so I went around explaining _the theory of automatism_
to everybody because _the only way_
that you could have a _move - - - ment_
was that it had some _common_
_principle_. It sort of all began that way."
In 1942 Motherwell began to exhibit
his work in New York and in 1944
he had his first one-man show at
Peggy Guggenheim’s _“Art of This Century”_ gallery;
that same year, the MoMA
was the first museum
purchase one of his works; From the mid-1940s,
Motherwell [ ], [ ]. ( )
became the leading spokesman
for _avant-garde art in America_;
his circle coming to include
William Baziotes,
David Hare, Barnett Newman, & Mark Rothko,
with whom he eventually started the Subjects of the Artist School (1948–49). In 1949 Motherwell divorced
Maria Emilia Ferreira y Moyeros and in 1950 he married Bettie
Little,
with whom he had two daughters
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
Here’s the story of a guy named Eli,
Who is captain of the G men and well known.
He had a ring of gold, from the desert,
but it was all alone.
Here’s the story of a man named Brady
who was living large with three rings of his own.
He’s a hero, up in New England,
and has Gisele at home.
Till the one night when this Eli met this Brady
And they knew that it was much more than a hunch.
that Cruz would dance and Gronk would come up limping.
That’s the way that Eli ate Tom Brady’s lunch.
Tom Brady’s lunch, I played my hunch
that’s the way that Eli ate Tom Brady’s lunch.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 5:31 AM UTC
Here there be Giants,
wearing red and white and blue.
See them raise the trophy;
Eli's Lombardi number two!.
Tom Brady had a final chance
to make the winning score.
A Giant knocked the ball away
as time ran out our spirits soared!
The hats and shirts they hoped
to sell, up in Patriot nation,
now are Nicaragua bound,
to Tommy's consternation.
those perfect season T shirts
were worn threadbare after four.
Now that you've provided new ones-
they're not needed anymore.
So Mister Brady, please don't cry
by most measures, you've done well.
Eli's off to Disneyland-
Go home and sack Gisele.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 5:41 AM UTC
With the sleeping silence of moth
He walks, in this dead morning,
like a winner of the yesterday.
steps up from the sinking hills
drags his heavy shoulder,
carries the soul of today.
The gloomy sunlight of dawn,
shines for him. He witnessed a flood of
the last moon,
In dark night.
With the dogs' howl, face is staring to up.
He doesn't look back,
far back, the villages of ghosts,
He crossed.
The festival of blood ends.
with the red moon.
The flower of wind of east
bruises wounds of his now.
He, immersed from the sweats in many moons.
He sang the songs of tomorrow,
red and silky. He harvests the flower
of sand.
In his hand, kept a treasure,
the dust of last wood.
The cold face is rising now,
with the disappearance of the last firefly.
Like the winner of yesterday,
He swipes sweats, seeks for Eli.
The compassion and vengeance
holds in the grail.
In the dream, He kissed the illusion.
swam in the sea of Milkyway.
He solemnly pierced the flower of the hurricane,
in his blue heart.
And claimed the meaning of nothing.
In the foreign land, He emptied the bag
of the voyage.
The footstep in the snowy path, cracking
the silence of manhood.
Then, he loved the selfishness of
his lover,
He is brave to not to return.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC
Ivan had completely lost it;
Teenage Satan in town
to see his father
for money;
Eli hated this kid;
a minor prophet
in his own scene;
Hel kept a photo
of Satan stuck to
her mirror; mirrors
going out of
style & magic making
a comeback;
drinking [Ivan could've
sworn the kid was dead
it was bad news that he
showed his face at all;
Ivan would've sworn he
was dreaming: pressing
in on the scared kid,
& growling in his face:
"I watched u die in the
gutter, u rotten *******
Ivan had indeed been there
when the satanic | kid got run over
by the yellow cab driving
headlong into hell;
[Ivan's blackouts increased after that]
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
Summer's still here, it's nearing fall
Worldwide excitement, it's FOOTBALL!
This season starts the fans are wild
Time for the game, the players are riled
All in orange, tailgating before
Manning takes field, the crowd they roar
Toss the coin, we will receive
Want ball at half, won't deceive
They punt real high just watch it soar
Takes a knee, the twenty, no more
The blazing sun, outside it's hot
Cold beer and dogs, the fans they bought
The first pass is incomplete
Groans from throng and stomping feet
The second play, under control
Our running back finds a huge hole
First down their forty yard line
Thus far we are doing fine
The ball snaps and Peyton drops back
Four man rush, he's down for the sack
One more pass it's intercepted
To the fans this is unexpected
Out comes the opposing team
What's this, for Manning they scream
It's Eli in his red, white and blue
This is too much, you feel it too
Brothers face off in a game
Greatness is all in the name
Both teams run, tackle, hit hard and pass
Tied game, seconds left, do we come in last The field goal squad must do their best
Prader lines up, misses all in jest
OVERTIME :-)
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Eli tossed the ****** novel aside; a radical tale
of painters in the far future when paint itself
would be illegal; arms dealers, drug traffickers,
*** workers gathering in dark interstellar holes
bored into passing comets & orbiting meteors
docking illegally at satellite ports & unloading
chemicals frozen into place by the artists
who can never let their identities be known;
all colors on earth are registered & trade marked
by the Beast's Corporation & so Space Art is
highly sought & lucrative but lethal as it can
made to explode w/ enough energy & radiation
to leave a small planet barren for millions of years;
the Beast is reasonably worried as Space Art, or
Action Painting [after the ancient school] is wildly
popular & traded openly for billions of dollars;
the Beast may be able to keep everyone stupid
& greedy but Art liberates them into heights of
ecstasy & kindled wisdom; freedom of thought
the last frontier no one suspected & so abrogated
their intelligence & imagination to fembots
who pump their heads full of colorful action sequences;
the illegal paintings too stiff, just stand or lean
& look back at one w/out blinking
& the female-computer-network unable to bear the silence,
initiates automatic shut-down of itself; femportals
abandoned on stations where the painted images
projected on microcells to the clandestine buyers,
spread as an unseen mist through the various
artificial environments;
the distant star paint miners
smoking up a storm & using steam-powered
fembots
to mine for their oil & charcoal;
Eli putting on the kettle for tea,
thinks about the fembots in the novel & calling a **********
demands she not speak; the girl arriving naked in stockings
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
The book of poetry
has a page in every book,
It's not found in any registry
and it has no special look.
The book of poetry
Is inferior to the Bible.
But its mainly about artistry
Any has no verses of trouble.
The book of poetry
Is similar to the Book of Eli
It keeps secrets of our ancestry
Buried deep in the kingdom of Mali.
The book of poetry
Recognizes the Koran
Yet has no creed or authority
And places no restriction on any man.
The book of poetry
Transcends every bestseller
Yet no one has right over its intellectual property
And it belongs to every poet, every reader, and writer.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
That frat boy’s
Bill Nye
Bowtie
Has got me thinking
Do kids these days
Even know who Bill Nye is?
Or **** Van ****
Or Andy Griffith?
Some of my heroes from way back when
Is Eli Wallach
Ever going to ride his horse
Steal corn from Mexican villages again?
Do kids these days even know food comes from the earth
Not from a can?
I can’t imagine growing up
Inside
Except to watch Bill Nye
The science guy
And play Oregon trail
Home alone
On Friday nights
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.
Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy… SwOosh. Hush!
Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
“I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide. As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.
_TRF
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
I.
I wake up, wake up, as if
hearing the solitary leaves fall
in the breeze
in this late night:
Is that you? My pulse,
freezes for a moment.
Or just
a face in the crowd?
Did you not die?
or did I
wish you out of my life?
Is this, a nightmare?
Or just
my fragmented plane?
II.
Come, friend, let me inspect your wounds:
ah, have they healed well!
You have always been
a sort of miracle-worker.
What was the need for all that pain then?
Oh those carefree
days bygone of Nazareth!
Where we learned
to chisel our destiny.
And ran after severed kites floating away
in the dust winds.
What was
his name who we learned
Aleph from?
III.
Oh this pain:
of life, growing out,
growing out
like a sapling out of
a crack crumbling
out of an ancient wall:
do the skies weep out
in commiseration now at our fate?
I hugged an ideal;
and now I am outcasted.
And I am outcasted.
IV.
Do you hang on your
Tesseract
my friend, broadcasting
your assumed pain about
in the four dimensions?
I know them four well.
Three of space
and the fourth, of pain:
pain, concealed, hidden
in our
cursed world of normal dimensions
V.
Who do we change?
Do we change?
Isn't all change death?
Die, die, I die:
Die, friend! Die, Relation!
And now
in the darkness I am awake
counting
the shadows of falling leaves.
Why am I alone
in this deep night? Where kin
mine own? Is that you,
that face, the
face I saw in the crowd?
Did you not die? I heard of it.
Never gathered the courage
to come, see for myself.
VI.
What was
his name who we learned of
Eli and Abraham from?
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC
things are going beautifully; the light is black
the head of a poet; his dead face filled w/ space;
white & dark, big & hot golden years
on the green earth's fertile body
[the - age - of - **** - & - snooch -
in - art - & - thought];
her feet browning in the sun
**** this place
& this small room, where things |
the living Jesus wrote are too ******* young
to be committed to the left-wing
poetry of hard queens;
the poets' nouns, America's ancient war
of the mind lost among the real stars who
knew how to find
her long, | clean, | | hair made of
the flames of hell calling the moon; she
called me instead;
drunk & told me the
German blue universe's [ ] green money hand
was thinking of death; she was a
baby female abandoned to the streets &
Eli is great w/;
kids: door: leading to her ***** [living]
just below her heart:
beneath an invisible sky: | *****
future beauty Medusa lives - [ ] in the sea of blood
& words
wanted to go walking, calling in three Madonnas;
coming
[inside - *** - city - goddess]
whore's children true hands are pink
w/ fire; her open-minded ugly son heard [this]
yeh, I'd better write about the old cat's high times
[bad - holy - american - dream - poem]
the guy's Greek & he's sweet
but Igor turns teenage boys
into ladies just like his wife;
fully blaming their cold fathers
for the truth beneath their human days
the boy was kind of late;
although his mouth was gay - -
keeps rock
star heaven: history: born to work
I hear u & drink to the new century
[stone wild; Eve finally feeling
her wet skin in the first [ ] person
& [ ] leaving the [ ] blonde child
wet set in the middle of the street
Barbie in the window | dancing beside | [the souls of lost mothers]:
the perfect dark matter of the deep
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
Igor found himself producing the hot new reality podcast
about the first [known] father-son transgender family;
he only produced the pilot then left the States in disgrace
after homophobic thugs attacked the set & beat down
the cast & crew in a ****** riot captured live on multiple
hi-def cameras from the multiple angles
already set up for the extravagantly
over budgeted podcast [his master footage recorded
on multiple flashdrives
hidden all over his person - the podcast project
went ahead w/out him backed
by lucrative corporate funding, Igor editing
the original material into his next feature;
Eli lowered the tinted window & passed Igor the Cuban,
Igor lighting it on his way around to the passenger side;
YA ne mogu ostat'sya v Rossii, he says; why's that?
asks Eli, lighting his own cigar & driving off;
Boleye poloviny prestupnikov - gey; Eto stanet khorosho
izvestno; Eli waswatching the street, scouting for new talent;
u can't worry about that kind of **** Igor. u showed people
what those ******** are really about - - a bunch of angry ****
w/ shaved heads,
who knew; opening the sun roof,
Eli blew the Cuban's smoke
towards the Saint Petersburg sky;
Igor reclining the leather seat,
[ ] [ ], [ ]
[ ], [ ] , [ ]
[ ] [ ], [ ]
[ ],
filling his head w/ night
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC
There was a goofy green frog, Eli was his name
He danced for Princess Malia, it's how he earned his fame
She adored sitting on her throne to watch him entertain
He boogied and did back flips, he loved this little game
Eli had a tiny frog house with eveything inside
A couch, love seat, TV, a bed was double wide
He kept it very tidy with a broom, vacuum and pride
His favorite was his Fry Daddy, for flies deep fat fried
Princess Malia, of course, had a castle on the hill
Waited on, hand and foot, she only had to chill
Wore gorgeous dresses and diamond tiaras at her will
But bored with her lavish life, Eli fit the bill
At 3:30 on the dot, the small frog danced everyday
The Princess got so excited, the help did hear her say
She got seated at 3 pm and that is where she'd stay
Right on time came Eli, grooving and twisting all the way
Eli entertained...and the Princess did demand
That the frog be introduced, then he kissed her royal hand
The two became fast friends, as quick as fast friends can
She moved his tiny house into the castle, that was grand
Eli and Malia were just as tight as they could be
The frog quit entertaining, a great playmate was he
The Princess, lonely no more, was perfect for he and she
They lived happily ever after, Eli danced for free
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
This Poem Was Written By Eli, Age 7,
(Assisted By An Ancient Mariner)
Wandering around the house,
Ole Man Nat, I found in bed,
Writing a poem on his tablet.
Invited in by the Ancient Mariner,
He offered me, a rare opportunity,
Join in, he said, two heads in beds
Are always better,
Especially when writing poetry!
*The Poem:
The navy- colored deck umbrella,
Rocks back and fro,
Like a big sailboat,
Going in circles
Cloudy Sunday,
Just a pinch of blue,
Not enough to go outside,
So I am writing this bored poem
Glaring seas, small waves moving,
Gazing upon the bay,
Makes me tired and needy for
Body fuel,
It is after ten, and I have not had my
Breakfast yet!
Since I am already in bed,
Bring my breakfast to me,
Since someday I will be a
Father (and CIA agent too)
I might as well get used to it!*
**At this point Eli split,
Cause breakfast was clearly
not going to be delivered.
While it was being set up,
Throwing a football to his dad,
Was preferable to completing his
Masterpiece.**
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Shout outs to :
Mayas
Creep That Loved You
Wolf Spirit aka quinfinn
Soul Survivor
Eli
Elizabeth Squires
Aniya
Vaugue remembrance
Joe malgeri
Ember Evanescent
Aesha nisar
Weeping willow
Correna Taylor
SPT
KetomaRose
FNB
Kalypso
Wordvango
Lorena Lamas
Patty m
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
I walk through the doors,
Present the child with a tiny badge,
Yellow, white, purple, black.
I watch the smile spread across their face,
As I call them
"Captain; dear; Mx. Eli; child"
Do not tell me that they are not real
Do not tell me that they are confused
You have never known the inner workings
Of the mind of a child,
You dictate their thoughts and dreams and imaginary friends and fathers.
They are not confused
They know their mind
And they know the world they will grow up in
Will be nothing but cruel to them -
Nothing but cruelty to the little lost boys and girls and neithers,
Because if you cannot experience it then it must not be true,
And you must make up lies you imagine your father must have said
From his passive, uncaring position in the clouds,
Watching drama unfold like a game of Sims.
Tell me I'm going to hell. I'll see you there.
And never talk to my sibling like that again.
Oct 9, 2019
Oct 9, 2019 at 7:28 AM UTC
Eloquence
doe(s) not always
conve(y) what
(M)ostly (pa)rts my mouth
remember
(t)he (h)eart is
reall(y)
the most
articulate of
all
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
It happened on a Friday
Round about nine,
When He who was Divine
Bore sin-yours and mine-
And was hung upon a wooden cross
His hands and feet nailed tight
Yet none who knew His silent plight.
That within all His power and His might
Was cruxified -to bring the light-
Unjustly hung He out in sight
The one known as the King of the Jews
From the time of noon
Up until three
DarkneSs covered the sky entirely,
And with the outcry of these words:
"Eli Eli Lema sabagtani"
My God,why have Thoust forsaken me
He drew His last breath
And died-for all to See
The one known as the King of the Jews
The Temple curtain spliT in two
As He the King of the Jews died
so that We could enter
In Gods sight.
Forever after He paid the price
For me and you:
The one known as the King of the Jews
And after He had left this mortal plane
They broke not His bones
Left Him just the same,
And they laid Him to rest
In a TomB -in a cave
His life been given
His DesTiny remained-
As the Saviour to all mankind
The dead and the brave.
He had come to earth
Not to condemN-but to save:
The one known as the King -became the
Slave.
He who bore no Sin-carried ours
Just so that we could be saved
From the wrath of the Almighty
He showed us the light,
Yet died unjustly
To AnSwer our plighT
The one known as Jesus the Christ
But on the Sunday morning
He had risen triumphantly,
Over Death He had won
Yes GodS only Son-
Who one day will return
To rule up Highly
On the right hand side
Of God-Lord Almighty
Thus remember the FridAy
Through till the Sunday,
Never again will Life stay the same
For He called us each upon the name,
To teach and obey His words left behind
And to love all of all mankind.
For He died once ago a very long time
So that tHose who believe in Him
Find redemption ,salvation
From judgement and condEmnation.
He will come back someday
This much is true:
The one known as
Jesus-the King of the Jews!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
the artist, a sleepy-eyed Asian
looked startled to be so mounted;
but it was just the expression
frozen on her stiff golden face;
Becky thinking it would frighten
the children, made Eli move
it to his beach house in the Keys
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC