"hearths" poems
Much have been said
About my brother
Flame
How from his hands
Borne both
Creation
And destruction
Songs were sung
About trivial flickers
And infernos legendary
Allow me to say
My piece about
My brother flame
Flame
Words seems lifeless
Next to your colored streaks
Hearths spark
Red
Candles shine
Yellow
Blue
Is the burn from my oven
Life is borne
From your touch
Embers glow at your grasp
Metal refined from your speech
The world itself
Is teeming in life
For the sun
Looks down upon it
In its heart
You
My brother flame
Burn brightest
Fire
Is the element of change
You burn from the tears
Of the oppressed
You blaze from the verses
Of the revolutionary
Artists, lovers, and dreamers
Their eyes burn
With passion
Your disposition
My brother has never been cold
My Sister Wind
You warm her
With your embrace
Shed her chains and give her wings
That she may fly
Full of grace
Brother flame
You are a legend
May bards sing forever
Your songs
How you cradled the Phoenix
In its death
And herald its birth
From the same ashes it came from
How you fled with Prometheus
From Olympus
And sparked the dreams of men
You are a perfect instrument
Of God’s glory and renown
After heaven denied Earth
Rain
Elijah’s offer you consumed
On Horeb
Moses
Have seen you burning
A lonely bush
You’ve shown this lonely shepherd
He was standing on Holy Ground
And on God’s plan
Much have been said
About my brother flame
My piece reveals
Of those I am certain
These three
Life
Passion
Renown
12:27:08.03:23
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.
Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.
With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold
We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?
But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.
And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 3:54 PM UTC
Janus am I; oldest of potentates;
Forward I look, and backward, and below
I count, as god of avenues and gates,
The years that through my portals come and go.
I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow;
I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen;
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.
2.6k
By paper-lantern light
flames colour a snow crystals dance, beautifully enchanting, to
the distant sound of singing; Joyous songs of celebration, lulling all in revelry. Each note heard
in silent reverence, beneath the skeletal canopy of majestic oak spread. Where from amongst the
damp branches, wise old saucer eyes calls "Ubi? Ubi?", heralding a cacophony of wide-eyed whispers
This afternoon, sweet twilight guides our paths as we search on ever onward journeys unknown; Our
arms collecting firewood, to fill the empty hearths of others. Unaware of the cold hands, we are, when
there's such warmth in our hearts. We toil within the stillness, snow falling softly, and covering the
crisp ground. From deep beneath the dazzling pure white, tiny hibernating animists
blink wide from the warmth of hidden
woodland beds. Gently,
sweep the 12 droplets
of ice from all our eyes, Sol,
as we cough darkness
from our lungs,
watching the sparkles of no
matter, floating
in the paper-
lantern light
to scatter across
this Solstice sky,
illuminating our fates,
as cold snowflake hearts
twinkle like falling stars, unseen,
turning, embracing the return of the Light
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
rock smashes scissors
break our swords
Scissors cut paper
tear up our poetry
paper covers rock.
shielded by policy
we have our voices.
all rock, all scissor, all paper.
all spock, all lizard
we do not play games, we Speak.
We throw spock hands like Gang signs
spit parsel tongue at pride haters
we write love letters to revolution
We cut red tape with our long fuzes
Hit rock bottom, more bass in our
Voices than god knows what to do with
So we tell him exactlly where it should go.
Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock
They hold their pens like scissors
carving history books into erasure poems
We would swing our pens like swords.
But no leader we trust has been elected yet.
We would have a leader to guide us
But snakeoil salesmen plague our trenches.
There would be no snakeoil salesmen if
we had a stable government
We would have a stable government
but the stability was sharpied out of our history books.
And To history, loud voices sound
like the fires of god.
And are we not the voices with more bass then God knows what to do with.
without words on the wind,
There is no flame
so aren't we fire.
We all have tealights waiting in cold oven hearts.
stone hearths begging for Ignition
eager for bootleg promises of warmth
The orange rhetoric of our future
no warmer than tinders logo.
or a video recording of a fireplace
flickering on a flatscreen at best buy.
We are distracted constantly.
misdirected by Houses of paper cards
origami swans we don't dare unfold
Staying ignorant of the tire track liner inside.
origami swans are so much more beautiful
when they have secrets, right?
I have a matchstick
watch me strike it lit
flare this paper swan into a pheonix.
And hold it in my fist.
there will be fire.
and it will not be a metaphor
But It will be a revolution
And it will be a pheonix
and the pheonix WILL be a metaphor
The Rabbi at Temple Beth El
said when a mans consumed by gods fire
it is a severance from faith, a spiritual death.
what have we done
if not lost faith in our government?
Been consumed by the fires of god.
and why not tattoo pheonix feathers
on our backs?
at least this death gave us warmth.
a home in the world's ashes.
I stared at the dragons fire that stormed towards me
thanked it for the oppurtunity
to walk out of this world
holding dragons eggs
Like Daneris Tygareon
and they will be real dragons.
incubated by REAL fire
despite this crumbling cataclysm
you call a great america.
Spock handed Lizards larger and louder
with all the rocks
paper and scissors they need
to set the world on fire.
To Finally see something beautiful be born.
A Home that keeps them warm.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
~Christi Michaels~
**Dark Shadows of My Soul
Memories finally revealed,
Yet always known.
Arches set deep within stone
Labored creake of hinges
Massive wooden doors
My breath, heavy just moments before,
quiets upon the entering.
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Three steps down,
Entering the majestic room.
Domed ceilings. Stucco stained
with colors from long, long ago.
I walk towards windows.
Tall, deep n' narrow overlooking My Realm below.
A knowing. A deep seated
rememberance of a life once lived.
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Secrets, locked away in gilded boxes..
Vessels holding unspoken truths
Trap doors leading to dungeons
concealed beneath intricately woven rugs.
Taste of the air. ****** breads,
roasting meat.
Acrid smoke wafting from Soddy hearths
Dark Shadows of My Soul
Raven ringlets cascading.
A waterfall down my open back.
Pearl woven braids
adorn the crown of my head.
My ******* constrained.
Rising...cresting
With each breath.
Brocade and lace lay gently
across my hands, kissing my fingers
My neck long, regal. I hold posture of a Princess.
My full skirts sweep and polish
these stone floors from time till eternity
Will begin the journey.
Delve into this sordid past.
Facing, long at last
Deamons. Lies of Old
Embracing now
Dark Shadows of One's Soul**
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
We are explosive.
Two sticks of dynamite waiting for the match.
Just one whisper of a spark and we'll go,
Dying to impersonate the stars
Like fireworks in the night.
Fire, you and I
But different, if you know where to look.
Flames of summer
You are wild and destructive,
Spreading yourself too thin
Like wildfires in the drought
Roaring challenges at the sun.
But in the cricket-filled cool nights,
Bringing comfort and memories to the young at heart
Taming yourself for a time beneath stars that bear my sign
Burning out in the darkness before sunrise
Ready to return at first spark.
Pyre of winter,
Tamed by the frost and wind
Leaning on hearths for strength
Keeping vigil in the long night
Raging against dark and dusk and death
Yearning for what was lost in the fall
Waiting for the rebirth of spring
Sending up grey prayers to stars that bear your sign
Fire, you and I.
Born to stars of flame
Raging, roaring, writhing
At the whim of the wind
Waiting
For the spark.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long
wisdom crisps its palms
up to the hearths of winter
on walks
Older finds joy
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves
of autumn's fall
There is freedom
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view
Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 5:58 PM UTC
By paper-lantern light
flames colour a snow crystals dance, beautifully enchanting, to
the distant sound of singing; Joyous songs of celebration, lulling all in revelry. Each note heard
in silent reverence, beneath the skeletal canopy of majestic oak spread. Where from amongst the
damp branches,wise old saucer eyes calls "Ubi? Ubi?", heralding a cacophony of wide-eyed
whispers. This afternoon, sweet twilight guides our paths as we search on ever onward journeys
unknown; Our arms collecting firewood, to fill the empty hearths of others. Unaware of the cold
hands, we are, when there's such warmth in our hearts. We toil within the stillness,
snow falling softly,and covering the crisp ground. From deep beneath
the dazzling pure white, tiny hibernating animists
blink wide from the warmth of hidden
woodland beds. Gently,
sweep the 12 droplets
of ice from all our eyes, Sol,
as we cough darkness
from our lungs,
watching the sparkles of no
matter, floating
in the paper-
lantern light
to scatter across
this Solstice sky,
illuminating our fates,
as cold snowflake hearts
twinkle like falling stars, unseen,
turning, embracing the return of the Light
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
Are you a cat or bird,
devil or saint?
Villain and victim, dichotic romantic,
bruised and beaten, ostracised.
Bruised and beaten, demonised.
A willow bending against cruel fashion's wind.
A thousand storms of impotent hate,
jealousies and malignant complaints.
Rain like sonnets before the deaf!
As your gifts are pearl before swine.
And yet thy brow is regal still.
The profile of a demon prince -
no matter what shape taketh the face.
Be thou Quasimodo or Adonis by fate.
Whose smile has lit a thousand candles
in thankless, bitter hearts,
and fires in the hearths of freaks
who need but a spark to break the leash.
Or art thou Prince of Cats?
Yearning for the freedom to roam, to hunt.
Seeking pleasure, his mistresses pats.
The enemy of closed doors and cold paws.
Or could thou be a bird?
Clipped wings, a gilded cage,
whose song can only go so far.
If not let to glide into the night, to rise,
to greet the dawn with bleary, satisfied eyes.
Of one who has been given the chance to soar!
Or else to wilt, and yowl no more.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.
i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.
by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink
.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
#
The Life-giving embers..
stoking the hearth-fire, heart
in you that had nearly gone out,
is nothing less that the deep
gentle, Loving-kindness
of the Wellspring's warm flow.
Love feels, more than it sees..
but when one truly sees, beautiful girl--
as you so well at times know..
the view is utterly breathtaking.
You are learning how
to breathe the beautiful, free air.
Grace does that.
***You are the most incredible of spokespersons, love...
Your very voice-tones..***
#
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 12:27 AM UTC
When the sun glowed warm with brighter sheen
The Earth that lay inert in drunken sleep
Woke up suddenly to greet the glorious dawn
Casting aside the blanket of fluffy wool
Beams of light thawed and melted the icy crust
Leaving the land, bare, bright and new
A clean slate for life to make a fresh start
And give our Earth a lovely face lift
As winter slouched away in staggering steps
Spring, came down gracefully on dancing feet
Like an ingenious wizard with the Mida’s touch
Turning everything into glittering green n’ gold
So awesome it is to watch with widening eye
The first burgeoning of life with the kiss of spring
Every tree n’ every shrub, dressed in sudden sprout of leaves
And every plant and every bough bursting into newer buds
Daffodils on wayside nodding in blooms of gold
Pansies and daisies springing close to passing heels
The laburnum and lilacs, getting ready to burst into bloom
Flowers yellow, red and blue on every fence and field
Butterflies flitting round and round on colorful wings
And exotic blooms in gentle breeze swinging their heads
The birds that ere migrated to warmer climes
Coming back once more to fill the aerial space
Sparrows merrily twittering around tiled eaves
The robin springing, throwing a livelier note
The lark disappearing into the sky of fleecy clouds
The swallows shooting out into giddy heights
The feathered minstrels, filling the air in riotous rings
And Nature covering the Earth in quilts of lovely designs
Lovers leave their fireside hearths and coming out
To ramble through country paths, hand in hand
Oh! Spring has come to wipe away the frosty tear
And fill the hearts with overwhelming cheer
Let us join this array of happy crowd
And sing a song of joy with this mirthful brood
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
The planet it wobbles a lonely path
On the background of distant stars
So constant and locked into their relative places-
They did seem so very happy.
It leaves its solemn red footprint
On the pitch black night
The astronomer's eye is caught by a passer-by.
Embarrassed at his distraction he turns back to his telescope
And cannot see the faded mark it left behind
Only the endless void
And he raps his knuckles on the railing wondering what he had been looking for.
And there is a glint of gold in the evening sky and blue smoke from a chimney-top
And the sharp-dressed men and women in their black jackets
Are too focused on the sidewalk
Cracked, Beige-gray,
It was recently cleaned for their viewing pleasure
And it leads them to their cubicles and coffee-shops.
And then their houses where they burn away the night in small silent hearths
And awake again the next morning with each minute planned ahead
Only to find out the schedule they had followed-
and adhered to the entire day-
Was not written for them
or for anyone
but just as another man's joke meant for nobody else to see
The toil she felt in the armchair constructed,
such a constant lock in place
that she collapsed
and they looked admiringly as she had worn herself out working hard at her job all day-
And I looked at the map scrawled at my feet in a different man's handwriting
"I'm lost," I said after a pause.
"I do feel rather lost"
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
When he rose to speak, I pitied him,
that tall, ungainly, man.
His speech was high pitched, regional,
but clear to understand.
An inner fire burned in him,
his spirit fairly glowed.
His eyes and voice enchanted us
despite his rustic clothes.
The constitution was his text;
By chapter verse and line
He taught us what the founders meant,
the thoughts that filled their minds.
He said a true Republican
would not bid slaves to rise.
John Brown was no Republican,
his actions were unwise.
He explained the Government
could forbid slavery's spread.
The Union is a sacred trust
and must be preserved, he said.
I felt my heart on fire
when I heard him speak tonight.
When I saw his homely features
Transfigured by the light.
This Lincoln must be reckoned with;
if the South misunderstands,
They'll be tears and lamentations
around hearths in Dixie Land.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
My window has no seat, why would it? I wish it did.
There is just a glossy magnolia ledge, barely wide enough to
cater a slender bottom. Upon the ledge books and candles
rest, illuminating the murk outside. Directly opposite orchard
trees recede as I welcome autumn with a zealous smirk.
For now faintly visible between their visceral arms are the
all-seeing hillocks that in winter will dominate my view.
An impartial observer once stated they were mere freckles
on the landscapes recumbent spine, but to me their sight alone
is vertiginous. On balmy April days I would surmount them,
a personal expedition, up there where I’m the valleys curator, wearing
pristine white gloves I meticulously unravel the terrain: an ancient
manuscript, the vellum inked with meandering streams, occasional farms,
cursive hamlets and little else - a land of sobriety and dearth.
In November though there is a permanent mist and its source
inexplicable. Does it simply effervesce from the precipitous tors about?
Is it the villager’s enshrined collective sigh? No it is something
more. Sitting atop the villages head it’s the beloved satin bonnet you
wore religiously as a child. Wholly impractical for this season
its gossamer fabric offers little solace or insulation to those below
as its pleated extremities elope with the moss-brown hinterland.
Fervently stoking their hearths the villagers broaden the
ethereal cloth with a smoke not acrid but satisfying and nourishing:
with a terrifically edible, hardwood flavour. From my hillock
vantage, the sanguine stone of the manorial chimneys is all that
penetrates the film; casually they release torrents of smoke like
ivory doves that weft patterns instinctively into the sky’s pallid damask.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound
In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 6:33 AM UTC
stove juts out
stuns in sixty-year-old kitchen
shiny, electric,
everyone marvels
so much better than the gas stove
as if the functions are not the same.
I, misled, maybe
have no newfound love
for false hearths
and work dens masquerading as homes.
we never knew food
just kosher salt, pepper, ketchup
a dash of rosemary
yet our curves labored, steamed hours
heaped over knotted heels
at the end of the workday
you were so tired
and we ate whatever you could manage.
I desired to taste liberty,
imagined I had it on a slow burner
simmering with
coriander seeds, cumin, cinnamon
chili powder bleeding into broth
parsley finely cut
into slivers for garnish grew
dry in my hands,
waiting.
Somehow I ended up
back in that same kitchen
a dream at my lips,
hungrier than before.
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 8:23 AM UTC
**As early twilight steals the day
welcoming hearths with warmth bestow
casting shadows upon the walls
as firelight flickers spread their glow.
Searching for faces in glimmering embers
chestnuts arrayed before the flame
he worries about that crack in the window
the little boy thinks of who to blame.
... ... ...**
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
i'm unwinding my head
on
honey moon belly
******* carnivorous lozenges
falling in love with glazed
eye ball devils
hypnotic stare
destination
a tunnel of fiendish odysseys
blood drooling eel
vomits gush white
daddy long leg threads
in honeys wet cage
to wither
writhing spit hot
in fat muscle and bone
headless
head first
like a mindless falcon
after scattered mice
i feel her teeth tearing
syringes of ecstasy
ransacking swollen motion spirals
and ***** like bronz buckaroos
at a fancy pool party
crimson *** macabre
****** roast bon bon fire
licking her lump of desire
a rousing boogyman sermon
speaks in incinerating tongues
swallowing a hideous parfait
**** growl
girl squat
**** ****
mint julip throat
choke symphony
abducting lascivious pollinated gulps
take me in like reckless bull sap
through your red
dada warp land
pit of the brain
undulant flesh landscape
of shapeless ovule spume
mouthing night blows
Incised flagellation's
devour buffet spread maiden derelict
arched and trembling
drunk and drugged
like a buttermilk sky
groaning hysterical
in feral muck stained beds
of puce and slime ochre pigments
stunned umbra
a famished
deep veined jutting peninsula
longing for princess ***** dynasties
with vast thighs radiating inferno hearths
and rolling hill **** hieroglyphics
decipher rug pugilist lap songs
my goddess i long for your
bruised fruit
crawling like the dead of night
on pitch vanta shadows
where love becomes a savage
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
We never spoke of love.
We spoke of cosmic miseries;
we spoke of falling statues;
we spoke of unsolved mysteries,
of the prevailing cultural attitudes.
We spoke of miscommunication
and Comedy and Tragedy as brothers;
we spoke of being lost and broken,
yet healed at the hearths of others.
We spoke of Winter's silent war
and how the Sun scared us both;
we spoke of wanderlust and bars
and how our lives were the funniest jokes.
We spoke of possibility,
in coded symbols and allegories,
of all the universes we wish we could be,
of all the things we'd do with wings.
We never spoke of love,
and yet,
somehow,
it's all we ever
talked about.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
––––––––a sight swims in
and then fades––––––––
I could, at one time, grasp the day
its tails and wings, the colour
all its sounds and visions vivid
splashing in my eyes
I did, once in time, breathe the ocean
clear my lungs, taste the sea
watch the seagulls dive for dinner
washing up the waves
I have, before, heard the morning
the horn of the hunters, bells and song
cast over the landscape in ululations
and travelling ever beyond
I know, even now, of worlds beyond mine
shimmering in hope, bursting with laughter
warming the hearths of every home
with life
but somehow, I seem to have forgotten
cannot hold the whispers in seconds
lose my thoughts in moments
and forget even faces
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
In a cavernous world devoid of light,
left dark and dead by a higher might,
There is no hope no pleasure no will to fight.
Not since god drove the world into a dying blight.
Her perfection rouses all from slumber,
Tearing through like holy thunder.
in awe they stare lost and dazed,
everyone intent and desparately amazed.
Celestine with her divine wings,
Decends on high and loves and sings.
Waking all to the chance of life,
Breaking darkness like a wrenching knife.
"Look upon me world of shame,
And feel my radiance like a hearths warm flame,
A mother whose patience will not succumb,
To those who are blind deaf mute and dumb.
Care not for those who turn their attention,
Who torments ruins and pretends affection.
Give your prayers to one that will listen,
And shine on you with love that Glistens."
We hear, we feel, we want and need!
All of which you've made us heed,
We give you prayers and fear no silence,
For with you comes love and eternal angelic guidance.
,
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
I want to build a country,
not just some dirt, not just a land
a nation so great, a fatherland.
Tú estarás ahí, mi amigo,
sonriendo, mirando al frente,
haciendo camino conmigo.
Nous ferons un pays sans frontières,
sans limites, avec des montagnes
faites de sable, prêtes à être soufflées.
Elle sera une patrie où les mers seront des étangs
et nos ciels ne seront qu'à un saut de distance.
We'll have families and friends,
todos los paisajes que el mundo nos ha de ofrecer
sans préjugés ni douleur qui puissent nous confiner.
We'll build a land where friendship will prosper
and traveling will be the fuel of our hearths
Construiremos un hogar que sea propio
sin esas reglas que nos separan
Nous ferons un refuge des distances
où on habitera sans peur aux menaces.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
*Oyster white knights of the avenues
Of cloud laden repositories filled with
silver'd showers , of blown flowers begging for
green lush ground
Bicycles , pedestrians , stiff March breezes
Front porch neighbors , paper boy deliveries
Purple , pink and red skyways of dusk
Robins returning from the south , smoke returning
from neighborhood hearths , gas lighting o'er
manicured lawns
The first born star to call my own
To follow home* ...
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC