"furtherance" poems
Dear one,
As the domino, I fall cascading on the drawing board. Why would one deny progression? A furtherance , the ebb and flow. I remain up beat and spirited as I read your letters. It's like a barred barricade is being lifted.Your glowing light is charging me. Certainty is liberating, the riding of the waves have become a skill that I have engrossed. The tides spread from shore to shore and I must anchor. I am ever grateful for your deliberation in regard to my current affairs. Your magnanimity is greatly appreciated.
As I am
Enormous, bountifulness of free spirit. Episodes of taciturnity alternated by sequences of thrill are remarkably felt. The higher level linking is simultaneous , coordinated and equidistant. As life propels, years progress a resemblance of energy is greatly congruent. The conforming compatibility of the absolute is evident. Transpiration of what once known yet unknown surfaces, erupts and consolidates a new meaning. A renewed existence, a recovered emergence solidifies. These moments are so evident, abundantly and vehemently felt on every fibre,bone and muscle of my being. Right to the core of my soul, my very existence.
On the tangent of thoughts........"J" the jewel... the forgotten treasure. What happened to the nature trueness that stroked your mind? The non win compromises aren't spontaneous. We must realign.... we must.
Vous êtes magnifiquement merveilleux et excellent en tous les moyens possible.
You sure do give me the butterflies......
You hold me in skies high above.
I can't control the butterflies.........
Is it just a flutter ?
To progress as you progress.....
SassyJ
Inspired by........
Natasha Bedingfield (Soulmate)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P27MPi3ZhCg
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
*Courtyard blessed with snake Gods
Under the large plumeria tree
With its yellowish white flowers
Sitting there in the world of my imagination
Conversing with the disparate designed snakes
Came to visit their King with Queen God
King was in golden colour with his head high
Queen in her attic of red with black lines
Wearing garlands of corn marigold flowers
Offerings made by devotees
Tender coconut, turmeric powder,
Rice pudding with rice cake
Blessing them pleased with their devotion
Turned towards me to convey their heartfelt joy
In furtherance of visiting their
kingdom with respect to nature
Giving them a space with devotion in this nasty world*
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
We know not of that Woman,
though ‘tis known that for years
she has begged for death.
what marred such a creature?
unsought furtherance,
everlasting atrocity,
or a centaur,
agog martyrs and honor,
‘tis certain that,
once the castles are built,
their emperors,
though drunk on ***
and branded by adulation,
shall ascend.
but does fame bespeak
an eternity of pandemonium?
Perchance.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
Today shed I a tear for every lost soul
Lost in the furtherance of ill-conceived war
Lost at the hands of a political goal
Lost now to good health, consistently poor.
As refugees they travel to find peaceful land
Relying on handouts from a charity trough
Reviled by so many who don’t understand
Who deny there’s a problem or just shrug it off.
Would a family not desperate get in one of those boats
And set sail over seas that so frequently ****
And give all of their money to who promises the most
Who manipulates their misery with such deadly skill.
Yes, shed a tear for humanity’s sake
Have we lost all compassion and good grace
Let us recognise the pain and the risks that they take
And be grateful that it’s something that we will not face.
But politics the ***** whose behaviour is arch
And the arms manufacturers and their riches
Mean more refugees will set off on the march
While so many lie dead in quickly dug ditches.
Man is truly his own worst enemy.
©Joe Wilson – Today shed I a tear…2016
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
Quiet White Boys
wearing awkward glasses
sporting clean haircuts
and boring polo shirts
keep to themselves,
don’t know how to draw boundaries,
don’t know how to reach out,
and don't know how to reach inward.
They eschew the material world
in favor of a false digital one,
and there, in the simulacrum,
they find a modicum of validation—
a reinforcement of a kernel
of a horribly flawed idea:
that they have somehow been more victimized
than the victims all around them—
the women,
the racial minorities,
the people afraid to practice their own religion,
the people afraid to live as their true gender,
the people suffering with mental illness,
the people suffering with domestic violence,
the girls who were sexually molested,
the girls who were *****
and so on,
and so forth.
The Quiet White Boys
learn that they are victims
from other Quiet White Boys,
and together they conclude
that, because they have been victimized,
they may therefore
act heedlessly, aggressively,
hatefully, mercilessly
in furtherance of
what they view to be justice.
But it is a distorted, fractured
version of justice
that they seek—
fetishized by the red, screaming faces
with loud megaphones
and debilitated, sickly hearts
in the digital basement
where the Quiet White Boys have chosen
to live.
A torch-carrying mob
has never delivered real justice—
not once in the entire history of human civilization, in fact—
and a slate gray Dodge Challenger
barreling into a crowd at fifty miles per hour
is not an instrument of justice, either—
it is just a reflection
seen through a shattered mirror.
And shattered mirrors
don’t come unshattered
simply because other
Quiet White Boys
are gazing into them with you.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
Whatya waiting for?
let's go to war
it's written in the stars
and was foretold both by Jupiter and Mars
that men would die in furtherance of their own greed.
So
feed the fires
light up the skies with tracer shell
we'll build another hell right here on earth giving birth to untold grief.
Belief?
what belief is it that turns and knocks the whole world flat
and with its tongue that flicks the switches on a gun would run to break
the men that would attempt to take a minute out
to survey just what is being done
in the name of God or someone's son.
It's all as one
and as one we all die
So let the rockets fly.
But there is this
some will profit from the death
and with hot breath and hotter hands will arm those bands
that would seek out those less meek and waste them
yes
some men become the unseen ****** killing as they please and if it pleases them then the men who profiteer
cheer
'hurray
more money in the bank',
they say.
It's just another day for some underneath the threat of the burping gun
and they run
how they run
can't beat the bullet from the gun
too fast
too fast
I pray it doesn't last
but my God appears to have gone for lunch
which is not a bunch
of roses for anyone.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
in england the maxim is said to be: i pathologize, therefore i am (pathological) - hence i write intellectual comedy, satire, yet still utilise canned laughter when necessary, i never understood humour as not so much what's said, but how body language primarily eases out the longest, simplest of laughters - i am the one who decided comedy had to be intelligent, and tragedy apathetic, because i didn't think, i simply pathologized: look at my grand psychiatric rainbow of an array of names to look at a shadow of the hand move behind a candle-flame! even a mongol horde could not invade england carrying thought as the explorer, the intention for pause.
cheeks raised do not give straight rivers
of tears flowing down through to the periphery
of the face via jaw through to the neck,
and indeed when not acting,
both curvatures of mouth and eyes
are the same down-turned, such parabolas
of union, the third eye like an opening of an
oyster soft pouched thought of the lowest
union, neither intellectual union nor
heartfelt union - but as oyster shell to that
pseudo-muscle of the enclosed pearl;
tears flow with curvatures of raised cheeks
half ellipse river shapes - till the salty cool
of the content heats up the skin -
indeed the powerful avatars of asia who enrich
the gods, and the begging actors of the western world
who would be but beggars had they not the chance
to thieve from their fellow men and
live out a shortening of autobiographies,
or perhaps simply weave a myth from history -
deity actors (avatars) are hardly
what has become understood as twin-human
actors - so to enrich an eternity for the passing
memory readied with body to be given a grave
and forgetting - long ago the body was engaged
and was allowed to be given the womb of inscription,
yet a ghost of that body remained as a second life
for the lives of others, a memory, until that memory
be buried no furtherance of life equipped with
imagining otherwise can be staged for the re cycling
of an ordained body to enter and inscribe
a rekindling of the memory for the camp fire of talk,
hence the extinction of memory in almost each man
with the widespread talk of dementia:
seek fame in mythology rather than like a ****
attracting the swarm of flies that the paparazzi are.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
Everything is still the same, except just rearranged
except for dad, he's changed.
I fell down and nearly drowned
in whiskey and *******
I thought I could replace the pain
of not seeing your face again
but every ******* trace you left behind
was sacred space, inside confined
the welling tragedy, silence of the disgraced.
There isn't any telling in defense of the insane,
the mute intense.
and dad has changed.
The youngest nearly starved herself, by Grace she won't accept
but self-punishment and furtherance into sickness of debt;
*if i were brighter, were i slighter,
had i done better, he'd have stayed*
she blames herself, then just a child,
for causing all the grief you made.
and dad is changed.
a nephew or a niece conceived within loss of control
and then was lost and killed another piece of my exhausted soul
and I was married, with a step-son, after turning things around
but now that's buried ancient history. not what I thought I'd found.
He told me the same things you used to tell me,
*they just like you because they don't know you.
your facade is too corrupt to show through.
but I am near now, I know you're a fraud.
You're the antithesis of good and God.*
You never met my dog,
and dad has changed.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
she used her strength of character to destroy a king
and thus everything with her was contaminated
life was cheap to such a female who had ****** in her veins
she took the time to arrange her hair and paint her face
she prostituted her gifts for the furtherance of evil
determined to abolish all that interfered with the fulfillment of her wicked designs
as the daughter of the devil
she suffers a worse retribution
there was no sign of repent
she was rotten root to branch
an unrepentant prophetess who has beguiled the people
persuasive
her influence was wrongly directed and her misdirected talents have become a curse
savage and relentless
this strong women carried out her schemes
nothing but a pawn
packed off the the highest bidder
she represents a view of women good that is opposite of the one extolled
magnificent and defiant
hurling insults at her murderers
as the daughter of the devil
she suffers a worse retribution
there was no sign of repent
she was rotten root to branch
an unrepentant prophetess who has beguiled the people
an inhuman wretch incapable of pity
oh so void
she's so ******* empty
as the daughter of the devil
she suffers a worse retribution
there was no sign of repent
she was rotten root to branch
an unrepentant prophetess who has beguiled the people
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 2:56 PM UTC
Every moment that is taken
Has a consequence inside
You can leave or you can take it
In the furtherance of life
You can hold onto your actions
Or let them take a hold of you
Water or drain your passion
Don't let regret be the path you choose
The time you save you give away
At some other point in time
If you don't use it then you'll lose it
Never again to find
With the time you're spending here
Consider it a loan
Write this on your epitaph
Don't regret the path you're on
Life is made up of choices
You either sit out or you dance
That one song may not come back on
To give you another chance
When life asks for volunteers
What are the words you'll say
Stand your ground and do it now
Don't regret your life away
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
I was to carry my wounded dog to the crucified Jesus. I was not to remove a single one of its teeth. for luck, I was to touch the back of my wrist to the blowzy heel of my kneeling mother for which I would need to set my dog down excited as it might get by the man in my father’s chair. I was to fetch my sister from the desert and I was to sole her feet with fish. I was to find a ***** and call it by name and convince it that all would soon be burned by the bottoms of tiny soup bowls. these bowls I would need to clay myself. if I knew not where to begin, father said I was to ask the Lord but warned me he’d already asked him once. father afterward would say he loved that dog too much. which meant he loved me more. said the Lord.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
First the rocks we were standing on
Became pebbles in our shoes
And with our leap of faith
Came a pile of mindless fools
It's time to redefine
The point in which
We've crossed the line...
In the absence of knowledge
Our ignorance takes the stage
One-sided points of view
Fear camouflaged by rage
I claim no label
No member or team
I gather my thoughts
From in between
As the furtherance of humanity
Spit sputters and pause
On the information highway
Let us further our cause...
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
it might be tough it might be hard but let’s get it
because what would we be without the struggle
the only thing I could raise was myself up
and even that took some time and some effort
i don’t want to hear how rough you got life
i got life too, it tasted like a catfish
on a warm summer day
just caught from the sea and brought to my plate
but I did not eat the whiskers, I’d tell you that.
I did not eat the whiskers, I’d tell you that
but I had to be in furtherance of my goals
like soccer, but without all that running
and kicking and the ball
on second thought maybe its not like soccer at all
maybe its more like flying
I’m strapped in and everything is feeling good
Its like im in the womb again but the womb
did not feel so cold to the touch I did not move
in the womb now i’m moving fast so fast almost too fast
i wish that I could slow down or just stop
flying is too intense for me lets try something else
like swimming oh wait I don’t know how to swimming what
was I think maybe I should just stop with these metaphors
life is like a box of pizza its all the same the only thing that
changes is the toppings or the amount of slices that you get
those slices don’t feel good or look good they are quick
to the touch and sometimes they make you feel sad
that’s a good metaphor I think I’ll stick with that
it may be tough but we are a lot tougher.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 8:23 PM UTC
everything in life is tech-ordered,
in this age of mega-multitasking,
the brain poorly functions, so in its defense,
the brain leans on learned reflexive behaviors
she, on the couch, cashmere blanket covered,
the Tv platform reconstituted as a drone,
a politician in front of a camera pontificating,
while she scans the Ipad, and both me and god,
don’t know what more she might need (to buy)
so when I stroke her legs, to give
added heat to her fiber-edged warming,
I do it more than once to test my theoretical,
she responds repeatical, unhesitatingly “hello my love”
after the fourth or sixth testing,
she looks up, ears perking, sensing,
knowing, something is afoot (a-legged?)
quizingly asking, “ok, what’s up?”
I smile, and explain most rationally,
that in furtherance of my current poem,
now underway, I was testing my leitmotif,
that even love benefits from proper training
<>
*no, I will not show her this poem,
lest she show me in return,
her new self-improvement,
her recently-learned-at-home,
mindful, meditative training in*
kickboxing skills.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 12:10 PM UTC
*White paper of clouds
With blue ink of sky
Filled artistically
With words of stars
By the poet moon
Poem in furtherance
Of his beloved
The sea ergo blue
Clouds filled with stars
Shining akin her eyes
Kissing her lento
Smiles sea mighty green!*
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
This is me
Starting over
And on my come back
I'll be bringing my "A" game
Stepping it up to match the impact
Of those of "you"
Constantly blowing my mind away
I cannot allow your furtherance of petty fame
Be it known and owned
You new kids are surly on a block
Be careful posting a bunch of slop
Don't let your algorithms suddenly drop!
................................................................
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC
Never give up
Keep going
When you get far
You'll see farther
Life's a journey
On your way
Never give up
Take good steps
And enjoy the trip
Wisely and carefully.
Harm nobody
Play your cards
Wisely and thoughtfully.
God's love
Advices are building blocks
Take them
Think about them
Use them
Thank the authors after.
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 10:00 PM UTC