"erring" poems
Father could reprogram all six billion of us
if He felt the need, anytime
In fact that's exactly what He did
at Babel when our dodgy one-accord
threatened to bring the end nearer
than the six millenniums of earthtime
He'd allocated for us to seek His truth
He even re-wired Balak for a minute
to hear his donkey speak
and think of the Assyrians that fled
when He caused four lepers to sound
like a mighty mercenary army
coming to rescue Jerusalem
YHWH is omnipotent, like it not
The reason He's not 'interfering' right now
is simply because His plan is dead on time
He intends to blow the chaff from His wheat
The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful
(through Revelations and the mark)
will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns
for a thousand years of peace on earth
You may think "Oh I'll wait and see
if it's true, like, if the two witnesses
really die and then rise again in three days"
Problem with that approach is simple
You could be brainwashed before then
The neurophone is widely used today
Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached
and read surveillanceissues.com
Those of us who really care
will continue to bug you and **** your spirit
Hopefully you'll make the right choice
and refuse the mark of the beast
Consider these things while there's time
'After me the storm' won't cut it
There are less than three short years to go
* Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
One day, you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love
with the nape of the neck and the lobe of the ear
you’ll want to nibble just above the edge of the jaw
and run your fingers through the tousled spirally hair,
but the slight quiver of curved lips will halt you in thoughts
as the darting pupils furtively flutter behind closed eyelids
searching for a break of dawn in the shadows of a room
where dust hangs heavily then settles in unsuspecting lungs
making the rise and fall of the chest raspy and laborious,
making nostrils flare up to make room for something less heavy
something more familiar, more light and less lugubrious,
something like a touch on the curve of the neck just below
the edge of the jaw and a whisper of something gentle
that nibbles on the ear as erring fingers run through spirally hair,
sending waves of shivers that make curved lips quiver and
darting pupils flutter enough to one day break open closed eyelids
where you’ll fall deeply and irrevocably in love.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
(Seneca, Letters 130.10)
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
2.4k
Pharmacist with the funny face
I’m not sure how the lines were etched
and set in place across a severe brow
like storms had raged and winters chill
had set the frozen expression
into an acid dipped contour.
Each time I went with a prescription
to collect remedies for a cough and cold
a limp here
a sore there
some racing bp charts
an erring heart muscle.
His face remained stoic.
His face alone would frighten me
as pale as death he looked at me
over the rimmed glasses
and just that one second longer
than necessary.
My guilt soared. I felt like an addict
come into store to fetch
a high kick of something
suspicion hidden under the GPs scrawl.
I dared to look back
flushing red at his store.
It became a battle of the blush.
Twice I won
And never went back for a whole six months
Is he the guy that protects our streets
from the throaty lozenge
that may contain crack *******
hidden in its entrails? I dont know
but I always felt he had a secret sleeve
from where he pulled out those potions!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:
An erring lace which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave (deserving note)
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
2.1k
There are secrets hidden between the lines of these pages
which crease like the sheets on your bed when
you turn and overturn them with a
misplaced foot or an erring hand in search of
bits and pieces of mahogany scattered across your seabed after
tumultuous waves rocked the ship back and forth
back and forth across the seascape where I learned to
let go and swim good and
break to the surface gasping for
your breath infused with the aroma of imported coffee and
the lingering aftertaste of sea-weed on your taste buds between
the hidden corners of your cheeks within
the hidden corners of your mouth,
I delved deep, swam good, delved deep,
swam up and down, up and down,
until the tumultuous waves swelled up and tossed
my body back and forth, back and forth,
slamming it against solid rocks into
bits and pieces of mahogany scattered across your seabed.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
Thy azure robe I did behold
As airy as the leaves of gold,
Which, erring here, and wandring there,
Pleas’d with transgression ev’rywhere:
Sometimes ’twould pant, and sigh, and heave,
As if to stir it scarce had leave:
But, having got it, thereupon
’Twould make a brave expansion.
And pounc’d with stars it showed to me
Like a celestial canopy.
Sometimes ’twould blaze, and then abate,
Like to a flame grown moderate:
Sometimes away ’twould wildly fling,
Then to thy thighs so closely cling
That some conceit did melt me down
As lovers fall into a swoon:
And all confus’d, I there did lie
Drown’d in delights, but could not die.
That leading cloud I follow’d still,
Hoping t’ have seen of it my fill;
But ah ! I could not : should it move
To life eternal, I could love.
1.7k
She is a blush of the summits during the sunrise,
She is the ray of hope in the heart of the failure.
She is the light in the dark life of the jailer.
She is buried deep within the soul of an erring,
She is affable, she is daring.
She completes the incomplete, takes away the complete.
Her laugh, her smile, will take away your tears.
She will answer to thy holy prayers.
She will console, she will hurt,
She will shed away your discomfort.
She is the fragrance of the flowers,
She is the sparkle of the moonlit night.
She is the cause of contrite.
She is the tune of the upright.
She gives, she takes.
She will make mistakes.
She will rise, she will destroy.
She will rejoice, express joy.
She isn't weak or bleak,
Do not question her physique, she is unique.
She will disown, she will deceive.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy’s days,
Young offspring of Fancy, ’tis time we should part;
Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,
The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.
This ***** responsive to rapture no more,
Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing;
The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,
Are wafted far distant on Apathy’s wing.
Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,
Yet even these themes are departed for ever;
No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire,
My visions are flown, to return,—alas, never!
When drain’d is the nectar which gladdens the bowl,
How vain is the effort delight to prolong!
When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul,
What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song?
Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,
Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign?
Or dwell with delight on the hours that are flown?
Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine.
Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love?
Ah, surely Affection ennobles the strain!
But how can my numbers in sympathy move,
When I scarcely can hope to behold them again?
Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done,
And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires?
For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone!
For Heroes’ exploits how unequal my fires!
Untouch’d, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast—
’Tis hush’d; and my feeble endeavours are o’er;
And those who have heard it will pardon the past,
When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.
And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot,
Since early affection and love is o’ercast:
Oh! blest had my Fate been, and happy my lot,
Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.
Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne’er meet;
If our songs have been languid, they surely are few:
Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet—
The present—which seals our eternal Adieu.
1.6k
You don't have to live in fear
Or be a germaphobe
To be on guard when a pandemic
Spreads around the globe.
Erring on the side of caution
Makes a lot of sense.
The benefits of wise and prudent
Behavior are immense.
So, don’t put your mask away;
Put it to excellent use.
You don’t like the way it feels?
That’s a poor excuse.
If you're asked to wear a mask,
Don't raise holy hell.
Wearing a mask could save your life
And other lives as well.
For certain inexplicable reasons
Some people are loath
To do something that might prevent
The exponential growth
Of COVID-19, a nasty virus
That hasn't left the scene.
It would be nice not to have to
Self-quarantine.
So, don’t put your mask away;
Put it to excellent use.
You don’t like the way it feels?
That’s a poor excuse.
If you're asked to wear a mask,
Don't raise holy hell.
Wearing a mask could save your life
And other lives as well.
Someday we can look forward to
Not having to wear
A mask that covers our nose and mouth
And seems to cut off our air.
For now, let's all cooperate,
And please do not revile
A practice, which--though not so fun--
Is certainly worth our while.
So, don’t put your mask away;
Put it to excellent use.
You don’t like the way it feels?
That’s a poor excuse.
If you're asked to wear a mask,
Don't raise holy hell.
Wearing a mask could save your life
And other lives as well.
-by Bob B (6-11-20)
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC
I told you I care about you
I meant it
but you don't need another fee
tacked on as tax
It's all tactic gymnastics
attraction and accents
fantastic for habits
hazardous for fact checks
I'm just an actress in all honesty
fond of the backless
blacklist autonomy
as ****** unhappiness
You didn't care that I cared
I'm prepared to rescind it
Since erring on caution
options have flared
out
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
Silence expends all possible thought of nameless emotion
Nighttime of soundless expression
Driftwood on beaches of shaded joy
Rocky outcrop escapes
Rivulet beauty we don’t see
Rock skip hip hop euphoria
Asunder Sauntering
When Eventually Someday Comes
The snow outside
My sparkling paradise
Evanescent dreams
When snowmen melt
And angels disappear
Spring blooms sunshine daisies
Let’s go smell the roses
Sit down and see-saw the morning glories arise
Summer blows in on the breeze
Running for your heart
I have green grass melancholy
Erring rain emanations:
Like a candle in the wind.
Someday Eventually Will When Only Loosely
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie
catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly
for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Through my continued journey in life
I’ve heard these words over and over
Reeling out of unwashed mouths (mine inclusive)
Ringing like unanswered noisy telephones
Spoken with little consideration
Voiced with no conviction whatsoever!
*How could such passions be love?
When they so easily become hate
At the slightest provocation
How could such evil be love?
When you seek to harm me
Just because I sought another’s attention
How could such illusions be love?
When it quickly evaporates
At the mere sight of one more attractive
How can such madness be love?
When you turn violent
At the barest confrontation
How can such wickedness be love?
When you would rather see me dead
Than in the hands of another
How can such hypocrisy be love?
When you can cheat on me at will
And crave my faithfulness and loyalty
How can such lust be love?
When all you want is ***
Or some other material gain
How can such deceit be love?
When I am only a means to an end
Some tool to be used and discarded
How can such intolerance be love?
When you cannot forgive me
For erring, as expected of human nature
How can such selfishness be love?
When the only reason you care
Is for your perceived desired benefits
How can such scam be love?
When it only depends on good looks,
Fame, power or influence…*
The purity of this precious idea
Has been grossly adulterated
By our wickedness and evil schemes
Its divinely intended beauty
Has been stained to triviality
By our spur-of-the-moment,
Superficial quest for gratification
Of unholy desires…
From my naïveté and observation,
There is no love among mortals
What we have is at best,
Mutual understanding and respect
For only the bond of a mother,
To her offspring- born and unborn
Comes close to a faint idea of love…
Not to mention,
The unconditional love of God!
© Raphael Uzor
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Came I hither with all the gold possess'd,
Came I hither with all the wisdom gain'd,
Came I hither with all the truth and jest,
Beauty, health, kindness, luck, thou'd'st have complain'd
That I came hither with an underhand
Desire of something greater thus exchang'd,
Unable to conceive or understand
How one who offers free is not derang'd.
Came I hither with all the gold possess'd,
And came I bearing rubies and pearls, too,
Came I hither bearing all the rest
To thine own mortal self, still erring true;
Came I hither, and ask'd nothing, giving
All that I have, and more, and still I err,
For the Lord ask'd nothing of the living,
But sacrifice is matter of a cur.
Mistrusting as you do, with sense, I see,
Love's made not for this world, nor I for thee.
Feb 17, 2024
Feb 17, 2024 at 7:24 PM UTC
The love of God is greater far
Than tongue and pen can ever tell
It goes beyond the highest star
And reaches to the lowest hell
The guilty pair, bowed down with care
God gave His Son to win
His erring child He reconciled
And pardoned from his sin
When years of time shall pass away
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men, who were refuse to pray
On rocks and hills and mountains call
God's love so sure, shall still endure
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam's race-
The saint's and angles' song.
Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky
Love of God, how rich and pure
How measureless and strong
It shall forevermore endure
The saints' and angels' song
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
poetry don't work for anyone else
like to the desperates
who do not find peace in world
and it lacks equanimous beauty to the terrible
to agony
what is wrong
disfigured
deranged
forgotten
poetry is the cradle of crazy
that beyond philology
they look for a motherly hug in words
poetry is not a show
it's the very current of life
and you can see the roots when walking
it's erring from being in being
recreating again and again
in its metamorphosis
poetry is the sweet song of mythological beings
something that we do not see but in which we believe
a spell
a contraption
between paths that slopes
and plunges without rest
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 2:59 AM UTC
So wake up and what do we find,
the men in black, oh, aren't they back!
Didnt they blow up them planes
or helped those who did
or those who helped those who did?
or so we heard, why the gringos went
to smoke them out of their vents?
The men in black, oh now so cool -
we share hugs and name our friends!
Women, they won't be flogged in fields,
nor will they chop off erring arms,
nor them planes land in k-har
in exchange for killers barred,
no buddhas left to smash,
or so they say, but for what their books say+:
so the women, just tented,
working from wherever caged,
men must never trim their manes
even the cricketers have turned out to play,
though be just the men eh!
Beware if you are a poet though,
or sing, or a singh - coz nobody sure
if you will be lynched yet;
Half the country is staying shut,
half a million may run (or so says the UN)
But they surely come in peace
armed as they go on our humvees;
Mothers throw their babies over,
what a liberation! perfect sense
to the kahn across the Durand fence;
And no we here across the Jhelum
so busy with the mayhem
that anderson's caused to our playmen;
Oh the reformed men in spotless black
they're back across the pens,
and we can now go back to sleep
with not a ***** in our conscience
+or as they say they say -
they all say how they say
is what the books say anyway
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
All my words fail, out here on the edge,
In cataracts pronunciations plunge
Onto the rocks of shattered sounds,
The meanings call and drag,
Unable to explain the inexpressible you,
The mental scraps congeal,
The ten thousand half-attempted lines
All erring, marred,
All leaving me here alone again
In the insurmountable anguish of love.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Ungratefully declining,
Throught a hundred ways,
Passing Over a thousand of opportunities
-Trying to Leave Pointless Passion Behind-
The missing-links putting my mind at ease,
Oppening a Ditche in me
The hunch I've been here alreaydy
Still feeling the drudging soul growing
Humanity is Smoldering
The cocoon, still could Hatch
Hitting, After years of wandering
In hazy gream, Miscarrying,
Erring throught Dusty Gloom,
The odd Feeling to Smack a Hatching
Foreboding some Ending
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
A mother's love is never faltering.
A mother's love is never halting.
A mother's judgement is never erring.
A mother's dream is to supply all needs.
A mother's goal is to instill good deeds.
A mother's commitment, is to the one, that
she loves!
A mother's reward is thanks, for all of
the aboves!
This mother says 'she will always protect
you all your life'...'Just to see that there is
no danger or strife'.'For a sharing of love
is my duty to you'...'Your happiness, i'll
guarantee to make, you safe and true! '
'I'll kiss those owie's to make them not hurt'...
'I'll buy you nice things for school, maybe new
shoes and a shirt.' 'My love will stay forever
and ever'...'To you i'll never say never! '
'My love for you shall never fade'...'And
that's the promise that i've made! '
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
just apart
radiant
refusing to exist
no media
no touch
erring the side
catching the wreck
this double standard won’t survive
so what’s the point?
the closest cliff is a ride away
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC