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Purcy Flaherty May 2018
I never in a thousand years thought of myself as anything, but here I am and everything that you have found favorable comes from this place.
Constantly creating just to stay in the game, I play for my work; not for my pay…
I get behind every word!
The life of the appetite! always hungry for something?
I chose words to be durable ... for better or for worse!
I sense a deep yarning.
I have an ego that's pointless.

I'm driven to create, to sing talk and lark about to help dissolve our suffering, even the trash has it's place in that!
Always hoping to reduce the eye, my work is small like me!
What my hands fall on I do willingly to be connected, to give something back.
Everything is so very; very small !
Contentment is the key to it all !
That and kindness!
Writing songs, poems ramblings for as long as I can!.
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
“Come now, and let us reason together,”
Says the LORD,
“Though your sins are as scarlet,
They will be as white as snow;
Though they are red like crimson,
They will be like wool.
If you consent and obey,
You will eat the best of the land;
But if you refuse and rebel,
You will be devoured by the sword.”
Truly, the mouth of the LORD has spoken...
Come, house of Jacob, and let us walk in the light of the LORD.
~ Isaiah 1:18-20 & 2:5

Surely our griefs He Himself bore,
And our sorrows He carried;
Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten of God, and afflicted.
But He was pierced through for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him,
And by His scourging we are healed.
All of us like sheep have gone astray,
Each of us has turned to his own way;
But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all
To fall on Him.
~ Isaiah 53:4-6

“**! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters;
And you who have no money come, buy and eat.
Come, buy wine and milk
Without money and without cost.
Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
And your wages for what does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good,
And delight yourself in abundance.
Incline your ear and come to Me.
Listen, that you may live;
And I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
According to the faithful mercies shown to David...“
Seek the LORD while He may be found;
Call upon Him while He is near.
Let the wicked forsake his way
And the unrighteous man his thoughts;
And let him return to the LORD,
And He will have compassion on him,
And to our God,
For He will abundantly pardon.
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,
Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts than your thoughts.“
~ Isaiah 55:1-3,6-9

The Spirit of the LORD God is upon me,
Because the LORD has anointed me
To bring good news to the afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And freedom to prisoners;
To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified...
I will rejoice greatly in the LORD,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
And as a garden causes the things sown in it to spring up,
So the LORD God will cause righteousness and praise
To spring up before all the nations.
~ Isaiah 61:1-3,10-11
Sam Ciel Jan 2017
Tattered tapestries weathered with destroyed diagrams depicting derelict debris, once accruing avant-garde glances now know naught but bliss, for before time stole their accolades, fortune found favorable the telling of their tales.
Just a piece of imagery that hit me the other day. You could not have ruins without first having a city. What is broken was once whole.

And so it continues.

Keep writing,
-Sam Ciel
fearfulpoet Mar 22
Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)

”but who am I to complain
the  razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”

Aug. 2018


this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every stroke

we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision

so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar

who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?

so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,

and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together

until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet
3/21/19 4:15 am
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2016
one thousand poem children

one thousand poems has mine soul commissioned,
a thousand more neath stone vault doors do attend,
patiently waiting revisions, rescission, catch and release permission,
waiting room patients, looking to buy a more favorable diagnosistician

this prolificacy,
nether curse or blessing,
this profligacy,
poem children fathered by single mom mothered,
borne nightly in dreams borne
from the northern, the southern,
the brains twilighted hemispheres,
who coordinate, drawing deep,
consulting a bartender's manual
a creation guide of mixology,
'how to intoxicate the brain'

cheap gin, multi-generational scotch,
visionary vermouth, the reddened cassis of life,
memories in the white grapes of possibilities,
futures unrealized, colorful takes and retakes,
a directors bespoke make-believe tales,
impossibilities, divine and mundane,
all into one admixture into the venous cavities poured,
nerves to blood to consciousness,
courtesy of the ganglia

the brain stem transmits them
fully formed to my
good morning sunshine
cracked and dried lips for re-emission

nigh head upon the pillow,
the hair trigger,
my rapid eye heartbeats, each a demanding sweetheart,
some performed to a discordant metronome,
in a controlled rage, my mental waste,

the residuals,
purified with language as the
orchestrator, debate moderator

dreams, once recoded, once accorded,
the disordering tempestuous,  
neurons cease-to-fire,
now just words, just words, just womb excretions

did I admit to a thousand?

more like tens of ten,
one, two per eventide,
have washed  ashore, for some thirty years recorded

my brain pixilated,
its big shot game controller,
demanding purchase of more;
more storage space, more games,
not admitting in advance,
that it filters blends, conflates and purges

by combining
psalms and ditties, infantile rhymes and
new vocabularies of  human aging idiocies,
though newly acquired, immediately forgot,
so always room enough for
one more episode

I study the brain, I study sleep,
study living and dying occurring at
their point of intermediation,

*this more knowledge gives no relief,
it becomes this poem becoming,
testifying that I prosecute myself
based on the evidence,
and if insufficient,
dream up nascent visionaries
from places that come unlocked,
tales from the vault vivisected,
the proper verdict

sixty six years
of accumulation,
and still know so little of
proper space utilization,
writing poems proper

but nightly come the dreams,
nightly comes the trial,
comes the judgements,
comes a man-made customized
whitewall tired judgement,
and to you
submitted for
judicial review

strange that each one of you
becomes, adopts, adapts my visage,
my words in you, reflected,
a jury of my peerage peers,
which is why my appeals are
always returned in the file labelled

until the next nights dream
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.

They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).

If I so chose
I could
Be anything
I imagined, even

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

Is effaced by
(For Sorrow has no end)
Tormented by Space.
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wax and
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Or minds.

(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
Dawnstar Nov 2018
When ancients in our eyes waged war in green Gaul,
He fought for new wealth and nobleman's glory,
He rose from mud where slave-spears lay shattered,
And raised the good name of his house from disgrace.
Binding giants in a favorable pact,
The consulship could well be attained,
But men of the day could not perceive greatness,
And barred him from beloved Rome.
So he rode out and vanquished the untamed Gauls,
Who once had brought Rome to its fearful knees,
Winning victory after victory in forests of the north,
Splitting oaks in the east, where his sword marred its sheen.
When fleets by Britain's cliffs hemmed the horizon,
When the seat of the Sphinx was polished marble-gold,
There were ten thousand Greeks could tell of his exploits,
And ten hundred Egyptians who claimed to know him.
With rude steel, he mastered the Mediterranean,
And over the Earth he brandished civilization.
In later years, his heirs spread like a stain upon the land;
The seas too were dyed with Roman sails,
And every coin minted bore the face of Caesar.
Even now, though the empire is hardened like iron,
And purple luxury replaces the crimson of war,
There are still a few among us who remember
Our young and mighty red-feathered conqueror.
Of an auspicious nature
Promising and favorable
Always having an upbeat attitude
Showing strong will and quite capable
Looking up into the sky
In order to reach new heights
Focused, dedicated and determined
With such zeal and vigor to take flight
Nikki Nikos Nov 6
One.Two.. Three...
Look at me, Look away.
Talk to me, Talk away.
get to know this mystery you want to solve
You can't stop looking, I can't stop laughing
This dance between the two of us continues
With the words you want to say, and the words I haven't heard yet.
One of your friends tells me the truth
of every glance,every smile,
The feelings I suspected, but never thought i'd hear.
You're scared.You hold back
I wait as the clock moves nonstop....
There's so much you want to say.
in every crowded room,
You think of the million things you wish you could say to me,
I imagine a million different scenarios
of what you could possibly say
But in this charade, the one you created,
my response remains the same.It's favorable to you.
Time flies by.You both know it.
time is unforgiving that way.
You fear she'll reject you,
I fear I won't be good enough for you.
In your eyes, you see someone
who makes your heart leap out of your chest.
In my eyes,
I see a kind, caring guy who knows how
to make a girl smile and laugh.
You're scared.I'm scared.
But that's how it goes.
This is the crazy,complicated, beautiful mess
of this thing called
This poem is a bit different to the usual poems. For the ones out there, who sometimes struggle to admit your feelings to someone else, I hope this can be the gentle nudge you need . For those who have already gone through this, did I get the depiction right? let me know in the comments below!
i'm tired of being told i am one thing
then treated like the opposite
i'm bothered by the people around me
acting like i am incompetent
have to be too stupid to see
how they use double meanings
but i understand
i just hope they don't mean it
i wanna be someone's friend
i would try to make myself emotionally available
i would be what you need
be the traits you find favorable
but i won't change it all
but then again who's to say
if changing only a little
doesn't make you fake
lexx Nov 2018
For the readers
Nerds, geeks, book lovers
Wizards, Hobbits, and Tributes,
believing in unseeable lands.
Minds grow restless to travel
through the fluttering pages
of these paper portals,
Bookmark today and visit
another version of reality.
Brave enough to love
people they can’t see.
People they will never meet
People who would understand them
The way no one else does
Smart enough to know
this world isn't worth staying
Dystopian lands often favorable
To our own growing demise
Wholeheartedly believing
in the fictional and loving the unreal.
Attempts to turn the nonfiction fiction
To self hypnotize away today's chaos
You must have one hell of a heart
to seek refuge
in another's imagination,
and be able come back
to reality when your done
and try to to love this world.
Hey I'd love some feedback I'm thinking of reading it at a poetry reading...
Tiara I S Mar 6
nourish a moonflower
tears water her best
shield her from the sun-
for sunlight burns the thin petals

why wont the moon shine down evermore
I need its presence as I wilt
from this disease that seeks attention
from those favorable to my eyes
all other doses are fine
yet not as potent as that of fine ambrosia
leiden with gentle eyes and firm brows
sharp jaws and the softest of words

timelessly I am in awe over
how many petals I've left scattered behind me
in my quest- for eternal moonlight
for I leave myself far too often with men whom dust me off
a mcvicar Apr 8
the tidings, barefaced,
bring news of revenge

housewifes have been murdered
and cleansed and chiseled and thread

victims have overrulers
and dummed luck friends

tidings are favorable
yet wet in the end

for no forsaken warrior
shall be mourned in his own head

unfortunately, tidings bring (as well)
the news of a drunken lost shell

of sea voyagers and criminals
thank god i'm not infinitesimal
LR Thompson Aug 2018
As tragedies befall man
It can be seen that virtue
,Right and wrong,
Has become a mainstream affair
Whereas the mitress of the good
Is the popularity that she possesses
While by some unknown foreign standard
Emotions such as grief or despair
Have been replaced by the all too brief
Cries of fair or unfair
That by some societal norm
We have become a people of characters
Numbering one hundred and forty
Different ways to paint ourselves
Favorable in the light of our peers
Who also choose to weave a facade
Either to illuminate or hide
The true content of their souls
Behind dishonest kindness
Or blatant hatred
Such that, morality as it existed
Is now falling prey to the whims of distance
And the false sense of safety
Provided by the masks we construct
To remove the burden of responsibility
So that we can abdicate our virtue
,Right and wrong,
Just because we use symbols to signal
Where we stand
As we sit
Raj Bhandari Aug 24
You, better, talk to yourself, & just say,
the time isn't favorable,its not my day

— The End —