"expiates" poems
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
in my private conversations, so many
emiploy this phrase, arms on chest folded,
a whispery plaint, and I too am folded into
too pieces, as well, my understanding fulsome,
for the struggling is well familiar, I under stand
beneath you, arms upraised, holding your shaking,
throbbing, wistful hearty sighs, constant tumbling,
floor~falling, see rose petals of sighs, all quiet screams,
and
my weak remedy is urging you to express
with the skill, known in you possess, to give
it forth, give it out and let us love your burdens
shared, and thus the be the firmament of our ties…
selfishly, I plead that you stun us with the
insight inside, hopeless hoping you surrender
and share in the only way I know that expiates some,
the grief, some of pained shame, and for a momentary
gasping, allows us grasping you, through you poetry,
the value you can bring forth to others humanity,
helping us to make us a better~both, with written creating
sums far, far greater than the to~us whole…
nml
7:45AM
Sabbath
May 25
2024
Silver Beach, Shelter Island
May 25, 2024
May 25, 2024 at 8:09 AM UTC
Enter In
Stand now before the heavenly gates
Made clean by the blood which expiates
Come now before the resplendent throne
Lift your voice in praise with trumpets blown
And here bowing down in adoration
Come one come all and enter in
Open my heart open my mind and soul
Help me to focus on the final goal
To be as one in spirit and in flesh
With Christ the Lord whom I so bless
That I may learn and grow and be taught
And reflect Him in action and thought
Come to love Him who loves so deeply
Know the one who knows you so completely
Lose yourself in the sea of total surrender
Find healing in the arms strong and tender
S e e s-t-a-bil-i-ty becomes the center
When
HE
——————————
The doors | | are open wide
| |
| |
| |
So just
ENTER
IN
And when you do:
STOP
for a moment
.
.
.
.
Inhale deeply and fully the subtle scent
Of change in you on the smallest scale
And in your bones know that love will not fail
Should the earth crumble and sun lose it’s fire
His burning love for you shall not expire
Dare to enter in more deeply today
Open yourself more freely
and be
s
w
e
p
t
away
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 11:32 PM UTC
For Garcia
Ah, Harlem, Harlem, Harlem
Washington is Algeria before rebellion
F. Garcia Lorca, Indians, Indians
Ghetto walls still suffocate mothers’ mouths
This city cries
Wakes punching
Wastes then expiates
Hammered by the furnace of the sun
Lorca, Lorca
The madman is still breathing
Fred’ eyes bleed
His bed burns crimson
Wraith and werewolf sit
**** false justice
Garcia, Garcia
We need you
We need you with a gun
A gun, Garcia, a gun
Or (and this for your ears only)
Harlem, Harlem, America
Wash the blood from your
Babes blind eyes.
T. H. Donahue
6/25/71
Edited 2/8/2015
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC