"enable" poems
The shades of gray are nearly infinite-
mirroring attitudes regarding our sin.
Degrees of separation give distinction
to human perception of ugliness within.
Living now in this ‘Age of Information’
has not made life much more palatable;
visible is God’s Truth and Satan’s lies,
as individuals determine what’s palpable.
Gobs of available data doesn’t translate
into experience and useful wisdom directly.
Real sapience, is shown by the Holy Spirit,
when the ideas of faith are under scrutiny.
Biblical principles enable all to overcome
corrosive powers of intellectual pollution;
however, personal change, only occurs when…
one has the mindset for a Heavenly solution!
.
.
.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
1 Cor 2; Phil 4:4-8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
We know the world is a crazy place
and that is it easy to give up, throw in the towel.
The idealism of youth gives way to the cynicism of middle age
when we realize that despite our best efforts, change is very difficult.
To be a parent and, in particular, to be a father....why bother?
Some say fatherhood is driven by ego,
the child providing the ultimate selfish representation of oneself.
Others say driven by fear,
the fear of mortality and the unconscious and genetic need
to propagate and maintain our lineage, our species, our world.
While both can be true, I believe the best manifestation of fatherhood
is driven by tikkun olam, a Jewish concept that we all have an obligation
to better the world, to move it to a better state than currently exists.
We do what we can when on this earth to love our family, friends,
and be as righteous as this world will allow.
Our genetic legacy is not nearly as important as
our obligation to pass on what we know, have learned, have experienced,
and enable our children
to carry the mission to an always higher level.
No matter what our belief in the afterlife, and what the future may hold
we are here now in THIS life,
and as long as we move the ball further and further
in the right direction, there can be hope.
Truly being a father, a good father, enables hope. Maybe that is enough.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 7:17 AM UTC
A true leader is a selfless soul,
One who thinks not for himself,
But for the others, for the many
For the halves and for the whole, of humanity
Regardless of age or importance to man,
It’s not in the memory of their great names,
In with which we stand.
But in the willingness to mold
One’s self into a servant,
To humbly hold the troubled hand,
And to become the kind of person who doesn’t abuse,
The right to demand
But instead, looks to enable others,
So that they might just begin, and begin again
Because all of the power in the world,
Can be abused, and removed if misused
For this, my dear leaders, I ask of you,
To not lose yourself in the arrogance
Of discovering that you are indeed you
Because true leadership is not about you
And leadership, will never be about you
So before you lead, would you let go of you
That way you might win in spite of you
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
These shots were never taken by chance
They were of anger taken under sunshine
This smoke can oh so muddle your view of the truth
They use smoke of their own to hide their intentions
But the truth can be seen rolling by, glinting red
The weapon of black turns their eyes white
One shines with tears; the other dull and *****
The greedy man hides the youth of all seventeen
It could have been stopped
And the young could continue
This is preventable
But he continues to enable
His smiles are swamp green
His words are shiny gold
But he hides it all behind his suit of blue
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Ah, the season of gifting.
Antagonist of year-long thrifting.
Tradition sadistic,
Materialistic,
Four quarters in pockets worth sifting.
This year I hereby proclaim
I shan’t be consumed by the game.
Cycle of curse
Purpose perverse
The namesake, an oversight became.
Christ’s birth did in fact begin,
Holiday distracted by sin.
Misguided it be
To forget idly
The sacrifice He made for all men.
We naively regard generosity
As holiday’s behavioral piosity.
But if dollars and cents
Are the tools of offense
Over shadow favor luminosity.
Water in Africa is *****
American child in poverty.
Politics aside,
Convenient homicide,
To enable the ills of society.
In the global economy we flaunt
Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt.
First world problems abound
Pass the turkey around
Central heating and air, what a jaunt!
What if this season we decide
To extend two palms open wide?
Sacrificing ourselves
Rather than stocking our shelves
Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.”
Don’t spend your money on me this year.
Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer.
Instead know you can
Distribute more than
A snort, a lie, and a tear.
(optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line)
Snort of derision,
Lies of provision,
Tears, even true,
Hardly subdue
Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Bipolar, if you had asked me what I knew about it six months ago I would have said it means that a person goes from being really happy to really sad sometimes or, if I would be honest I would have said I hadn't a clue about it.
Bipolar means to touch heaven and hell.
This year began with me being in a severe depression, often holding a loaded gun to my head with a finger lightly depressing the trigger. Bipolar, after all, is the highest killer of all psychiatric illnesses with 1 out of 5 committing suicide and 1/2 attempting it. I felt completely alienated from anyone- severely out of place in the world, as if my birth was some sort of horrible mistake.
But I'm holding onto hope, hope that all these meds(Lamictal, Saphris, Abilify) may eventually enable me to have a life again. This year I lost my sister to suicide(she was 27 and also bipolar), I cannot put anyone through the pain that I've felt due to her leaving like she did. I must "carry that weight" as the Beatles would put it.
If you too are Bipolar I would love to chat, please message me. I'm looking for a friend who can relate, hell, I'm just looking for a friend.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.
He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing
Fruit which the hungry heart craves;
He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed
Spirit with his beautiful melodies;
He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon,
Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky.
Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life,
Opening their petals to admit the light.
He is an angel, send by the goddess to
Preach the Deity's gospel;
He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness
And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with
Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music.
He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and
Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his
Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night,
Awaiting the descending of the spirit.
He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the
Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the
Harvest for her nourishment.
This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life,
And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly
World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven.
This is the poet -- who asks naught of
Humanity but a smile.
This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and
Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings;
Yet the people deny themselves his radiance.
Until when shall the people remain asleep?
Until when shall they continue to glorify those
Who attain greatness by moments of advantage?
How long shall they ignore those who enable
Them to see the beauty of their spirit,
Symbol of peace and love?
Until when shall human beings honor the dead
And forget the living, who spend their lives
Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves
Like burning candles to illuminate the way
For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light?
Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have
Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity.
Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and
Therefore, your kingdom has no ending.
Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will
Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
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Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Sometimes
There are too many things
To follow up
To update
To study
To research upon
To refer to others
To show solidarity
To argue upon
To fight with
To put our stand on
To stand up against
To support
To facilitate
To enable
..
..
..
Or
To just pass off
To ignore
.
.
.
.
and
To
Blissfully
Forget..
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
Brave - bold- bonny young are bloom here!
They have dream, desire and determination!
Preparing for peruse and practice,
Be desperate to perform in perfection!
*****
But we the elders try to eliminate them
In the name of enormity, efficiency and effectiveness;
Enable to create ground for their experiments
We are envious; don’t want to change our thought for them!
****
We fail to remember, their dreams are also our dream!
Because it’s grown up on the soil
What we prepare through our toil!
They grown up, as we prepare the soil!
******
But, brave, bold and bonny young are struggling
Struggling to build their path to achieve their goal!
Through a street which is full of snag, snobbery and sabotage
But they are poignant, they are pioneer.......
They look forward....!
******
Vacate the road for them now
Let them blooms further
To carry our seeds further!
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric
And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence
As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays
But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
*If only and only nature had cared enough not to place us worlds apart
Without big beautiful blue Oceans lying proudly betwixt
So that each and everyday I had you tight in my embrace as you are in my heart
My thoughts would not wonder and my emotions mixed
If there was no single mile separating two great souls
Would not be contemplating the much to enable us journey that far
If only we could find a way to break all these walls
Or if I was extraterrestrial to rocket to you like a shooting star
Every night to steal your fear and leave you courage
To stitch your wounds and heal even the scars of fate
If only you weren't so near yet so far like a mirage
Then we'd only have the length of eternity to contemplate
If only I was close enough say right across the road
The burden of living would be lighter for we'd share the load*
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
I am a butterfly,
Don’t clip my wings
But stand by me and enable me to fly
For I don’t want to hurt you,
No,
I just want to be free
I want to spread my wings and take off
I want the world to see my pattern,
My design
For I am not a monster,
No,
I am a butterfly
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 10:32 AM UTC
225
Jesus! thy Crucifix
Enable thee to guess
The smaller size!
Jesus! thy second face
Mind thee in Paradise
Of ours!
3.8k
You feel you're invincible
being that your sanity is uncontrollable
strolling around with your shoulders past the birds
past the planes
your ignorance succeeds in innumerable ways
your sight is weak
your mind is enable to capture
it's buried under life's adversities and Earth's pleasure
you don't know when to stop so you flood yourself
until you're lame at your ankles
and paralyzed in your emotions
you wend through life this way
well you try
stuck in misery
with no lane to merge
frustration is your best friend
a human is impossible and
incapable of the acceptance
your belittlement draws mankind away
no one wants to attend a pity party
unless their accompanied to your VIP
and to reserve
you are the one to RSVP
Enlighten heads will stray away
pessimism is a curse
rapidly spread by the weak
you have distress and frustration
suppressed
strangled screams
holds your eyelids open at night
deliberations controls your emotions
controls your feet
throughout the day
you are terrified of tangibility
so you indulge yourself excessively
burying your true identity
becoming irritable when bearing your sober mind
if only you knew how divine you are
you would grow to love yourself
in ways incompetent of how you could love so hard
look yourself in your eyes
find who you are
even if you have to savagely search
you'll see the soul people has grown to
love so much
you'll notice your beauty
that covers endless realms
or your strength that could hurl a boulder
No one can help you discover
your destiny
it's your journey you'll have to make alone
but during the expedition and constant footsteps
the process of elimination could be your guide
find your inner child
it can help your prevail that's
where you once had happiness
your joy was established there
because if you continue the silencing
of your heart's cries and
your soul's screams
you'll live a life analogous to hell
and that is
a nightmare's worst dream
Copy Right 2014
©Patty Ann
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Imparting knowledge and skills on
self-management in your children
should top all your priorities
open yourself to them
be deep in their hearts
In parental love and kindness
teach, guide and advise them
about the value of self-management
taking care of themselves
must be done on a daily basis
Washing eyes properly
brushing their teeth
brushing their hair
changing ***** clothes
looking into the mirror after dressing
Should you enable your children
in managing ther own lives
they shall grow into
responsible future citizens
in charge of their own destiny.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
What have these fairy tales made us afraid of?
Step moms and snakes?
there is more to life that living in fear,
And there is more to fear than being afraid.
Fear is a feeling of many natures and forms,
Including step moms and snakes.
Fear isnt only brought on by dark,
fear is in love too,
and fear is in hate.
Fear is in a butterflies first flight,
and fear is in our tummys,
when something is not right.
The Sound of Music showed us more than the sights of Austria,
It showed us how to sing,
Some times the fear is in what we already know.
Fear can control if you let it,
and after you see it,
its hard to forget,
But you can replace your with something bigger.
Bigger than the night time,
I am the stars.
I'm not in heaven, but when i'm
with you i'm
close.
You are faster than the night,
and sneakier than the clock ticking past noon.
On a Saturday, you are the Sunday afternoon.
The fear is less now.
You are ahead of my own thought,.
You know my bed,
You know i have zebra sheets,
and a red stain in the corner.
You know my body,
dimples and scars.
You know all the perfections, and defections.
The fear is less and less now.
Our kisses enable me to hear,
clocks ticking around the world.
you taste like...
words are to meager to describe.
There goes the fear,
There it goes,
out the window,
and into the hearts of those,
Step moms and Snakes.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Earsplitting silence surrounds me
As I waste time envisioning a new setting,
Where my paper, pen, mug, and coffee are still there,
But the paper is bursting with passion,
And the magic of espresso beans enable the pen to float along my rapid thoughts.
Right now it is used to stimulate the monotony.
Unfortunately,
Money cannot be bled from words on paper and,
Beers are not bought with dedications in hard cover.
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Yogurt wrappers opening, spoons being slurped.
***** expanding atop their encompassing chairs.
These are the thoughts that fill my head,
As co-workers plan the next birthday party,
The next lunch, client dinner, and snack.
It seems that bars do not enclose me at my desk,
There is no guard at the door and,
Above me the exit sign gives warmth.
Click….
Click…
CLICK…
Not today, today is not a good day.
There are presentations, Power Points, data to analyze.
Analyze feels like a ***** word in my world,
It covers my neurons and destroys imagination,
Synopsis seize to fire.
It seeps into my blood until I become a replica,
But it is the word that takes my balance off negative,
And applies charming labels to my purse,
I wonder if this is how it starts out for everyone,
Humans are adjustable, no batteries allowed.
Click…
Click…
CLICK.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Consanguinity: A Commissioned Poem
(How Well Do
You
Know Me?)
This request, from wolf spirit aka quinfinn, accidentally hit the spot of what was foremost on my mind.
Cosanguinity: A relationship by descent from a common ancestor; kinship (distinguished from affinity). A close relationship or connection.
Poetry, mine, yours,
Ours,
Invades my consciousness.
We write poems on the same subject,
Even the same title,
But a few days apart.
Insanity,
Coincidence,
or
Consanguinity?
Perhaps we are reading each other's stuff
Too much.
But that's crazy,
Or
Consanguinity?
Yet,
And yet,
We see the same things
So incredibly different.
That is the answer.
We see the same thing and I am
Struck down.
A billion sights.
A billion words.
Yet, the human computer,
Sorts, collates, and generates
A billion different writes
In a similar spirit,
Employing the same phraseology.
All right.
Alright.
Malaysia.
Minnesota.
East Coast.
West Coast.
Geographical differences.
Time differences.
No difference.
A billion differences.
The stylistic differences enable,
No, correction,
Ennobles us to coexist,
Value each other,
Learn.
Observable differences.
But more interesting,
More pleasurable,
are the incredible, visible, signs of
Consanguinity.
Mere affinity?
Kinship.
A poem?
Nah.
But at 1:11am in my location,
It's what's on my mind.
Now that I know the meaning of
Consanguinity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
1030
That Such have died enable Us
The tranquiller to die—
That Such have lived,
Certificate for Immortality.
2.5k
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
For Helen
who wrote it first,
who wrote it better,
and in doing so,
makes me see more clearly
the why
~~~~~~~~~
no poem should ever be untitled-
every face needs a name-
every poem needs just
one read for completion
but more than that, it is
a orphan still,
deserving of the due,
the entitlement to be titled,
a parenting of sorts
what was the thought that born it-
what was the emotion that conceived it-
what was the sight that demanded sharing?
this is the age of summary and synthesis,
140 and not one more,
so give direction, enable me to make
snap judgements, with so much on my plate,
we must predigest your concepts,
my multi-tasking slowed to levels unacceptable,
so I can adjudge you,
you worker poet,
before or never reading
after all,
why read anything untitled?
more than this however,
for the few who chew
each morseled vowel,
ken each constant consonant,
celebrate stanzas that halt the breathing
and then,
god bless the whole child,
flaws and all,
they more than anyone deserve
your consideration in return
for the title is the essence spark
of you-
and all the more so,
of what you have chosen to share,
your essentials honored
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
In the midst of our passion,
I tried to make you show your hand.
You were losing your poker face,
I thought your inhibitions were gone.
But when I said “tell me what you want”
You replied “for you to be happy and healthy”.
And that shattered the dam.
The wall that held back the sea splintered.
And I let you see me drown in my pain.
I told you how letting you gorge on me
Made me the kind of sad I could control.
It was a shallow kind of sad, one that could be fixed with scotch tape.
I ripped the adhesive off of the shallow sad
When the deep dark sad became too much.
I told you how letting you gorge on me
Made me feel useful, even if it validated everything he told me.
I don’t care that my body is nothing more than something to be ******
At least I’m doing my friend a favor.
So even if I can’t be happy and healthy right now,
And even if you know that,
At least we can see each other for what we are
As I let you feed his desires for me,
And you let me feed my desire for pain.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
I am in understanding
That I have no control
Over all the thoughts, sensations, and feelings
That I experience
At any given time
I accept this fact
To give me power
Over my reaction
To enable my ability to reply.
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 11:07 PM UTC
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC