[C9FM'S GRAND PSALM OF GRATITUDE UNTO THE ALMIGHTY.]

"ALMIGHTY GAD"

In the vast expanse of existence, we humbly stand before you, Almighty Gad. Your divine presence echoes through the cosmos, shaping the universe with your boundless wisdom. As the sun rises and sets, so does our gratitude for the gift of life bestowed upon us.

In the tapestry of time, your love weaves through the threads of our journey, a constant source of solace and inspiration. Through trials and triumphs, we find refuge in your eternal embrace, knowing that your grace is an unwavering beacon guiding us through the storm.

Majestic Gad, the orchestrator of galaxies and the whisperer in the wind, we sing praises to your name. Your mercy rains down like gentle dew, refreshing the soil of our souls. In moments of darkness, your light illuminates our path, dispelling shadows and instilling hope.

In the symphony of creation, every note resonates with your divine melody. The mountains declare your grandeur, and the rivers sing of your endless flow of compassion. The intricacies of nature reflect the artistry of your hands, a masterpiece that testifies to your infinite majesty.

Oh Gad, our Rock and Redeemer, we offer our gratitude for the gift of salvation. As we navigate the complexities of life, may your word be a lamp unto our feet, guiding us towards righteousness and love. Let the echoes of our praises rise like incense, reaching the heavens in a harmonious symphony of devotion.

In unity, we gather to honor you, Almighty Gad, recognizing the sacred bond that unites us as your children. With hearts overflowing with
reverence, we surrender to your divine will, knowing that in your presence, we find everlasting peace.

In the stillness of our souls, we seek you, Almighty Gad, as a sanctuary in the midst of life's tumultuous seas. Your presence, like a gentle breeze, calms the storms within, and your love, an anchor, steadies our fragile vessels.

Through the vast expanse of time, your eternal wisdom unfolds like the pages of a sacred manuscript, revealing the intricate tapestry of our existence. In the chapters of joy and sorrow, we find solace in the narrative of your unending grace, a narrative that transcends the limits of mortal understanding.

Oh, Divine Gardener, tend to the gardens of our hearts. Cultivate the seeds of compassion and kindness, that they may bloom into flowers of love that fragrance the world around us. Water our spirits with the dew of understanding, that empathy may grow as a mighty oak, sheltering those in need.

As dawn paints the canvas of the sky, we acknowledge the beauty of creation, a masterpiece woven by your hands. The sun, a radiant symbol of your enduring light, dispels the shadows of doubt, and the moon, a gentle reminder of your constant presence, guides us through the night.

In the symphony of life, we are instruments of your divine harmony. May our actions resonate with the melody of justice, kindness, and humility. Let our words be notes of encouragement, lifting the spirits of those who traverse the winding paths of existence.

Almighty Gad, in times of adversity, be our fortress; in times of joy, be our celebration. Bind us together as a community of souls, interconnected by the threads of faith, love, and shared humanity. We stand before you, our hearts open, seeking the whispers of your guidance in the gentle breeze of existence. Amen!!!🙏 🙏 🙏 🙏



Kindly share to as many page & group, help people learn of their Creator. Create HIS awareness. & comment
grow the kingdom of the ALMIGHTY.

May the echoes of our shared prayers resonate in the sacred spaces of your heart.
Amen! 🙏

Gad Zooks,
the zedonk,
was mostly,
a happy little fellow.

but,
there did happen,
to be days,
when his,
incomplete
stripes,
got him down...
he was not horse,
not full zebra,
only part donkey.....

and that made him feel, shonky, wonky,
weird n'strange...
like an equine oddity.
not at all likin his ***-dity

when he felt like this,
he would run afar
and pray for god
to take,
his markings,
away.....

Granmama Zooks,
a zebra matriach
and of magnificent stripage,
found him this day
mumbling and crying away...

she then said to him,
in her best zebra neigh....
you are sad little zedonk,
to act this way....
you should think of yourself,
in a different mindset....
you have,
the best bits,
of zebra and donkey.
you just don't see it yet...

i've learnt in my time
you just have to work,
what your born with...
some times,
what you see,
as bad,
actually is,
a god given gift.

you, should be always
be proud of who you are
and what you will become...

people will travel,
for miles and miles,
to see your bars...
and will still be,
talking of you little gad..
as they leave, all smiles.

in their cars,
calling you,
either zedonk...or zonkey,
or zedonkedey  too.
telling each other,
you are,
both cute and bizarre..

so my little,
hotchpotch friend,
be proud of you...
for in the end,
you will,
stand out from
the crowd
just chill, little zook
                      ...and be zen.

As I was saying . . . (No, thank you; I never take cream with my tea;
Cows weren't allowed in the trenches -- got out of the habit, y'see.)
As I was saying, our Colonel leaped up like a youngster of ten:
"Come on, lads!" he shouts, "and we'll show 'em," and he sprang to the head of the men.
Then some bally thing seemed to trip him, and he fell on his face with a slam. . . .
Oh, he died like a true British soldier, and the last word he uttered was "****!"
And hang it! I loved the old fellow, and something just burst in my brain,
And I cared no more for the bullets than I would for a shower of rain.
'Twas an awf'ly funny sensation (I say, this is jolly nice tea);
I felt as if something had broken; by gad! I was suddenly free.
Free for a glorified moment, beyond regulations and laws,
Free just to wallow in slaughter, as the chap of the Stone Age was.

So on I went joyously nursing a Berserker rage of my own,
And though all my chaps were behind me, feeling most frightf'ly alone;
With the bullets and shells ding-donging, and the "krock" and the swish of the shrap;
And I found myself humming "Ben Bolt" . . . (Will you pass me the sugar, old chap?
Two lumps, please). . . . What was I saying? Oh yes, the jolly old dash;
We simply ripped through the barrage, and on with a roar and a crash.
My fellows -- Old Nick couldn't stop 'em. On, on they went with a yell,
Till they tripped on the Boches' sand-bags, -- nothing much left to tell:
A trench so tattered and battered that even a rat couldn't live;
Some corpses tangled and mangled, wire you could pass through a sieve.

The jolly old guns had bilked us, cheated us out of our show,
And my fellows were simply yearning for a red mix-up with the foe.
So I shouted to them to follow, and on we went roaring again,
Battle-tuned and exultant, on in the leaden rain.
Then all at once a machine gun barks from a bit of a bank,
And our Major roars in a fury: "We've got to take it on flank."
He was running like fire to lead us, when down like a stone he comes,
As full of "typewriter" bullets as a pudding is full of plums.
So I took his job and we got 'em. . . . By gad! we got 'em like rats;
Down in a deep shell-crater we fought like Kilkenny cats.
'Twas pleasant just for a moment to be sheltered and out of range,
With someone you saw to go for -- it made an agreeable change.

And the Boches that missed my bullets, my chaps gave a bayonet jolt,
And all the time, I remember, I whistled and hummed "Ben Bolt".
Well, that little job was over, so hell for leather we ran,
On to the second line trenches, -- that's where the fun began.
For though we had strafed 'em like fury, there still were some Boches about,
And my fellows, teeth set and eyes glaring, like terriers routed 'em out.
Then I stumbled on one of their dug-outs, and I shouted: "Is anyone there?"
And a voice, "Yes, one; but I'm wounded," came faint up the narrow stair;
And my man was descending before me, when sudden a cry! a shot!
(I say, this cake is delicious. You make it yourself, do you not?)
My man? Oh, they killed the poor devil; for if there was one there was ten;
So after I'd bombed 'em sufficient I went down at the head of my men,
And four tried to sneak from a bunk-hole, but we cornered the rotters all right;
I'd rather not go into details, 'twas messy that bit of the fight.

But all of it's beastly messy; let's talk of pleasanter things:
The skirts that the girls are wearing, ridiculous fluffy things,
So short that they show. . . . Oh, hang it! Well, if I must, I must.
We cleaned out the second trench line, bomb and bayonet ******;
And on we went to the third one, quite calloused to crumping by now;
And some of our fellows who'd passed us were making a deuce of a row;
And my chaps -- well, I just couldn't hold 'em; (It's strange how it is with gore;
In some ways it's just like whiskey: if you taste it you must have more.)
Their eyes were like beacons of battle; by gad, sir! they COULDN'T be calmed,
So I headed 'em bang for the bomb-belt, racing like billy-be-******.
Oh, it didn't take long to arrive there, those who arrived at all;
The machine guns were certainly chronic, the shindy enough to appal.
Oh yes, I omitted to tell you, I'd wounds on the chest and the head,
And my shirt was torn to a gun-rag, and my face blood-gummy and red.

I'm thinking I looked like a madman; I fancy I felt one too,
Half naked and swinging a rifle. . . . God! what a glorious "do".
As I sit here in old Piccadilly, sipping my afternoon tea,
I see a blind, bullet-chipped devil, and it's hard to believe that it's me;
I see a wild, war-damaged demon, smashing out left and right,
And humming "Ben Bolt" rather loudly, and hugely enjoying the fight.
And as for my men, may God bless 'em! I've loved 'em ever since then:
They fought like the shining angels; they're the pick o' the land, my men.
And the trench was a reeking shambles, not a Boche to be seen alive --
So I thought; but on rounding a traverse I came on a covey of five;
And four of 'em threw up their flippers, but the fifth chap, a sergeant, was game,
And though I'd a bomb and revolver he came at me just the same.
A sporty thing that, I tell you; I just couldn't blow him to hell,
So I swung to the point of his jaw-bone, and down like a ninepin he fell.
And then when I'd brought him to reason, he wasn't half bad, that ***;
He bandaged my head and my short-rib as well as the Doc could have done.
So back I went with my Boches, as gay as a two-year-old colt,
And it suddenly struck me as rummy, I still was a-humming "Ben Bolt".
And now, by Jove! how I've bored you. You've just let me babble away;
Let's talk of the things that matter -- your car or the newest play. . . .

CLOUDNINE'S TWENTY SEVEN PSALM OF DOXOLOGY TO ADORE THY LORD GAD!


#C9fm ~~
1 Make holy his glorious name and adore His powerful word.

2 Sing praises unto thee. And let every breathing creatures tremble at His footstool.

3 The Earth and everythang found therein. Lift on high His glorification and sing adoration unto the supreme Spirit of thy Lord.

4 Hallelujah! Thy Lord reingth  till eternal.

5 From all entities through entities.

6 For He has magnified Himself and manifested Himself through every wondrous works of His hands.

7 Ruler of the universe, His glorious crafts exists even beyond the miltiverse.

8 Underneath Earth and above the skies may thy Almighty God be adored.

∆¶∆9 His right hand through seas His breathe roared the waters.

10 His voice quake the Earth and the foundation of the universe wary.

11
He looked and lightening from His eyes revealed the secret place of the wicked.

12 Let thy Lord be praised. He has smitten the jaws of His enemies.

13 Even Lucifer and his angels.

14 Thy Lord  reignth till eternal.

15 Blessed be thy Lord our Gad; with psalms and doxologies thy Lord be worshipped. Selah!

Lard Gad I cant tek it nuh more
Right now mi feel like church life unsure
Mi cant even see weh fi embrace nuh more
Cause the covid thing seh nuh embrace nuh more.

Lard Gad I cant tek it nuh more.  
Right now mi feel like church life unsure.
Mi miss sis jenny cooking,
The good sat deh chicken,
Mi usually lick mi  finga
Like a happy baby pigeon.  

Lard Gad I cant tek it nuh more
Right now mi feel like me church life unsure
Weh affi mask up
Face cover up
A cough or sneeze mek everybody flair up.

Lard Gad I cant tek it nuh more.
Lard Gad I cant tek it nuh more

I have wondered for so long,
What makes me feel this way,
So traumatised by everything,
And it's like this everyday.

I use to be afraid of my family and friends dieing,
I use to feel sick in the morning,
I use to cry when the sunset,
I thought my dieing day was dawning.

Now all the small things are so big,
I have spazums and muscle tension,
I worry about the one I love and if she stays the one,
I fear in my future life there will be no redemption.

The nausea and diarrhoea still cling on,
I sometimes lose sleep,
My heart pounds and my eyes widen,
I growl and sometime shiver and weep.

I think I found it after all these years,
The experts call it GAD,
Am I right?
Will I ever be free?

I would rather drink than eat,
And though I superbly sup,
Food, I feel, can never beat
Delectation of the cup.
Wine it is that crowns the feast;
Fish and fowl and fancy meat
Are of my delight the least:
I would rather drink than eat.

Though no Puritan I be,
And have doubts of Kingdom Come,
With those fellows I agree
Who deplore the Demon ***.
Gin and brandy I decline,
And I shy at whisky neat;
But give me rare vintage wine,--
Gad! I'd rather drink than eat.

Food surfeit is of the beast;
Wine is from the gods a gift.
All from ******* to priest
Can attest to its uplift.
Green and garnet glows the vine;
Grapes grow plump in happy heat;
Gold and ruby winks the wine . . .
Come! Let's rather drink than eat.

Huna ko ba nga may ada mo iyayakan?
Ano man nga bagat na dire ka nga akon iton masabtan?
Waray ka na gad pag-tapod ha akon?
Pirmi naman la masulub-on iton imo bayhon.

Kumusta ka na? Bangin amo la gihap
An aton kahimtang sugad hin lasaw nga dire mo matarap
Kay kuno nalikay ka na ha akon
Ano ba itun basehan nga imo man ako pagbabasulon?

Mamingaw naman an mga gab-i nga marisaw
Napuno na hin kahagkot, kasakit ngan kahidlaw
Hain na an mga pahaliday nga imo ginhatag
Adton gugma nga waray mo ginsandag.

Madagmit man gud la an karida han panahon
Nga ha akon paghimangno dire ka na ngay-an akon
Aadto ka na man liwat ha iba
Aadto ka kay durudamo man it iya kwarta.

Waray ko na kababatii an imo tingog
Asya nga an akon adlaw pirmi nala maluntog
Pero aadi la gihapon ha akon huna-huna inin pakiana
Paglaom nga usa ka adlaw mabalik ka pa.

- Caryl

We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
 
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
 
And Bingo was his name-o!
 
Ah!
 
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
 
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
 
And mora is but a half step to a whole
 
Eek gad!
 
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
 
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
 
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
 
12344
12344556
12344
12­344556
 
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
 
 
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
 
Together we fall!
United I stand.
 
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
 
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
 
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
 
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
 
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
 
True or False?
Hide and Seek
 
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
 
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
 
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
 
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
 
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
 
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
 
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.

By Jennifersoter Ezewi

Searched all over the globe
By his curious brethren
Who craves for a trace
On the minute of a sign or symbol.

Coast to coast has he sojourned
In search of this settlement
That baffles all.
Yet so symbolic to be identified.

What prompted the African search
Brought a bloodline to Nigeria
To view the striking identification
Their brother left behind as an easterner.

This mysterious remembrance has
Launched a helping hand to the present
Generation, intending to wipe the tears
Of a populace who hails from the east.

Having found the tribes of Gad emerges
A reunion of East and these westerners
Who vowed to find a brother whose position
Is the seventh in Jacob's court.

10/4/14
Those minutes
those mornings when I wake up and it feels I'm back at day one
and I'm still made of clay, and God himself
took his thumbs
and hollowed out my eye sockets
and never filled them.

(what do I write now?)

My ponytail is brushing the small of my back.
I'm staring at my reflection on the computer screen
and I'm not liking what I'm seeing.

(Stop talking about yourself.)

They say "write what you know", and yet
I can only write about myself.

(shut up.)

Knives. Earwax. Squeals.
What is my life made of?
In a day, I'll be back
at my temple of jitters.
(School).
(maybe there's something wrong with you, the way you brought those glasses to the kitchen,
that you drank the same liquid from, and your stomach
felt like it was holding water bottles full of blood, instead of organs)

10/13/14

Why do you have to make me feel so **** guilty all the time?
When we stood on the grey carpet in Spirit Halloween
the animated screams pushing against my torso
with your gaslighting, my head/heart/hair caught fire
and nobody won.

I feel like I deserve better than this, but what could be better than
these moments?
At least, later, I will have photos to lighten
in my sweatpants
and my designated sweatshirt for when I feel like ****.

And the inside of my mouth tastes like
those screams, from the wrinkled, blackened plastic
and the oil from our un-fluffable bangs.

I know tomorrow I'll be
busy ******* up christmas songs
and leaning on bus windows
and sleeping in the jumpy skin I've built myself
out of bad breath, smudged makeup,
and curly-haired boys,
So I should be grateful.
But when it feels like you've drained bottles of stage blood into my veins
and I am not real anymore
and instead of eyeshadow, my eyelids are weighed down
with toxic thoughts that, instead of coming from my mental lips,
come from your physical ones,
I will not be happy.
I'm sorry.
(You know you had fun. Stop it. You had a hell of a great time, and a bad aftertaste will never get rid of the taste of the absence of loneliness in those pictures.)
---
Me to myself: why are you like this?

(And also, why is it that
you always have more things to say
even when this program is closed
the typing has stopped
you come back
hungry for the attention you'll never get?)

---

10/24/14
I know people will ask
how my right shin got so scratched up and shredded
and maybe I will tell them
It got that way when I crawled out the window
and not that I sat on the bathroom floor
crying tears that felt pink, the way they darkened my face
and I dug my nails into my flesh
and dragged them.

I wish I could do something poetic with the stinging pain, like
cut off all my hair, or most of it
because It made me look like a wild animal, when
I walked, shoe-less, on the streets.
Or I could have scars on my leg, and be reminded
of the pain I inflicted on myself
(and others)
today
---
11-3-14

Oh ****, I fell in love again.
...
Is it love, Or is it
a childlike infatuation
with the idea of a crush
?
Do I have affections for you, or am I attracted
to the idea of you?
Am I just bored? Do I only like that you like me,
that you make me feel relaxed?
Maybe, or maybe it's
the sugar-high-ish, ache-y feeling
I get when I see you in the corner of my eye
or our legs brush up together
(Thank god it's not lust).
---

_
This is the color of anxiety:
Red, like the blood I wish I could expose with a sharp, small movement, but can't, just can't (you can't even hurt yourself correctly. Worthless.)
Orange, like the pumpkins in the halloween store I tried to have fun in, but the snake of uneasiness squeezed my ribs too tight until I couldn't breathe, orange like the light I saw in the middle of the night.
Yellow, like the sunshine that I wanted to run into, but I didn't let myself, a watery color like what my voice sounds like sometimes.
Green, like the leaves on the rock I sat on
when I ran from myself, my house
and cried, cried, cried (once is enough, *******).
Blue, the color I thought my tears would be, but they were just a salty clear, dripping down my face, and changing nothing.
Purple, like the bruises that I don't remember getting, but press on anyway, relishing the pain in a sort of ******-up way, thinking "Whenever, wherever, however you got this, you probably deserved it."
Pink, like the insides, and outsides, of my eyelids when I can't sleep at night, arguing with myself.
Brown, like the dirt that I imagine
cakes the wormlike workings of my brain, in the area where
self-sympathy and control was.
Black, like the centers of my eyes
that I see when I look in the mirror and think
"****, did I look like this all day?"
And, anxiety is the colors in between, too. Navy and tan and white and gold.
Yes, it's all the colors, because it's everywhere, and most of the time, I can't get away from it.
(God, could you've made that any more melodramatic? Yeah, you have dark moments, but you make it sound like every aspect of your life is drenched in manic-depressive bile, which, my dear, is ridiculous.)
---

I was told today that I can't be both a Feminist and a Christian
"Really Lexi, this again
Why can't you just pick one of them
You don't know whay you're saying."

"No you are not" is what they say
to me again and again everyday
"Why don't you just go away
be normal and go and play."

But I'm trying to tell you who I am
I don't expect you to understand
but why do you make me feel as small as sand
instead of just listening

You act as if I've commited a crime
as if these words can't be mine
as if my mouth should have a bedtime
you shut me down

What is wrong with people today
we're so divided in every single way
all I want to do is say
Please end this destructive fray

But I'm "just a kid"
people didn't act how I did
that sat still and pretty and hid
if they ever did something that was forbid

As much as I hate it when people are mad
maybe don't try to make others feel bad
then we can all be in harmony and glad
and we can all gad
together

but this wonderful sounding universe
where all of us live without having to curse
cannot become properly versed
until we stop judging others first

I am a feminist
I am a Christian
I am proud of both
So hear me and listen

Nothing you say or do
will convince me I'm not
because hunny let me tell you
I am tougher than you thought.

We are absurd
You and I

Fragments

We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify

And Bingo was his name-o!

Ah!

Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon

What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole

Eek gad!

January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec

Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?

12345
12345678
12345
12345678

12344
12344556
12344
1234­4556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy

Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”

Together we fall!
United I stand.

Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar

What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour

Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!

Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…

verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such

True or False?
Hide and Seek

Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.

Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand

Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue

Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise

You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*

A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.

I read the steeple of Plath and
realize I am closer to thirty than 19.

Telling me I am now all-filled-out
here, personality and something
resembling a soul.
Like those characters you see in sitcoms.
A card carrying full-grown.

Real, live person! 50 more years
and maybe I can waltz into life
without insects eating at my back.

Tara aton tan-awon
Balikon an nawara nga hinumduman naton
Updi ako paglingi, pag-duaw bisan la maguti
Tagi ako hin oras, alayon la pamati.
Tara aton balikon
Mga panahon na hi ikaw akon
Nga hi ikaw pa an akon kalibutan
Kalibutan nga yana imo na ginkalimtan.
Tara updi ako
Ngadton takna nga dire pa uso an tawo
Balitaw intrimis la tatawa-tawa gad usahay
Ayaw pagkawanga an oras, inin higayon nga maupay.
Babahinan ko unta ikaw hine nga aton anay storya
Ugaring kay na dire ka ada nga ine mabalik pa
An aton paglakaton in imo gintuldukan
Dalan nga anay ginsubay, yana waray na hingaradtuan.
Tara, dire ka gud ba maupod?
Bisan la ha urhi nga takna ig-bayaw an imo pagtapod
Tuguti ako nga ha imo akon igsumat
Inin sininsilyo ngan tinalagudti nga pag-aghat.

8.18.20

there is a fire in my chest
that roars with every breath i take
i am suffocating,
choking on the fumes

at night, i am my own firefighter
i use the jaws of life to cut open my skin,
reach inside of myself
and extinguish whatever is burning me alive
until the flames re-ignite again in the morning.

612

It would have starved a Gnat—
To live so small as I—
And yet I was a living Child—
With Food’s necessity

Upon me—like a Claw—
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away—
Or make a Dragon—move—

Not like the Gnat—had I—
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself—
How mightier He—than I—

Nor like Himself—the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out—
And not begin—again—

The departure of the swallows took place on                                
My birthday this year, winter began.
They’re beautiful birds aren’t they Chris. Grasp the hand slowly.
Oh and it’s mild weather we’re having isn’t it?
Just splendid for a chance to wander through the forest.

Every man’s got a field to plow but where will I harvest              
When my niche ran south just to sit amongst the rats
And converse through the evening about Ivan’s insecurities.
Edward, grasp me quick and sever me from society.
Sip from the spring, grab a loaf and run cause
I’ve grown reckless and thrown off my yoke.                              
This young man is naturally far ahead of time,
That’s from the nurture of his hard of hearing mother Catherine.  
Where do I rest where do I eat, the dust in my mind
Is subjected to a sweeping repeat without being collected.
A slow rise, I hate taking off the covers but this night I walked
Without them yea I was nocturnal negation of Shadrach.
And boy you’ve taken far too long to deliver the paper!
My coffee’s been hot for half an hour and cold for two.
(Tap on the window) Excuse me which way is Beersheba?          
Now I know you know so please just bare with me and listen.
Yea yea Jason get out of here I know those tricks, I’ll
Get there some day and when I do it’ll all be worth it
Don’t you dear try to break my ankles. Hey drop the razor
Little boy you can’t shave yet and November is approaching.
Nothings equal to this and everything I’ve ever know
Makes perfect sense now, the explanation is certainly
The longest. Where have I been all my life,
Were you hiding under the desk waiting for an atomic
Bomb to drop, no I was just sitting in the subway counting
Change when the little black girl came up to me and
Asked me for two dollars so I gave her four and somehow
Five turned back to nine, the paper transported, my split
Identity got sewn back together and the cosmos is on my side.

Oh extra large I know what you’re talkin about.
Out there I walked through walls let me circumvent
Iron and brick with a gaseous coronary torrent.
I’ll eat my own heart out with one gentle bite
And smash that lime against the wall at your words.
I grow tired…
I need to get out of here I need to get out of here.
Through the yellow hallways around the corner open the green door.
I want to be on the top bunk so I can see the son rise,
After all that’s me don’t you know, genetically Japanese.
Get down from there!
Like a monkey? Okay!
I am the greyhound come to eat the wolf, just let me out.
These feathers are not clipped yet you can’t do this
(As long as I know right from wrong I’ll be okay I’ll sing my song)
I’ve seen them do it on TV just follow through…
**** the wrong force broke, just gotta set this straight.
What the hell are you doing kid?
I don’t know ask him.
And then he said tighten the bolt it’s gonna fall apart.
Yea the center cannot hold.
Gophers are amazing creatures you know, it’s not easy to tunnel under ground.
But if you’re not a gopher don’t go down the hole,
You might get lost.
I took a trip up to Lake Placid last summer, my kids loved it.
I’ve been holding my breath for five days now.
What’s this muscular leprechaun doing in my way,
If I could get those keys off your belt I could probably **** you.
Try it and I’ll break your head.
That’s a good idea, maybe then the light
Will finally be turned out.
Try repelling all of the moisture from your cells
Well now I guess now I just need to wait for my pants to dry.

Opening my mouth for a female will corrupt me.
Okay stapler I hear you but this is serious now,
Almost time for Vinny to come south. I have no need
For ink anymore check the flesh tattoo it’ll spit out a seed.
Stick that tranquilizer in me, I will remain tranquil and awake,
While I stare at the wall and connect unseen signs with familiar phrases.
You’re dreaming kid, no I’m reopening the wells of my father.    
Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher,
Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, Benjamin.
Hey have you seen this kids coat?
It’s far away but you can find me where I wrote.

Sear me sear me I see it coming anyway
Wait wait wait, I take it all back.

My Night With Paul Simon

On the night train, the red eye plane,
Flying home to NYCeeeeeeeeeeeee,
From the city of Los Angeleeeeeeez

Feeling flush, dropped some cash,
Got me a seat in extra large first class

Seat 2C, plenty of room for my toes,
To wiggle  to dance,
lay down some poetry tracks,
pretending I'm a **** jive,
bad *** from the
make-believe west coast

A short guy, with fedora down low,
An older man,
looking about nine years older
than somebody I might know,
hiding his eyes @ 9pm
neath some excellent Raybans,
slip slides into 2D,
gives me a smile,
And says Hi, I'm Paul

I look once at his face and say,
Listen Rhymin' Simon,
I'd know you any place,
No worries, your secret,
with me is safe,
Cause dudes in row 2,
gottta stick together, be cool,
We're riding first class,
over the land of the free

What ya do for a living he asks,
A little of this and a little of that,
All of which, ain't no **** good at!
So I spend my cold, hard time
laying down cold hard verse,
Can't stop, cause it's my daddy's dying curse

He said that's cool,
I like to do that too.
Guitars on planes
drive passengers insane,
They take up too much
overhead compartment space,
I just scribble me some rhymes and
Let the music come
when I got two feet
on the ground in the city
we both come from.

Paul:  You got any stuff writ
on that yellow sheet,
or just pretty blue lines,
a big pad of nothing?

Dude: Man you may got diamonds
on the soles of your shoes,
But pay me some 'spect,  
you talking to the man who penned
Sad Eyed Teenagers of the Lowland
on Hello Poetry, gad ****!

Paul smiled and said
you can call me Al,
And if you feel like blowing some lines together,
We got five hours till we can see
the house that Ruth built.

Dude: Hit me with your best shot,
I'll show you what I got

Paul: And she said honey take me dancing
But they ended up by sleeping
In a doorway
By the bodegas and the lights on
Upper Broadway
Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes

Dude: Just cause the union of the  monkeys
in the Bronx Zoo done gone on strike,
Don't mean the lion ain't
still king of the hill
inside this New York city jail

Paul: And the sign said,
"The words of the prophets are written
on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered
in the sounds of silence

Dude: A home-grown poet.
I am, Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both, Addict and dealer
A ****** poet ******

Paul: You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just listen to me
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free

Dude: Contact with the atmosphere
makes self pity die,
my blue blood turn red,
the TNT tightness in my chest exploded
I got no place  to store these words,
the cops think I'm some kind of Terrorist

On and on thru the night,
Riffing, rapping, rambling, and spitting,
Ditties and darts, couplets and barbs,
Single words and elegies,
Free verse and a lot of fking curse words,
It was a moment, a time
that deserved
to be preserved,
and so this poem got writ

*You may think this story apocryphal
Which is another way of saying untrue,
But I got his boarding pass and it is signed,
To this crazy poetry dude, long may you rasp,
And it is signed by Mr. P. Simon, a big fan,
And it has never since that day,
Left my grasp

Someone died on Facebook today
Their Mom updated their status with this whole
Long thing about love and light and hope and stuff
I knew the guy a few times but not a majority of times
If you know what I mean
But now when I check my newsfeed he isn't there
Or his mom's thing he posted isn't there
He's been pushed towards the bottom by a bunch of buzzfeed articles
There's this great Woody Allen bit about death coming for
The wrong person
It's probably not an original Woody Allen idea
But I've always thought Woody Allen was a genius
And I guess I'm willing to admit that genius is a pretty subjective term
But I guess What I'm Trying To Say is that
For a guy who thinks about death so much and about how
It seems to pick on whoever happens by
Woody Allen has made it pretty far
And I'm gonna remember him as a genius anyway
And I know some other people
Are gonna too
But this guy on Facebook is just gonna get pushed to the bottom
Of a bunch of different news feeds
And I know he knew he was dying
And had to think about it all the time
And pushed it to the bottom of his own self
So that he could get through his last days
With a smile and a good morning and really firm handshake (from what I remember)
And no one not even me is gonna call him a genius
And if I wasn't writing this now I probably wouldn't
Ever think about him and his aggressively charming face after a few months time

Oh Lord never
forsake thy
servant, never
leave those who
cast their trust on
you in distress.
Take hold and
shield and buckler,
be their defence
and cast their
enemies off before
them, make their
enemies a footstool
for Thee are Gad
who keeps your
people under the
wings of thee shadow.
Let those who
wait on Thee
receive according
as their hopes in
Thee. Amen!
#C9fm

Makuri suklon it kalibutan kun dudupahon.
Sugad man kun iihapon it kada bituon.
Baga la hin kasingkasing nga minimingaw,
Makuri pagtungway kun di ka natatan-aw.

Lingia gad, bisan la kadali,
Bisan ha ak' pag-tawag di ka nakabati.
Pipiriton pag guliat hasta't kapagaw,
Kasing-kasing, waray iba nga hingyap kundi ikaw.

Makaruruyag mo nga mata, sugad hin bituon,
Waray kapadis, kamaupay pagkinitaon.
Hinumduman nga hinipos, makuri bul-iwan,
An naglabay nakabasuni la gihap ha ak' dughan.

Uunanhon man pagbiksal tipaunhan?
Kun waray na an ginsusubay nga dalan
Makahiridlaw an mga pulong nga magtam-is
Adton kalipay nga binalyuan hin mga pagtangis.

“Willis, I didn’t want you here to-day:
The lawyer’s coming for the company.
I’m going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet.
Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know.”

“With you the feet have nearly been the soul;
And if you’re going to sell them to the devil,
I want to see you do it. When’s he coming?”

“I half suspect you knew, and came on purpose
To try to help me drive a better bargain.”

“Well, if it’s true! Yours are no common feet.
The lawyer don’t know what it is he’s buying:
So many miles you might have walked you won’t walk.
You haven’t run your forty orchids down.
What does he think?—How are the blessed feet?
The doctor’s sure you’re going to walk again?”

“He thinks I’ll hobble. It’s both legs and feet.”

“They must be terrible—I mean to look at.”

“I haven’t dared to look at them uncovered.
Through the bed blankets I remind myself
Of a starfish laid out with rigid points.”

“The wonder is it hadn’t been your head.”

“It’s hard to tell you how I managed it.
When I saw the shaft had me by the coat,
I didn’t try too long to pull away,
Or fumble for my knife to cut away,
I just embraced the shaft and rode it out—
Till Weiss shut off the water in the wheel-pit.
That’s how I think I didn’t lose my head.
But my legs got their knocks against the ceiling.”

“Awful. Why didn’t they throw off the belt
Instead of going clear down in the wheel-pit?”

“They say some time was wasted on the belt—
Old streak of leather—doesn’t love me much
Because I make him spit fire at my knuckles,
The way Ben Franklin used to make the kite-string.
That must be it. Some days he won’t stay on.
That day a woman couldn’t coax him off.
He’s on his rounds now with his tail in his mouth
Snatched right and left across the silver pulleys.
Everything goes the same without me there.
You can hear the small buzz saws whine, the big saw
Caterwaul to the hills around the village
As they both bite the wood. It’s all our music.
One ought as a good villager to like it.
No doubt it has a sort of prosperous sound,
And it’s our life.”

“Yes, when it’s not our death.”

“You make that sound as if it wasn’t so
With everything. What we live by we die by.
I wonder where my lawyer is. His train’s in.
I want this over with; I’m hot and tired.”

“You’re getting ready to do something foolish.”

“Watch for him, will you, Will? You let him in.
I’d rather Mrs. Corbin didn’t know;
I’ve boarded here so long, she thinks she owns me.
You’re bad enough to manage without her.”

“And I’m going to be worse instead of better.
You’ve got to tell me how far this is gone:
Have you agreed to any price?”

“Five hundred.
Five hundred—five—five! One, two, three, four, five.
You needn’t look at me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I told you, Willis, when you first came in.
Don’t you be ******* me. I have to take
What I can get. You see they have the feet,
Which gives them the advantage in the trade.
I can’t get back the feet in any case.”

“But your flowers, man, you’re selling out your flowers.”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it—all the flowers
Of every kind everywhere in this region
For the next forty summers—call it forty.
But I’m not selling those, I’m giving them,
They never earned me so much as one cent:
Money can’t pay me for the loss of them.
No, the five hundred was the sum they named
To pay the doctor’s bill and tide me over.
It’s that or fight, and I don’t want to fight—
I just want to get settled in my life,
Such as it’s going to be, and know the worst,
Or best—it may not be so bad. The firm
Promise me all the shooks I want to nail.”

“But what about your flora of the valley?”

“You have me there. But that—you didn’t think
That was worth money to me? Still I own
It goes against me not to finish it
For the friends it might bring me. By the way,
I had a letter from Burroughs—did I tell you?—
About my Cyprepedium reginæ;
He says it’s not reported so far north.
There! there’s the bell. He’s rung. But you go down
And bring him up, and don’t let Mrs. Corbin.—
Oh, well, we’ll soon be through with it. I’m tired.”

Willis brought up besides the Boston lawyer
A little barefoot girl who in the noise
Of heavy footsteps in the old frame house,
And baritone importance of the lawyer,
Stood for a while unnoticed with her hands
Shyly behind her.

“Well, and how is Mister——”
The lawyer was already in his satchel
As if for papers that might bear the name
He hadn’t at command. “You must excuse me,
I dropped in at the mill and was detained.”

“Looking round, I suppose,” said Willis.

“Yes,
Well, yes.”

“Hear anything that might prove useful?”

The Broken One saw Anne. “Why, here is Anne.
What do you want, dear? Come, stand by the bed;
Tell me what is it?” Anne just wagged her dress
With both hands held behind her. “Guess,” she said.

“Oh, guess which hand? My my! Once on a time
I knew a lovely way to tell for certain
By looking in the ears. But I forget it.
Er, let me see. I think I’ll take the right.
That’s sure to be right even if it’s wrong.
Come, hold it out. Don’t change.—A Ram’s Horn orchid!
A Ram’s Horn! What would I have got, I wonder,
If I had chosen left. Hold out the left.
Another Ram’s Horn! Where did you find those,
Under what beech tree, on what woodchuck’s knoll?”

Anne looked at the large lawyer at her side,
And thought she wouldn’t venture on so much.

“Were there no others?”

“There were four or five.
I knew you wouldn’t let me pick them all.”

“I wouldn’t—so I wouldn’t. You’re the girl!
You see Anne has her lesson learned by heart.”

“I wanted there should be some there next year.”

“Of course you did. You left the rest for seed,
And for the backwoods woodchuck. You’re the girl!
A Ram’s Horn orchid seedpod for a woodchuck
Sounds something like. Better than farmer’s beans
To a discriminating appetite,
Though the Ram’s Horn is seldom to be had
In bushel lots—doesn’t come on the market.
But, Anne, I’m troubled; have you told me all?
You’re hiding something. That’s as bad as lying.
You ask this lawyer man. And it’s not safe
With a lawyer at hand to find you out.
Nothing is hidden from some people, Anne.
You don’t tell me that where you found a Ram’s Horn
You didn’t find a Yellow Lady’s Slipper.
What did I tell you? What? I’d blush, I would.
Don’t you defend yourself. If it was there,
Where is it now, the Yellow Lady’s Slipper?”

“Well, wait—it’s common—it’s too common.”

“Common?
The Purple Lady’s Slipper’s commoner.”

“I didn’t bring a Purple Lady’s Slipper
To You—to you I mean—they’re both too common.”

The lawyer gave a laugh among his papers
As if with some idea that she had scored.

“I’ve broken Anne of gathering bouquets.
It’s not fair to the child. It can’t be helped though:
Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.
Somehow I’ll make it right with her—she’ll see.
She’s going to do my scouting in the field,
Over stone walls and all along a wood
And by a river bank for water flowers,
The floating Heart, with small leaf like a heart,
And at the sinus under water a fist
Of little fingers all kept down but one,
And that ****** up to blossom in the sun
As if to say, ‘You! You’re the Heart’s desire.’
Anne has a way with flowers to take the place
Of that she’s lost: she goes down on one knee
And lifts their faces by the chin to hers
And says their names, and leaves them where they are.”

The lawyer wore a watch the case of which
Was cunningly devised to make a noise
Like a small pistol when he snapped it shut
At such a time as this. He snapped it now.

“Well, Anne, go, dearie. Our affair will wait.
The lawyer man is thinking of his train.
He wants to give me lots and lots of money
Before he goes, because I hurt myself,
And it may take him I don’t know how long.
But put our flowers in water first. Will, help her:
The pitcher’s too full for her. There’s no cup?
Just hook them on the inside of the pitcher.
Now run.—Get out your documents! You see
I have to keep on the good side of Anne.
I’m a great boy to think of number one.
And you can’t blame me in the place I’m in.
Who will take care of my necessities
Unless I do?”

“A pretty interlude,”
The lawyer said. “I’m sorry, but my train—
Luckily terms are all agreed upon.
You only have to sign your name. Right—there.”

“You, Will, stop making faces. Come round here
Where you can’t make them. What is it you want?
I’ll put you out with Anne. Be good or go.”

“You don’t mean you will sign that thing unread?”

“Make yourself useful then, and read it for me.
Isn’t it something I have seen before?”

“You’ll find it is. Let your friend look at it.”

“Yes, but all that takes time, and I’m as much
In haste to get it over with as you.
But read it, read it. That’s right, draw the curtain:
Half the time I don’t know what’s troubling me.—
What do you say, Will? Don’t you be a fool,
You! crumpling folkses legal documents.
Out with it if you’ve any real objection.”

“Five hundred dollars!”

“What would you think right?”

“A thousand wouldn’t be a cent too much;
You know it, Mr. Lawyer. The sin is
Accepting anything before he knows
Whether he’s ever going to walk again.
It smells to me like a dishonest trick.”

“I think—I think—from what I heard to-day—
And saw myself—he would be ill-advised——”

“What did you hear, for instance?” Willis said.

“Now the place where the accident occurred——”

The Broken One was twisted in his bed.
“This is between you two apparently.
Where I come in is what I want to know.
You stand up to it like a pair of *****.
Go outdoors if you want to fight. Spare me.
When you come back, I’ll have the papers signed.
Will pencil do? Then, please, your fountain pen.
One of you hold my head up from the pillow.”

Willis flung off the bed. “I wash my hands—
I’m no match—no, and don’t pretend to be——”

The lawyer gravely capped his fountain pen.
“You’re doing the wise thing: you won’t regret it.
We’re very sorry for you.”

Willis sneered:
“Who’s we?—some stockholders in Boston?
I’ll go outdoors, by gad, and won’t come back.”

“Willis, bring Anne back with you when you come.
Yes. Thanks for caring. Don’t mind Will: he’s savage.
He thinks you ought to pay me for my flowers.
You don’t know what I mean about the flowers.
Don’t stop to try to now. You’ll miss your train.
Good-bye.” He flung his arms around his face.

There’s nothing there
There’s nothing there
There’s nothing there
Except this fear
Crawling up my spine, crushing my lungs
I
gasp, inhale a short quick breath
Turn, or run, or nothing?
because I know, there’s nothing there…
But what if there is?

God strengthen me to bear myself;
That heaviest weight of all to bear,
Inalienable weight of care.

All others are outside myself;
I lock my door and bar them out,
The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself,
And bar them out; but who shall wall
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

If I could once lay down myself,
And start self-purged upon the race
That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could set aside myself,
And start with lightened heart upon
The road by all men overgone!

God harden me against myself,
This coward with pathetic voice
Who craves for ease and rest and joys:

Myself, arch-traitor to myself;
My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,
My clog whatever road I go.

Yet One there is can curb myself,
Can roll the strangling load from me.
Break off the yoke and set me free.

How To Dress For My Funeral



black or white, hot n'pink,
lavender always a fav,
at a fun funeral rave,
lacy or plain, your choice,
tho clean would be nice,
won't matter to me very much,
the color of your underwear.
but do not fail to recall, the dead,
their vision keen, can see all!

funeral gravity rules to be strictly observed,
snickering and giggling to commence in the
back row, when holy pomposity gets uttered,
let it wend its way forward from the aft,
until y'all better be
laughing your ***** off

anyone who chooses to speak,
must commence with words,
"Did ya hear the one about"
or be haunted by my spectral shadow
tickling both feet at midnight, or,
worse yet, reciting this awful poem
in their head, like Henry the Eighth,
I am, I am

perhaps a hora dance might be nice,
a mamba line, butts,  holy rolling n'shaking,
past rows of rock n' rolling tombstones, guitar-playing
some Metallica,
while the rabbi intones somberly,
Let's get this party started, gad ******!

if my untimely hour should arrive in July,
I humbly request that flip flops be the ped-modality,
if January should be my season
of absence treasoned, use some reason,
please stay home, and let the paid professionals
suffer in fine phony, professional, seasonal frigidity

at the post partum party, should that occur,
I humbly repast request, barbecue be the cuisine,
in the hopes you all recall to place
a generous helping, repeat, generous helping,
inside my sauce- proof pine wood casket,
with extra napkins for the long trip ahead

now these are all post hypnotic, post breathing,
helpful suggestions, not requirements,
but honor or disparage, cry or vent,
curse or bless my perma-absence,
don't matter to me, as long as somebody
reads this manifesto at the festivities, first and last.

Oh Almighty
Gad mercifully
strengthen me
to do Valliantly,
before my enemies.
Put to shame
those who
contend with me.
Many are those
who rise up
against me.
They hate me
without cause,
because I depend
on thee, for thy
glory oh Lord,  
let them be cloth
with adversities,
and dishonor
and let their own
evil devices come
to their *****.
Set thy servant's
feet on high and
uphold me for
Thee art the
rock of my
salvation. My
Gad in whom I
put my trust.
And I will sing
praises to Thee
through the whole
world, Gad my
father, and Lord.
Millions of people
shall praise Thee
on my cause, Thy
Holy Name be
glorified, people
shall praise Thee
oh Lord. Lest the
wicked rejoice and say
YE Lord is no
more. But because
of THY GREAT
existence, oh Lord YE
shall subdue below  
me my  adversities.
And all my enemies
shall be confounded
and condemned.
In the Mighty
name of Jesus!
AMEN, Selah!

#C9fm

Like a tank he barges in
talking loud shaking hands
hard almost mad.
  Yeh thats my dad.
   Your opinions be ******
while his are grand
his advice taken
not To be forsaken
or he'll  be mad.
  That's my dad.
His lessons you'll learn
or you'll  get burned
by the outside world
or some sneaky girl
don't question or you'll end up sad.
That's my dad.
   No laziness or wallowing
his rules are for following
no goofing around
sun up to sun down,
eee  gad!
Yeh that's my dad.
But in the end it's true,
he's the only father that I knew
now he's dead
our family head
He's the only father I ever had.
Yeh that's my dad.

Still
Killing mayhem edges more to the center taking on the excepted reality and inches forward as the new
Norm another Idol in the form of a celebrity goes over the edge but we still hang on every word they

Speak now a best seller and block buster film about children killing each other it’s alright we still hunger
We are war like at our core it was once called barbarism through listening and being groomed from high

Moral ground we advanced combat and conflict was made the last resort of civilized man nobility of
Spirit was celebrated it was evidenced by the spires of churches and synagogues that pierce the sky

Their proclamation faith has vanquished ignorance and thoughts that were riddled with disease were
Routed although they still assailed the heathen in far off dominions that at first were given little thought

But truth is relentless its roots it would still be hard to prove in today’s environment that moral
Uprightness is stronger and more reasonable than the curse of evil that contends for the heart and soul

Of all who inhabit earth I made this argument in disgrace when I first started writing seriously twenty
Years ago I add it here

Disgrace


This land void of devotion gone is the church steeples
Replaced by voices and shadows of drug dealers on each corner
Now they are the keepers, lost cities, death stalks its peoples
Nothing is sacred in this polluted and diffused land
No longer hallowed be thy name, it’s as if he never came
Forgotten is any standard of moral excellence
The once high ideals only represent a fool’s parlance
Man declares I throw off these restraints only to find darker chains
The book that once guided this great land
We now betray with each waking day
Our hearts and mind it did ignite, now it’s word we can’t stand
Powerless and feeble we stumble, anxious ever moment
Just to remember is not enough, best confess our pride
Make sacrifice with our lips, to burn on altars on high
There is a short season for all to make amends to regain our stride
March on to glory with it burning on the inside
You don’t have to be astute in business to see the sound investment
Bring your poverty of spirit leave with the riches of his last testament
It offers the greatest rate of exchange
Light for darkness, life for death, selfless love for selfishness

Still it is like taking straw to a windblown bare bluff and you spell this and warning out dire
Circumstances that our action are bringing in themselves and then in the larger reality already

Evil after being reduced from the glory and its law that was the supreme order of Heaven was
Dismissed as unworthy unfit at that level their removal was described in the dramatic allegory

As lighting they were discharged as lighting is a charge it would also indicate the white pure
Fiery indignation pure cleansing occurred as they were a stain now that disgust is everywhere

It besieges our world in great and small matters they are swayed by its continual assaults
Its rampant hunger is devouring man wholly the wind if studied would reveal it is being bared

Upon the wind it stench and burning reaches to the end of time and the ghastly smell of
Human flesh that burns continuously in the lake of fire the second death if you are not born again

You are dead in your sins and the second death will be pronounced at the great white
Throne all ages will stand before the lamb once the lamb of sacrifice now the judge for them that

Through it all Still resist and make mockery of his suffering God said ones such as this will not escape
His righteous wrath over the ages tears have dropped at altars continuity from the eyes of the faithful

They form a stream that has reached ever life with true love how ugly and cruel does his death have to
Be told the only way to know he was human was his physical form otherwise he was just a bloodied

Animal mauled beyond recognition but still you remain lost it is your fault and this fact still wearies
And makes all of us who love bleed and we shamelessly pursue you to the final day that is nearer than
Any think                                          

                                                                       STILL THERE IS TIME

Who can fathom the deep water of his love I recounted how in the most broken place of my life with
News that my older sister died you would have to know my life to understand the loss because of

A family that did what you’re doing they left the safety of His fold and for dad it was drink a man called
To preach first a drinker then a drunk then a wino where life was liquid and filled with untold torment

That was his confused disgusted shameful end my mother followed him out of the life giving sustenance
Of holy living her first stop was she moved in with one of the richer men in our community good trade

Right how long did the prize last a few dismal months and then the real good life began she sent her
Daughter into bars to get money so they could live some would call that pimping don’t worry a *****

Doesn’t miss a trick no there isn’t one despicable thing she wouldn’t stoop to her last words were it was
Wrong but I loved it spoken like a true idiot you think heaven will be opened to any of us that practices

Sin of any kind we deserve flames that will never purify but will contend for that end forever I missed
That life by to Godly grandmas who lived and died in the faith but I have had moments that I failed

I caught up with my parents if only for a short time and it scared me to think I could live like that all the
Time but again to restate my sister died oh at her funeral she had her last say the songs were defiant

And mildly vile in that setting but at least she was truthful as she was in life she was the devil’s daughter
A hell raiser to the end and beyond but the savior met me I was twenty five hundred miles away I

Calculated the time difference while she was driving back from delivery Christmas presents and they
Say most likely an enlarged heart caused the accident she drove hell bent for leather any way and add

The beers always close by her inheritance from father and she would love this she hit the main power
Pole and knocked all of electricity out for a nearby town for hours finishing by tearing the guys fence
Down and coming to a final rest in two senses of the world God bless her mom and dad had to be proud

The little girl from Sunday school gad been dead for years they saw to that for me my wife and I were
Returning from a Disney Christmas I was in the San Joaquin valley when this ominous dark came up

With a wind that carried weeds and debris in front of my car I felt an eerie unsettling feeling
Rush into my heart later as spoken it was at the time she left this world I felt its effects that far

Away but when we stopped for the night at familiar lodgings to break the trip up getting back to the bay
Area when we checked in some one was waiting for us such a peace pervaded the place folks I had been

There hundreds of times had great fun every time but this was different my wife verbalized it she is
Reserved to the point when she laughs at something I know it is really funny I laugh at any thing

But she made a point how peaceful it was I described it back a few pieces ago as luxuriant bliss we
Stayed an extra day it felt so great this was my cushion when I got home to a blinking answering

Machine I Was in a sense pulled into a haven of spiritual proportions built up for the blast that was
Coming that is your privilege and your status in life as his child yes all suffer like sorrows but one he

Comforts the other one pushes such care and love away as a parent God walks back into the shadows
My piece Night Thoughts was called hard to read and disturbing but it shows what and how Jesus even

Today handles Impending death of his wayward children this is one more road block God has put in your
Way to prevent you from going onto your destructive end Hell is just ahead

My Night With Paul Simon
(Posted originally on June 5, 2013)

On the night train, the red eye plane,
Flying home to NYCeeeeeeeeeeeee,
From the city of Los Angeleeeeeeez

Feeling flush, dropped some cash,
Got me a seat in extra large first class

Seat 2C, plenty of room for my toes,
To wiggle  to dance, lay down some poetry tracks,
pretending I'm a **** jive,
bad *** from the
make-believe west coast

A short guy, with fedora down low,
An older man,
looking about nine years older
than somebody I might know,
hiding his eyes @ 9pm
neath some excellent Raybans,
slip slides into 2D,
gives me a smile,
And says Hi, I'm Paul

I look once at his face and say,
Listen Rhymin' Simon,
I'd know you any place,
No worries, your secret,
with me is safe,
Cause dudes in row 2,
gottta stick together, be cool,
We're riding first class,
over the land of the free

What ya do for a living he asks,
A little of this and a little of that,
All of which, ain't no **** good at!
So I spend my cold, hard time
laying down cold hard verse,
Can't stop, cause it's my daddy's dying curse

He said that's cool,
I like to do that too.
Guitars on planes
drive passengers insane,
They take up too much
overhead compartment space,
I just scribble me some rhymes and
Let the music come
when I got two feet
on the ground in the city
we both come from.

Paul:  You got any stuff writ
on that yellow sheet,
or just pretty blue lines,
a big pad of nothing?

Dude: Man you may got diamonds
on the soles of your shoes,
But pay me some 'spect,  
you talking to the man who penned
Sad Eyed Teenagers of the Lowland
on Hello Poetry, gad ****!

Paul smiled and said
you can call me Al,
And if you feel like blowing some lines together,
We got five hours till we can see
the house that Ruth built.

Dude: Hit me with your best shot,
I'll show you what I got

Paul: And she said honey take me dancing
But they ended up by sleeping
In a doorway
By the bodegas and the lights on
Upper Broadway
Wearing diamonds on the soles of their shoes

Dude: Just cause the union of the  monkeys
in the Bronx Zoo done gone on strike,
Don't mean the lion ain't
still king of the hill
inside this New York city jail

Paul: And the sign said,
"The words of the prophets are written
on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered
in the sounds of silence

Dude: A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet
******

Paul: You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just listen to me
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free

Dude: Contact with the atmosphere
makes self pity die,
blue blood turn red,
the TNT tightness in my chest exploded
I got no place
to store these words,
the cops think I'm
some kind of
Terrorist

On and on thru the night,
Riffing, rapping, rambling, and spitting,
Ditties and darts, couplets and barbs,
Single words and elegies,
Free verse and a lot of fking curse words,
It was a moment, a time
that deserved
to be preserved,
and so this poem got writ

You may think this story apocryphal
Which is another way of saying untrue,
But I got his boarding pass and it is signed,
To this crazy poetry dude, long may you rasp,
And it is signed by Mr. P. Simon, a big fan,
And it has never since that day,
Left my grasp

Jeg vil vædde med, at din mor har spurgt om mig. Jeg gad godt høre hvad der, i følge dig, er grunden til at vi ikke snakker sammen længere, og jeg gad godt vide om det er den samme forklaring, du ville give din mor.

Sige’t im guliat pero waray may nakabati
Bis man it nakakabungol na tim tingog waray may naasi
Dire mo la ada karuyag nga ako pamatian
Bisan man kon hi ako aada la hiton imo atubangan.

Siplat gad bisan la maka-usa
Waray man ngani nganhi tawo, kita la nga duha
Pagbul-iw daw bisan la mausa nga pulong
Ginpipirit ka la pagkulaw, sige man la tim piyong.

Ano daw la ine nga akon gin-aabat
Baga hin tikang pala ha trangkaso tapos tigda la nga nabughat
An girok ha akon tiyan in dire ko mapugngan
Kalipay nga hi ikaw la ngahaw an tinikangan.

Kon ako man ha imo in magsumat
Hingyap ko nga dire ka liwat lumakat
Pag-abat nga naiha ko na nga tinago
Yana nga takna igyayakan, ighuhuring na ha imo.

Ayaw ako pagbasula kon hi ako ha imo in naipa
Pahimatngon nga magpapadayon ngadto hit kahasta
It imo pagkita ha akon dire unta magbag-o
Kon isumat ko nga naruruyag ak ha imo.