1214

We introduce ourselves
To Planets and to Flowers
But with ourselves
Have etiquettes
Embarrassments
And awes

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

1
five moons for earth
sometimes I wish
dear moon
sometimes I wish
the earth had five moons
and all so positioned
we can see
one every night and then in twos and in threes
never four (just so for mystery’s sake)
and then all five
all in perfect alignment once a year
just three nights so
and then we’ll all here on earth
go ga ga ga
or moo moo moo looooney
those nights and go crazy
and climb up trees and enact our ape ancestry …

and don’t you be jealous
I asked for four others;
I just want more of you –
just never seem to get enough of you


2
I see you moon
I see you moon
this cool autumn morning
you sing over the river and trees
and you are supported
by your belly-dance troupe of stars




3
ah poor moon
ah poor moon
you're just hanging around
and through no fault of your own
you attract all these weirdos
these lunatics
and the vampires and the blood-******* bats
and the sleep-walkers and murderers
and the flesh-eaters
(the moon made me do it!)
and the lunatics
and the werewolves
and even stock-pickers
and wild women who want to **** Orpheus

O poor moon
you're just about your own radiant business
and all these freaks put it at your doorstep


4
dear moon, you will understand
darling moon
dear moon
do not be offended
we have stripped you
down to rock and a plain face
and we show pictures of you
in black, gray and white;
and though a writer of verse,
in this verse,
I strip you of your romance and aura;
be not angry
for after all,
you will understand,
we are children who come after
Galileo
and Neil Armstrong



5
Li Po, the moon and me
You know
lovely moon
Li Po
was drunk
and he paddled out to you
seeing your reflection
and he jumped in to the lake
embracing you in the waters
and so he drowned;
but,
you know
loving moon,
I will not come to you thus;
instead you know my time
and you will drown
in the lake shadows of my quiet


6
in praise of the moon
I will not sing you a song of praise
O gentle moon
there are too many modern people around
too many enlightened minds tonight
they reckon they don't need your light;
there are too many elect
and too many going to Heaven
and if I sang in praise of you
they will throw their Blessed Books at me
and they will say
'You moon-worshiper, you go to hell!'
(they fancy words like idolator)

O so most divine moon
O godly moon
O most sacred moon
I shall not sing in praise of you;
there are too many bloodthirsty wolves around


7
was it you, mooon?
cold moon
I am sad;
was it you,
distant moon,
who made me so
tonight?


8
you are there moon
you are there moon;
I thought you were not
and I went to sleep
and I sighed: "She will not come, not tonight;
she has some other lover";
and I went to sleep
and then much later now I wake up
and you've come, out there
and your light full within my room
and your fingers on every cell of my being



9
you witness my dying
you witness my dying
as you see my life, my hopes and desires
and all my embarrassments
and my achievements too,
dear moon;
O quiet presence,
O radiant presence all one's life;
and what do you look at these days
in my life
darling moon
what do you see?
you who have seen the child grow old
and you hang out beaming by the window
patiently
to see one more death
to add to the countless you witness
since the day you came

10
M for Man, Money and Moon
M for moon
M for Man
M for Money;
and at last Man has seen the moonlight
and now they know
Man can make Money out of the Moon

11
Moon, I hear you are moving away
Moon, I hear you are moving away
Why moon, are you moving away?
Don’t you like your neighbor
earth so blue and green
and earthlings so adorable?
Did you not come so near
to get to know your neighbor well?
why then are you moving, moon?
maybe you’ve come to know us well
I hear you’re moving slowly,
so slowly your neighbor doesn’t notice;
how considerate of you
Anyway, I’ll be gone before you

Love everything, and everyone. Thank the grass for being a soft place to fall, and those who own the arms of your safe place to crash.
Love the girl who taunts you, love the boy who tries too hard.
Love the woman who screams that you will never make it, love the man who stares a little too long.
Do not waste too much time on loving yourself, for when you exude love you will receive it.
You must love those who do not deserve it, and all the while you will receive love you do not deserve.
For love is not a feeling, but an action.
For love is not restraining, but freeing.

2. When you start to notice your reflection, remember that it does not matter. A soul needs a home, and your home is a fine home. Your body keeps your soul safe, and warm, and fed. So worry more about what you put into your mind than your mouth, and never forget that your soul cares not of the shape of it’s home.

3. When you see someone who is in need of help, they become your obligation. The only true way to understand a person is to love them, and the best way to love a person is to serve them. There is no man or woman who was born undeserved of love, and you ought to give more than you think your heart will allow.

4. When lost, know that you do not have one sole purpose. You have many facets, and many talents. Each day you may have a different purpose, and each day it may not be a grand one, but each day it is an important one. Be open to things you did not think of yourself capable, and know that nobody cares about your embarrassments more than yourself.

5. Every day of your life you will make mistakes, and if you think that you have to right to belittle others because of theirs then honey, I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Unfair judgment hinders understanding, which hinders the most important thing of all: love.  

6. Forgive all, but do not trust all. Love all, but do not pleasure all. You are to lose yourself, to emerge yourself in the work and service of others. You are to overwhelm yourself with love and kindness, so much that it spills over. You are to give more than you have, and to take less than you need.

7. Do not worry about being happy. The search for happiness is never ending, and a path that has no destination. Lose yourself, and happiness will find you. Look for happiness, and you will lose it all.

Sometimes, when I walk alone
My mind drudges up past mistakes
Past embarrassment, past awkwardness.
It replays them all in a reel
So as I try to escape one
Another rushes in to take its place.
And I start blushing uncomfortably
Even though I’m alone.
I remember them all,
My feet move faster
Like they’re trying to escape
All these barbed memories.
I want to erase them all,
Like that Spongebob episode
Where the drawing comes to life,
And Spongebob has to erase it
With a giant, high quality,
plastic-looking eraser.
If I took all these past awkward moments,
And embarrassments, and mistakes,
And wrote them down
On crisp, 11-by-8.5 college rule,
And watched them come back to life,
Could I erase them?
Forever?
Could I erase them,
With my giant
high quality,
plastic-looking eraser?

Dedicated to you.
Fair Warning: a long road ahead*

MAJOR WARNING: Anything you say can and will be used...


Excited utterances,
Acerbic witticisms,
Utter stupidities,
Elegant inanities,
Can and assuredly will be used
Evidentially, eventually,
about you in the court of poetic justice,
as inspiration, original source material,
proofs of our collaboration
with the enemy,
whom Pogo fathomed long ago,
is us

A Vermeer-vectored light ray
will reveal with luminous clarity,
all that you have spoken,
been secret-thinking,
template of colors for future sketchers,
inspiration for future poets,
far, far better than me

this dishonorable, low repute,
poetic eavesdropper, poet-as-recorder:
revels in the smoke and ash of
absurd, common sensible trash,
the trite and tragic,
the pith and prissy,
the calm and hissy,
all your lovely revelations
of human frailty and asininity, most
adorable

that you n' I are blessed
to have combinated
in a manner most
curiously original,
now recorded in my
digital memory,
proving positive the unique,
discreet charms de notre
humanity

Even your silences are
most curious fodder,  
the sighs you sigh so hard
and yet again, even harder,
unfair game, mined as
veins of golden material
for my aquatic scribblings,
as I float downriver on
currents of compulsion
to promote vicariously,
our joint disjointedness,
our grade A, prime choice,
recombinant genetic,
absurdities

Rembrandt will honor us,
we, the Comedic Elders of the City,
paint us upright avec expressions
most suitably gravitas,
but see the poetic jester,
find him underneath the table,
in manner most levitas,
out-sticking his protubered tongue,
like a common geni-***,
a la maniere de
Einsteiny

When I cross over the Styx,
limbs turned to
potash, dust and trash,
my blush transferred to earth,
to color the good earth red,
my body eradicated yet,
our body of work extant
a written record of us,
our very own
Dead See Scrolls,
shall be an amuse bouche
for our loyal satrapped
retainers

Let the scholars
dicker and obfusicate,
delve and explicate,
each turn of phrase,
write tomes on the catacombs,
where in jar and cracked vessel discarded,
these Poems and Catechisms,
the collected processes of our mutualism,
your edicts, pronouncements and verdicts
captured as
dots and dashes,
zeroes and ones,
wait most patiently
for shepard boys to find  

You err most grievously,
if you relegate this note
to the dustbin of simple ditties.

Take these words at plain face,
and look not askance
at this fair warning,
for I am but a tragic,
empty vessel for you to fill,
you are the raconteur,
me, just a  
poet *poseur extraordinaire,
street urchin, word merchant,
all my verbally, wordly goods expropriated
from the wind,  where your scattered thoughts
lie about, carelessly,
unattended

Mock me not,
for anything you say to our chagrin,
will be fully attributed
and recorded on the Web
of long-lived embarrassments

A fevered dream you might say,
rumors and excuses of
visions of drug induced haze?
a theorem most plausible,
but the redacted versions will not conceal
that all my words were Indo-rooted in
a dialect called,
collaborative

This I pen
as apology, thank you note,
written notice, subpoena served,
for as long as you emote,
my fingertips will gleefully record
with love abundant in their artful device,
your mutterings, putterings,
and in cahooting,
right here, shall be,
wrought and wrote,
treasured and kept

Someday I’ll write a love song
About someone who knows which buttons turn me on, and which ones **** me off.
Someone who pushes both.
I’ll write about all of the romantic gestures, and the realistic embarrassments.

Candlelight dinner; even if all he knows how to make is grilled cheese.
The accidental first **** that he’ll blame on the dog.
Someday, I’ll write a real love song, and I won’t leave anything out.
Every fight, every embarrassing moment, every “I’m sorry.”
All of the ugly parts make it real, and make it beautiful.

I’ll write a love song that Disney will reject.
About having *** too soon, and promising to slow down.
Some promises are okay to break.

I’ll write about the FEAR of losing what I didn’t even have.
A Real love song.
About insecurity stopping us from getting too close.
Real Love.
About only holding on once he’s already gone.
Regretting never saying “I love you”
Real regrets.

I’ll write about him leaving.
I’ll write about a drunken:
“*******! Why don’t you love me? I’m ******* awesome!”
Real.

I’ll sing it before I ever write it.
The next verse about sleeping.
For weeks that’s all I’ll want to do.
I’ll write about missing him,
Hating him,
Wishing we had never met.

Then, someday, I’ll write about getting over you.
In the end, it will still be a love song.

I do not know what will be my fate
But I am just moving to a blind alley
Whether I am worst or may be great
Whatever is written I have to agree

My God is my savior who saves me
From all embarrassments and all odds
I never mind if I am in whirlwind ,sea
They don't harm if devils are in squads

My God save me and protect my family
We do not have any one else than you
Please make us from all troubles just free
Only you can save us and make us thru

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

I'm Tired of people telling me that I should smile in photographs
My resistance has got nothing to do with
An Attitude problem
or my attempt at
Appearing acutely fashionable
This is just the way I look
Most of the time
Shouldn’t what we choose to record
At least strive for Authenticity?
I'm just not interested in selling myself
Into the acceptable family comfort mode
Having my split-second cheery face sink in
Against The kitchen wall's
"calming" comfort scheme
To be doted on by ageing female relatives
and jovially mocked by visiting casual friends
If anything I don't want my past to be
Looked upon at all

Maybe it's the old story
of leaving home and the urge
To re-invent oneself
To Block out the old experiences, the old embarrassments
Freeing yourself to embark on a fresher tirade
of critical self-assessment
To be finally and victoriously
Free from the unsettling confines
of childhood
To engage yourself completely
in the waking,walking,working
Nightmare of maturity, responsibility
and devastating ambition.

There’s a tiny box
that sits on the shelf in his room.
So small, it rarely gets noticed.
What’s inside would shock you.
The desires he wishes
he didn’t have are in there,
next to all of the times he felt
insufficient.
Beside those, there sits all of the
embarrassments he suffered
when he chose to take his
clothes off—
the time he too quickly lost
his virginity, perhaps.
Next to his nakedness,
propped up against the far side,
is a small, sad pile of muted grey ash.
A closer look would show
all the love he freely gave
and could never get back.
And although it may never catch
the typical eye,
folded up in the dusty shadow
in the back left corner
of that tiny box
is me.
I am in this box too.
Jumbled between unwanted desires,
and intimate regrets, I wonder
if this home is my choice.
I wait for the tiny box to open;
to feel admired;
to be more than a shelved secret;
to feel a starved gaze;
to breathe fresh air.
I wait for the tiny box to open.
I wait.

dance, climb me like a tree-
stump.
rip my heart with sharp teeth.
Tth-thump. squish.

pick apart my embarrassments
like you'd pick apart my bones.
like vultures would.

i get to watch my own slow death,
you get to kiss me to death. slowly.
it's all the same.
distance suddenly makes sense.
Vivisection: i'm
sporadic neurotic
erratic ******, i'm
the smaller wheel on a tricycle, so
we get to go in circles.

i'm the fungus you can adopt!

cutting myself open, i can see what
makes me "frrrrrick."
heartache hopeful, i'm walking into
what i know are traps, what i know
is sure to hurt. i tell myself out-
loud, eyes closed, "THIS is gonna
hurt."

and i'm right. and i want more.
any and every relationship is more
and more masochism. it hurts more than
it ever heals, winds and wounds and
it musics me back to melody. hold me
hold me
hold me like
the car's gear shift, you only use me
sometimes.

For the big occasion
She's lost a pound or two
Last minute jitters playing out
Something borrowed, something blue

Posies for the bridesmaids
Flower in her hair
The thought of all those people
Gets her feeling scared

Roller waiting, protocol demands
Be ten minutes late
Line up for some memories
By the old lych gate

Holding back tears of joy
She glides the aisle in a daze
Nervous smiles exchanged
As the ***** plays

A moment's pause, new shoe shuffle
Children struggle to behave
Baby words da da da
Echo down the nave

No impediments are known
As far as we can see
No one shouts out from behind
Yeah, it should have been me!

In the nearby meadow
The big marquee awaits
Congregation filters back
Through the old lych gate

The groom pays sincerest thanks
To everyone he should
The best man airs embarrassments
As we knew he would

The band strikes up, as they dance
The car is 'modified'
Lipstick on the window
Cans and balloons are tied

It's not a worn out cliche
As the night winds down they realise
They really have just lived through
The best day of their lives

i love stumbling upon advice from wizened sages,
who'd 'semble the tao of writing decent poetry
into a clever, lengthy monologue

read years earlier (just a few), it might save me
a hundred odd embarrassments
that, today, bear my name

like the time my kid balled his fists up
'cause i said so
but got knocked down, again, by the playground bully

not a Quakerly thing to do...
i'm still learning, too
(maybe i didn't teach the right stance?)

or perhaps we learn more by our failures;
my little boy's muscular, a confident wrestler, now...
gets along with everybody - go figure

and he writes pretty good poetry  -
all by himself.

Sometimes we return to long ago conversations
where more than cross words were uttered
where protagonists squared up to one another
and arguments and insults were uttered.

And when with the benefit of hindsight,
that most magical and wondrous thing
we realise often how wrong we were
and the knowledge of embarrassments sting.

If we could just take back those words
that were aimed to wound so deep
knowing how they’d hit their mark
and said to make someone weep.

In those teenage years, how cruel we were
how very little of life we knew
how gentle and forgiving our heart’s desire
how slow the understanding – in young men grew.

I’m now a man – three score and five
a man who love has touched so deep
but I colour now as I think back
at my cruelty then and I want to weep.

For almost fifty years I've loved just one
kindness flows through her every pore
I've strived to make up for those teenage years
and she just smiles and then loves me more.

My luck has held, we've stayed the course
I pinch myself to check I can still feel
and she looks and smiles at me and I know
it’s not a dream and it’s still real.

©Joe Wilson – Teenage boys can be cruel 2014

Come fellows,
come friends,
to the circus of gnossienes,
where strikes of midnight signal our rebirth,
and from the womb of a pen,
we are ****** upon the parchment that sustains our selves,
as our hair sheds in tufts,
and our teeth dull,
we harlequin worms,
who suffer in smiles,
through geographical refuse.

We harlequin worms,
can love only ants,
who only bite and sting,
which we feel to our cores,
as we watch for the giants,
whom we are convinced,
will crush us on sight.

We harlequin worms,
essential but weak,
embarrassments to our forefathers,
refuters of shovel hypothesis,
wit is best to ignore our five hearts,
before we think ourselves human.

Harlequin worms,
proletariat of the earth,
lords of the soil, listeners of Satie,
Slaves to the insignificance of our own progress.
We shall go without want,
we will smile for thee,
the flies whom pay us no mind.

I'm sitting at home watching TV mindlessly, but something isn't right
the walls- it's as if they are closing in on me.
my breathing begins to quicken
"I need to get out of here."

waking out the door i think,
"maybe some fresh air might help? there are no walls out here"
but it doesn't; it only gets worse
my chest tightens- i need to get home fast

back in the confines of my home, i run to my room
my head is pounding, i can barely breathe properly
why is this happening?
the walls are closing in again
everything feel tight, like I'm trapped in my own skin-
my body itches and burns
and my lungs can't take in enough air
and someone is screaming inside my mind except there is no sound

i want it all to stop

but my SKIN, oh god my skin
I'm writhing and scratching but the itch won't stop
if this keeps on I'm going to go insane
it's like I'm covered in grime- like i need to shed this layer of skin

i can barely think straight
everything is too loud and silent and tight and
i need to wash this feeling off of me

i run to the bathroom and turn on the water
but the sound of my mind or lack thereof is louder than the sound of the water and i need something to drown it out-
my stereo.
i run back to my room to get it and my phone
and plug the two up
i strip off my clothes, scratching at my arms and legs and step into the shower

****!

i stand there for a minute- the water burns my skin but it still itches
so i begin to scrub my body- every inch
the music is blaring and i can barely hear my mind anymore
the stream is thick and my lungs begin to relax
but my skin
my skin won't stop itching and burning
like thousands of microscopic things are crawling on me
no matter how hard i scrub
it
won't
stop

i scream as i turn the water even higher-
the music is deafening at this point-
I'm frantically scrubbing my arms, chest, legs, back, neck, everywhere
like I'm scrubbing away old heartaches and embarrassments and stresses and worries
scrubbing away e v e r y t h i n g
i don't stop until my limbs are bright red, my fingers burning from gripping the wash cloth so tight
I'm shaking
the water has cooled down some, and i let it run over my body, facing the shower head and slowly turning around

after what seems like hours the water is freezing
and the music has stopped long ago;
my mind is silent
my breathing is normal
and i can bare living in my own skin again.
i turn off the water and step out the shower, wrapping myself in a towel
I'm clean, maybe not spotless, but clean, for now

Why the belated savagery?
Why pierce my flesh, perchance to bleed?
On precipice high
my principles already leak down my shirt
and drip from golden-bangled wrists
to paint the ledge in leaky watercolors of loss.

Numbness, is that all we want?
we freeze our brows, and beating hearts
so none may dare to show inflection,
Or galloping strides of untamed lust
much less the small, sweet, flickering Love
that sits, whitefeathered, in that gilded cage
Oh, sweet she hums, her plumage falling
as hopes of freedom slip away.

Oh, cruel is passing time
Oh, fate;
how idle you creep by, and then
I wake in fervour, nightmare-hot
His gaze has passed me by at last
I should have silenced all my cracks
and filled in flaws with repartee
and been undamaged Demeter
rich flowing harvest, aglow with life
oh, shame to wither to that dark of day.

.....We wish for deliverance, grant it Us;
for what good are we, as faded cloth?
None wish to sew the fantasy tapestry
on patches, holes and crinkled past
You must not show these embarrassments
and so the poison is paid for gladly
and so you never know our fear
and so; the eyes will linger longer
and so we hold our Place, still here.

I stand for a people who's voices have gone silent; not by the waves of hate from others, but the waves of hate pouring from their own mouths. From their hypocrisy to those whom they are sent to love. You probably know who I am talking about by now. So for them I say sorry.

I say sorry to the same-*** couple who are denied the right to marry in many states and many places of the world. I am sorry for the constant currents of hate we have place toward you. Our God teaches to love all, but it seems we have forgotten about you.

I am sorry to the orphans of the world. We try our best to help, we really do. But here in America, we feel there are more important things to worry about. We have the money to support you, but we are stringy here in America. We stand wholeheartedly that 5 cents a day is enough to feed a in another country, but a 5 dollar big mac sounds good for lunch. I find myself wondering, why was this money given to me? Are we not told to give to the poor? Support the fatherless and the widow? I know these are given to us as commandments, but I'm going to use the bible for my own benefit. So I am sorry for our selfishness, please, don't be offended.

I am sorry to people of other faiths. We are to love you just as much as anyone else. But since you believe in another god or the absence of one entirely, we feel you are void of this command. So forgive us if we stereotype you, at least God still loves you.

To the teen mom; I apologize that so many of you live on the streets. But your failure to abstain leaves us with no other choice. Obviously the best we can do is disown you as our daughters and cease to love our little princesses. Plus you have made us embarrassments as parents, and we are always first before you.

Lastly, I am sorry for us hating anyone  that has messed up in life. It seems we have forgotten what it's like to be human and knowing we all make mistakes. It seems we have taken what was known to be holy and morphed it into our own little cult. Something we use to make ourselves look and feel better. We forget to be human sometimes, but I ask you to be tolerant of us. Because God loves you even if we don't.

Humbly, I'm sorry to you God. I pray you have mercy on your church whom have made  a mockery of you, your son's sacrifice, and your plans for us. I know I believe you love us, and because you love us we should love others, but I fail all the time. Forgive me of that LORD. You love all, so we should learn to have eyes for the broken, and hearts for unloved.
Yours truly,
A convicted follower.

You call and say I'm aberrant
You don't wanna be stuck indoors deviating
I don't like your storms
I miss your floodwaters
I need an affectional sleet
I miss your earthquakes
Then you came with all your quaking
You must think I'm an aftershock
You must think I'm abnormal
Now I can't find the volcanism without you
Volcanism without you
Queer and two
Like the ingenue over slew
Subthalamic and cuckoo
And I'm dancing because you're undue
Twisters ain't nothing when I'm betraying with ya
Gay
Do you mind if I steal a permafrost?
I miss your downdrafts
Calamities are not safe
I don't like your cataclysms
And every homosexuality is failsafe
Then you came with all your frothing
You must think I'm a calvinism
It's time we had some infernos
Will you hold me tight and not go flaming
You don't wanna be stuck indoors backtracking
When I'm shaming with ya
Shaming with ya
When I'm with you, all I have is inappropriate thoughts
It's time we had some embarrassments
I'm rebuking 'til dawn
Na na na na gay
Na na gay
Like the tray over buffet
Na na na na gay
Like the valet over heyday
Transgender and ok
Got more halfway

These heaves and sighs and faults of mine,
They haunt me in my sleep;
These failures, mistakes, and disgraces,
They do not speak of me.
The shortcomings, embarrassments, rebellions
Just come out of the flame
Every part of me that I cannot quite tame:
The hips and thighs and zits that cry "I'm ugly, don't come near,"
Cheering on my bulliers, and bringing me to tears.

I want to help you,
by kissing away your tears,
embracing your sorrow as my own,
and carrassing away your doubts.

I want to help you,
by giving you my scariest secrets,
my most mortifying embarrassments,
and the memories closest to my heart.

I want to help you,
by giving you a shoulder to cry on,
a person to shout insanities at,
and someone to keep you company
as you fall asleep.

In this time of sorrow,
there's not much I can offer.
But understand the kindness I wish to give,
and the love it holds.

that unhealed you
has run off again
to that valley of private hurt,
that old playground of embarrassments,
those back streets of behind your back slurs,
drained by that river of endless whispers,
so **** thick that hide boat,
that saved you and your sister,
that only patient love will dissolve the skin.

The tangible presence of Jehovah,
is an overwhelming ease in my soul;
the wearisome cares of this World
slough off, reaffirming His control

over all of creation, time and space.
His sense of freedom from hardships,
constraints, embarrassments, pain,
and efforts dissipate as relationship

with Him, overpowers Life’s moments
in quick glimpses of divine intimacy.
The peace of Heaven calms my spirit,
whenever I give myself to Him and see

my identity, that’s found in Christ.
.
.
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Author notes

Inspired by:
Psa 124:8; John 1:12; Eph 1:5

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

If I fall, unbidden, into your idle daydreams,
Do you scourge me from your head with thought-blades,
Gouge me from the soft grey jelly with a blunt steel mind-spoon?
And how precise are these eviscerations?
Perhaps you may just miss a lingering memory;
That birthday kiss, your hands like angels whispers on the nape of my neck.
The glance across the room, or one of my fleeting messages,
Vanishing in seconds, but scribed indelibly into your psyche.
Or not so indelibly; perhaps you never think of me at all,
Or only as you think of other embarrassments, and guilty pleasures,
With a vague distaste, and a promise to yourself to do better.
If it's the former, and you find yourself gouging,
Dig deeper, my darling, I would wish to be gone forever
from your lightly troubled mind,
I can bear to be reviled, I can bear to be a torment,
I cannot bear to be a troublesome fly-thought, easily swatted,
An irritating echo, or a faint and tainted ***** dream.

I want to make love to your 3 am self
Smother your doubts with kisses
Caress the memories of your high school embarrassments
(You can be certain I wouldn’t
Tease at your insecurities)
But I’d pull on the place in your mind
That holds your half-remembered drunken nights
Gently hold the time you scraped your knees
In third grade
When nobody helped you up
I’d breathe over the cracks in your
Broken sense of belonging
Cover myself with your loneliness
And hitch a ride to
The first time a girl put her tongue in your mouth
(You said she tasted like hot chocolate
And sweat that was probably yours)
I’d carve us a hole in between your ribs
Where we could hide with
Our impending senses of doom
And I’d scale your mountains
Till I have left handholds
Etched into the side of your peaks
(I’d let you see my scary thoughts, too
Only if you promised me you’d check under the bed
Before we turned out the lights)

Focus your head and heart on future be sensible
These trials and tribulations will over very soon
In waiting are goddess of fortune and sweet angel
You will be given your share with out importune

God is lord and master of universe and others all
Whatever is for you will come to you just as bounty
All is rewarded for honest struggle not for sprawl
In our struggle and honest intentions we are but free

Oh God, save me from all embarrassments in my life
Give shelter to my humble servitude under your pride
Give me real sense of sacrifice even on edge of a knife
Save me from assaults of Satan be my savior and guide

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

you witness my dying
as you see my life, my hopes and desires
and all my embarrassments
and my achievements too,
dear moon
O quiet presence,
O radiant presence all one's life;
and what do you look at these days
in my life
darling moon
what do you see?
you who have seen the child grow old
and you hang out beaming by the window
patiently
to see one more death
to add to the countless you witness
since the day you came

I’m an embarrassment to my name
I’m a ****** all the same
I could sing this every day
Not really
Just kidding
I’m not so negative
Or at least I don’t allow myself to be
They’re just excuses
Used to cover up
Mistakes
Embarrassments
Make myself feel better about
My failures
But I know they’re not really true
At least,
They’re not what I truly believe

We are controlled by God to follow His judgement
It is His kindness we do have a free will and choice
He saves us from all embarrassments to comment
For His love we offer our sacrifice as an actual price

I submit he elevates all my spirits with zeal and zest
There is no one less Him either on land or in the sky
God is merciful, kind, beneficent and really the best
My God is the one who gives me wings to fly so high

From birth till death I am indebted to my dear Lord
Whose mercy is always like an umbrella to protect
My life my service and every kindness is but an award
My gratitude is for His benevolence to accept, to select

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

My God you have millions and millions around
But I am just all alone and seeking favor on ground
You are my Master I am your servant in chain bound
You in my heart and in every heart so renowned

Take me shelter me and save me from embarrassments
Your name and your universal power are my armaments
Help me to complete all my worldly given assignments
Please make me capable to fulfill my all commitments

I love you from core of my heart and depth of my soul
In this world and in world hereafter you are my  goal
I definitely belong to you and to this world am on parole
I am in distress I am in trouble please control and console

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

I have not that divine intercession
to pluck the right word from all been written,
that gifts to few the art of expression,
to write the poetry of the smitten.

I pen verses of no significance
that sing melodies in my ear of tin,
embarrassments to poets of romance
in whose company I wish I were in.

Oh, to write odes to nightingales and urns,
with love as an extension of my quill!
Although I do not lack passion that burns,
I’ve not the talent that matches my will.

Here is another literary blight
authored by one who just thinks he can write.