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Shofi Ahmed Jan 2019
Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.

They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!

The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber. 
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together! 

Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!

Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.

Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
Matthias Aug 2013
Intro:
Start with a hook sharp enough to catch many fish.
Move into a broad outline of topic.
Add some examples to peek the interest.
End with a sentence that captures your thoughts.
(Start the way you feel it should be).

Body:
Flavorful topic sentence to open paragraph one.
State in detail specific examples and definitions.
Follow with a reference or two,
This keeps suspicion off you.
Keep same format for paragraph two and three.
(Continue on the feel that increases how you started).
(Or retrograde and start a new direction).

Conclusion:
Wake the reader back up with thesaurus found words.
State again the reason for your thoughts.
Honing specifically on what you want to say,
Without of course bringing in new info.
End with a memorable sign off.
(End with completing your thoughts).
(Or start a new idea entirely),
(Not leaving enough room for explanation).
If you earnestly want
to improve your skills,
you have to make sacrifices;
you must take Time and Energy
and dedicate it to practice,
otherwise,
you're just talking a good game,
and mere talk
is getting e'er cheaper;
otherwise,
you're just honing your
******* artistry,
some have had much practice.
Rob Sandman Mar 2016
The Ballad Of Jack Hammer (Concept by Jay Byrne)
=========================
Jack Hammer-Jay Byrne Black Fang Rob Sandman aka Schizophrenic.

Listen up I got a tale to tell.
About a black jack rabbit known for raisin' hell.
Jack Hammer's his name. Retribution the game.
Out on the plain with his kinfolk he did dwell.
Til that fateful day. No forgettin it.
Loss so painful. Jack was but a leveret.
While playin' out back.
Along the track came Black Fang and the Red River Pack.
And they were lookin, for blood.
Notorious outlaws up to no good.
In the low sun and The Pack started gunnin'.
So Jack started runnin'. The damage was done and it was over.
No time for goodbye. He just stood there.
Lookin' the Devil in the eye.
While his Momma bled.
The wolf walked up and this is what he said.

Are you sore that the Fang took away your Paw?
and the River Run's red with the blood o' your Maw?,
well hop away little blackjack eyes red raw,
-tell the rest o' the prairie what you done saw,
Red River is the Pack,I'm the one with the crown,
I'm the big bad wolf who blew your whole life down!
so cower and quiver little wabbit,have a cry...
you little ******* you took my **** eye!


From out me back pocket, pulled out me slingshot..
..I'm a real crack-shot when it comes to bringin' pain across lots.
Ya never saw it quicker.
Lickety-split I skedaddle into the thicket.
Then he was gone...

Spent the next few years wanderin'. Ponderin' recompense.
Lived paw to mouth honing his defense..
..and offense. Hell bent on atonement.
Twin six-guns blazin', layin' judgement.
While The Pack kept killin'.
Full split, full chisel, goin' the big figure.
Black Fang said it himself.

none bigger none badder than the Pack I'm with,
spit venom that hisses,hogleg never misses,
no-one messes with the red river,do and you die,
cry wolf-get engulfed,leave your colt lie,
whole pack'll rip lead to your head if you try,
but-one thing niggles while I sup down Rye
is to **** that rabbit that took my **** eye,
heard he built some fame,got himself a name,
Jackhammer IS MINE I STAKED MY CLAIM
.


Like a freight train runnin' on collision course.
Jacks fate's been comin' like an iron horse.
Tour de force, pent up, fired up ready to blow.
On a stormy night into town he did stroll.


Jack walked into the saloon.
Black as all hell, no light from the moon.
Fang at a table playin' poker.
Soon to be Dead Mans Hand for that joker.
The pack'll pay.
I'll put the red in your river bringin' Judgement Day.
Stormbringer I'll deliver. Got an itchy trigger-finger..
..cos I'm quicker and fitter. Juiced up, not goosed up on hard liquor.
Then he catches me eye.
Takes a sip of his rye and says..

if it ain't the **** nipper that took the fang's eye,
waited all these years to come here and die,
no odds no winnin' no end to my sinnin' ,
Pack back up,fair game fangs winnin
last chance saloon,I'm too old for you,
ain't no-one ever outdrew me and old blue,
Navy Colt revolver,dead problem solver
so 'ware this wolf,you couldn't **** with silver


Black Fang, I've come to collect.
Anybody that don't wanna die better mosey outback.
But the pack can stay.
For what ya done did you're dyin' this day.

as I opened my mouth and slid my paw to old blue,
twas like the heavens opened up on my whole **** crew,
twin revolvers spitting,splittin' open my pack,
last shot ripped ripper my lieutenant in the back

cause I dragged him over me,hit the deck too,
little rabbit thinks its,over cause I  was hit too,
then I let rip,aiming straight for the head,
coulda sworn that shot left Jackhammer dead
... (but did it?)
Another unfinished track by myself and Jay Byrne... give us a few likes to hear the end(lol cliffhanger style!)
Terry Jordan Mar 2017
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn

I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute

In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight

Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last

Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light

She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving

The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly

The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream

The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving

In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
I was working on this for a while, when I read the Pulitzer Prize winning poem, by C.K. Williams, entitled Invisible Mending.  Same subject, but his metaphor was of forgiveness & redemption, while mine is a little fuzzy, about my connection to my mother...and NOT the winner of a Pulitzer Prize.
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter?
I spoke a tongue that was passed on
To me in the place I happened to be,
A place huddled between grey walls
Of cloud for at least half the year.
My word for heaven was not yours.
The word for hell had a sharp edge
Put on it by the hand of the wind
Honing, honing with a shrill sound
Day and night. Nothing that Glyn Dwr
Knew was armour against the rain's
Missiles. What was descent from him?

Even God had a Welsh name:
He spoke to him in the old language;
He was to have a peculiar care
For the Welsh people. History showed us
He was too big to be nailed to the wall
Of a stone chapel, yet still we crammed him
Between the boards of a black book.

Yet men sought us despite this.
My high cheek-bones, my length of skull
Drew them as to a rare portrait
By a dead master. I saw them stare
From their long cars, as I passed knee-deep
In ewes and wethers. I saw them stand
By the thorn hedges, watching me string
The far flocks on a shrill whistle.
And always there was their eyes; strong
Pressure on me: You are Welsh, they said;
Speak to us so; keep your fields free
Of the smell of petrol, the loud roar
Of hot tractors; we must have peace
And quietness.

Is a museum
Peace? I asked. Am I the keeper
Of the heart's relics, blowing the dust
In my own eyes? I am a man;
I never wanted the drab role
Life assigned me, an actor playing
To the past's audience upon a stage
Of earth and stone; the absurd label
Of birth, of race hanging askew
About my shoulders. I was in prison
Until you came; your voice was a key
Turning in the enormous lock
Of hopelessness. Did the door open
To let me out or yourselves in?
NDHK Oct 2012
Creating
that fallacious intimacy
wrapped
arm around arm
with a nameless
body.
It's easy to get
temporary satisfaction
from it.

Even though
you're chilled
and hollow inside.

The want
of not being lonely
can be too strong.
Keeping up
the exhausting task
of costant contact.
Never really
developing
a bond deeper
than physical sedation
can tire out.

It will ash away
as soon as you move
an inch
in that position
which is holding
unstably present.
Distance
would be the ruiner
of that
shallow fantasy.

But...
to be hundreds
of miles and moments
away from someone.
To be
alone and removed
from the one
who you have
a real, unrelenting
connection with.
To know
you are singular
in that very moment
but not unsupported.

Having them
somewhere you're not,
holding onto your
spiritual thread.
To achieve real
intimate foundation
in knowing the body
doesn't have to tie you
together.
That's an ember that,
when set to breathe,
engulfs you both.

Understanding
and feeling comfort
that when surrounded
by faces
and being unknown to them
is alright.
Since
that person
who lingers in your mind
Is a whisper
off your lips
and is there
in that place you
left them.

They've penetrated inside
that fortress of caution
and self-preservation and
they get you.
They are there,
hidden
and carried with you.
With their hands
cradling and cherishing
your heart
like the treasure
it is.

The enormous responsibility.

To be
the keeper of
warmth and familiarity
and home.
Even though
being separated
from one another
you are reminded of what
exists between you.

By
concentrating and honing
in on the weight
which lives
there.
That love
and loyalty
and equal respected commitment
to take care of what
the other is given.
The total
vulnerable
surrender of
yourself.

That is something
worth wanting.
That is something
to daydream for.
That...
is what we all
crave.


*© NDHK
L B Mar 2017
Black, Swiss cheese hulk on horizon
The James Longstreet
immobile old freighter of the bay

Towed to the ignominy
of its last commission
in the curled arm of The Cape
Tides flex their muscles against it
But The Longstreet is steadfast
in its dark purpose

Standing target for practice

A sortie if planes home in on its bulk
Honing their skills
on this  “fish-in-a-barrel”
Thunderhead-etched pyrotechnics
Booming follows the miles over water

Against The Longstreet’s silhouette enduring
even God fixes sights
firing bolts across its bow
taking aim at our futures

Standing targets for practice

Vietnam? Cape Cod?
No difference to teens
before life’s ocean of conscription

Sand is cold beneath dunes
Beach grass rustles
to the pulsing surf
to the wind’s whispers
just below hearing
as if there’s a secret
that must be kept

We are targets for practice
We are meaningless din

Pulling our sweatshirts and blanket closer
The Supremes sing thinly
from transistor
“Stopped for a moment in the name of love—

Thinking it over”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p38khYKxqLI

The Target Ship has now disintegrated into a sunken reef and sanctuary for ocean wildlife.  The above video is a cool tour complete with perfect music. Enjoy.
stranger Mar 2021
medusa can you feel me?
i've become hard of hearing.
medusa can you see me?
or are the slithers interfeering?
medusa i can feel you staring
why is counciousness abandoning me?
daring yet consoling,
this cigarette that i'm holding.
one more hit and im running
one more hit, i'll be glowing.
the fog in my head, medusa , is nothing but healing,
bet you all my ancestors are proud, ever so loving
surprinsed at the vices i'm honing.
medusa our turn always comes, you don't have to worry
we are sentenced allegory
condensed spring scented fury.
medusa spit on me.
i am anything but awake,
anything but aware
kiss my dreams away
**** i think that was my last hit hahahahahhaah little simz is a genius
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn

I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute

In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight

Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last

Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light

She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving

The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly

The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream

The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
I was working on this for a while, when I read the Pulitzer Prize winning poem, by C.K. Williams, entitled Invisible Mending.  Same subject, but his metaphor was of forgiveness & redemption, while mine is a little fuzzy, about my connection to my mother...and NOT the winner of a Pulitzer Prize.
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.

Happily,  he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.

All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.

Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.

Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.

From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.

we sing of dreams

of better things

we blaspheme

and spin the scenes

of our murdered dreams

and just clean the guilt away

I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.

I am a god that cracks the asphalt.

I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.

I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.

The first

The last

Laugh of inevitability

Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.

Free will

A fragile blessing

I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my  belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.

I'm the ******* son

Strumming for the only one.

Once.

Before the lore of the storm.

Born of the swoon of a gun.

More than one.

Once.

As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Shaurya Pal Jan 2014
Seasoned melancholia,
The wrath of life.
Levelled free will,
A dangerous strife.
Kissing this poison,
Drinking my pain.
Swallowing vermin,
Throwing up in vain.
It ends with you,
Take this to your grave.
My story for you,
Isn’t the hunger you crave.

In the dark,
There lay a corpse,
Dead as dead could be.
Covered in blood,
The body decayed.
The screaming had veered,
An eerie silence prevailed.
I was alone with him.
I bore witness to the event,
It unfolded when he had stretched out his hand,
Toward, stupefied by the beauty,
Pulled in by the magnanimity.
I saw it all, up, close and personal.
I felt nothing, no remorse no conscience,
It was strange, the man had no relevance.

But I cried nonetheless,
Wept at his foolishness,
The fatal attraction lead to his end.
His stubborn belief to relieve all,
To save a soul he himself would fall.
In the hands of a stranger,
The devil all along.

Mesmerized by the set of eyes,
He walked himself to a surprise,
Before I could even blink my eye,
A wave of thunder swept the sky.

I panicked, hid myself tight,
The stranger helpless, got struck by the light.
Ecstatic, in shock he imbibed a misconception,
The eyes being admired were of awry intention.

As I took refuge in the darkness,
Gawking at the scenery speechless.
The stranger losing his cool, nigh suicidal,
Gave up, and terminated his life cycle.

I came close to the cadaver,
And squeezed out his soul.
It couldn’t have lasted forever,
Ending up as the Devil’s finger bowl.

And I dragged, dragged it all along,
To a refuge safe from the devil’s own.
I brought him to my humble abode,
A cage small enough for one or two whole.
I placed the weightless spirit on the floor,
He woke up and saw me leaving through the door.
Shouted at the top of his mettle, “You! I know you!”.
“Hush” I proclaimed. “You need not worry,
There’s another soul I seek and need to carry,
And bring it here before it’s too late.
Till then you relax here, in your undead state.”


The Ethereal now confused and dumbfounded,
Quietened himself, feeling astounded.
One last time he gathered courage,
“You can’t leave me here, I have done nothing wrong!
This place scares me, I’m not that strong.”
“Oh but you have no choice,
You were brought here by your actions,
This IS where you belong.”

And with that I left him hopeless,
Opened the door and locked it with firmness.
The outside air smelled bitter,
The rusty surrounding was no better.
With disgust I set my path precise,
Avoiding the stranger’s delinquent cries.
Blasted myself off the ground,
Towards a place which reeks with chaotic freedom,
A hermitage, sane man’s Elysium.
Magnolia, the mental asylum.
There committed was a man,
Who had dared to escape with a sound plan.
His inner demons tortured and pestered him,
With psychological pain, detaching limb from limb.
I was his guide, his guardian angel.
As I approached the tortured male,
A creature so weak, color yellowish pale.
Locked in a room, a chance to unveil.
I woke him up with my sweet dreary voice,
“Rise, awaken my soul.”
And I opened the door with a loud crack,
“Hurry up, lest the guard will be back.”

With that it was enough for the man,
To take the hint in the small span.
He fled with the meagre chance he got,
He wouldn’t stand another day in this rot.
Believing in my words, he opened the door,
Only to get caught again, as before.

The doctor tied him to a work bench,
The man writhing away, repulsed by the stench.
“Don’t resist, the society cannot accept you,
You killed your wife and children, their ******’s on you.”
At this point I knew I had to step in, else I’d never acquire,
His soul, the sweet nectar, which I dearly desire.



I stood beside him, so that only he could hear my whisper,
“You’re no killer, don’t pay heed,
Your whole life was laden with good deeds.
Rebel, Cause chaos, never give a ****.”
And he obeyed, like a good little lamb.
They held him, prepared the equipment,
He moaned and groaned a denial indignant.
The stage for lobotomy was set,
For his beliefs stood virtually *****.
I placed my hand on his shoulders,
My unwavering touch, aiding his composure.
The doctor struck and I took his grace.
That was all, the seraphim now intact,
My purpose was served.

The stranger’s soul on the other hand,
Grew impatient in the demoniac land.
Bright light engulfed his thoughts and blinded him,
Shattered his notions, faltered his whim.
Appeared a man in straightjacket with bloodshot eyes,
A fierce expression adorned his face.
Was this my savior? Or was he the reaper’s prize?
Will I vanish from the face of the earth?
Or shall I die again tonight?
I was tired now, exhausted.
So I sat in front of them,
Both looking at each other,
Then at me.
The stranger cried,
“It was You! They were Your eyes!
The eyes that deceived me,
Lured me closer then tricked me!!
Either you’re the devil himself,
Or someone completely insane!”
“He’s not insane….” Said the crazy
“It’s a ‘She’ and a spirit so pure,
My good shepherd, an avenging angel,
Who saved me from my cure.
He’s the reason why I’m free now.”
I smiled, amused and amazed at the contrast,
I shall hold back a little and see how long it would last.

“You are to be blamed for my condition,
You brought me here to devour me,
It was your scheming leading to my damnation.”
“So untrue, she’s my path to redemption,
It was she, who believed me and cared for me,
When nobody in the world would help so easily.”
“You don’t realize, he took advantage of the darkness and stabbed me,
He broke my trust and attacked fiercely.”
The stranger had retrieved his long lost will,
Thought it was a battle he couldn’t sit still.
The man in the straightjacket too was fed up,
Hearing allegations about his angel, he stood up.
“You lie, she cannot be so cruel, it was God himself who had sent her
To aid me and put me out of my misery.”

It is the very nature of human so judging,
Faith in their instincts was far more than recurring.
How will mankind evolve?
If it cannot see beyond its own self,
How will mankind survive?
If we keep fighting amongst ourselves.

With a huge sigh I pitched in,
Else this would be a debate never finishing.
“Fools of darkness and insanity,
I speak for you and you only,
I am the result of your delusions,
I am what you want me to be.
I am your savior and your killer,
The factor you avoid so carelessly.
Do not blame me for your doings,
I never attacked you in the darkness,
Nor I opened the door for you,
My eyes were never that captivating,
My soft voice was never comforting.
I am your imagination,
Your brainchild.
Yet you mold me in the worst way possible.
True I was there when you were dying,
But you summoned me and begged for an answer,
All I am is fire to your fuel.

In front of you there is a choice,
Only one of you qualifies,
To get out of this purgatory.
One in heaven one in hell,
Decide amongst yourselves,
I’ll be ready when you choose to tell.”




Both now baffled and flummoxed,
The choice they had was a paradox.
The deserving shall win the argument,
The other shall be caged and boxed.
For me neither mattered,
I act as a silent observer,
From what I know they’d **** each other,
My faith in humanity can never be restored.

Strange however, they didn’t utter a word.
They were just silent, staring at each other,
Interesting, humans always amaze me.
But my job wasn’t done just yet,
I reached out my hand and prepared a pyre,
A hell for both if they choose to retire.
“Decide and push your friend in the fire,
The other shall inherit the Pearly Gates.”



They now were just struck dumb,
The fire in front had made them numb.
I stood amused smacking my tongue,
Waiting for the serenade to be sung.
For when the instincts kick in,
Only one would survive, the other will burn.
I stood anxiously, anticipating their turn.

Together now they held hands,
Approached the fire and stopped.
What a surprise! They both decided to off themselves,
Foolish again, the outcome had flopped.
The Stranger and the Crazy, looked straight at me,
“If you’re our imagination, you don’t decide our fate,
If you’re our creation, our lives you cannot dictate.
Foolish we were, not recognizing you,
Cowards we’re not, we now construe.
You lived many lives, the lives we give,
We don’t permit you to outlive
Beyond our hopes and imagination.
We’ve had enough, time to end this fantasy,
We no longer bow down to your indecency.”


And in a flash before I could cerebrate,
They pushed me hard, their spirits elate.
I fell into the flames, of the everlasting fire,
Who knew my own design would be my funeral pyre?

The basket case neared as I was torn asunder,
“Even though I believed you tried to help,
I knew somewhere I was to be blamed,
I was no longer the innocent whelp,
You had intended to be tamed.
Die now in peace as I choose to forget,
This is your punishment, bear no regret.”

The stranger too, had something to say,
“Listen to me before you decay,
I lived as a fool, blindly trusting you,
In the light of darkness, I believed you to be true.
I now realize, after my demise,
You’re just pathetic fragment of my life,
An actor, who played his part all along,
There’s no happy ending for you,
You must pay for what you did wrong.
Die in pain as I won’t forget,
This is your penalty, you corrupted silhouette.”
With these last words, I faded into oblivion,
Hell awaited me,
This is what I get, for being their progeny.
All this time I believed they were fools,
Honing their servility.
The calmness before the storm,
The levelling of free will,
No freedom of choice, no survival.
They are no fools, they just play dumb,
Nobody’s innocent, see what they’ve become.
They create demons and monsters,
And then take pride in slaying them.
A tiresome feat,
They enjoy mayhem.
With my end, others will rise,
Till they are done playing with lives.
Part 3 of The 'Karma' Trilogy
Perry Madison Jan 2017
Seasons change and life goes on,
my scenes switch off, times are gone with words
From CT, to New York, to Colorado, the world’s voice I’ve already heard.
But not everyone can see the world’s treasures in their face,
the beauties, people, lights and sounds across this finite space.
Or felt the stars in their souls, that’ll disperse one day
It’s not the case, so please sit down, and listen to what I say:

We’re all too busy honing in on things that shouldn’t stand out
Like why I speak the way I do, with etiquette and class
why I transcend the lines between specific roles
in what I say and how I act

I say:
Why question and judge the little things I do
in my life, which isn’t yours
to the point where you cut off ties and contact that never had been forged
Because your preformed images of a bisexual, black guy
warps your eyes and makes you blind, way that can’t be right, because
across time the blind eyes symbolizes truth
so these illusions in your way, blocking you in sooth,
serve no purpose, see the light and accept the natural proof.

My hair’s not *****, my behavior varies to where
it fits no norms. I’m beyond your views, don’t you see?
It’s the eye of the storm.

I say:
It doesn’t stop at me, no, no. It spreads beyond these walls
and affects those who are different, who break society’s “laws”
Wars and fights over basic things are all I ever hear,
beliefs, gender, color, orientation,
the common fight is fear

Fear to be seen as an abomination  
to break or fall from grace
To stay hidden from their true potential
for their own safety’s sake

I say:
That’s no way to live a life of
chances, hope and purpose
to live in shadows, cold and alone under
a hidden surface

I’m here to say that there’s no shame
in being who you are
to break the norm and stand against those
who dare to change your ways, to those who can’t accept
that life’s about change.

Why do I say such things? Why do I speak?
Why do I stand as one?
Our fate’s o n a string, the strong and meek
we’re all united under one sun.

I say:
We’re all human, how hard is it to understand that we’re the pieces
of one heart, united in a common band.
If we don’t accept this, how far can we go?
Surely we won’t last, but if we rise above this fog,
the human spirit will ever last against whatever
time and space may throw, whatever darkness we may fear.

Open your eyes, your ears, your heart
Because I say this: It all starts here.
Wrote this in High School
Amy Perry Jun 2020
What do I have at my disposal?
A knack for always wanting to write
My intuitive messages down.
But it’s got no substance,
It’s got no meat.
I’m all bread and cheese and
Condiment without any meat.
It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose,
But not for a poet.
The poet has to lead breadcrumbs
For the reader in order to get to the meat
Of the poem, the substance, the protein.
Where is it?
I’m lacking substance where I have all these
Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables,
I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich,
But no meat!
I have to go to the store,
I have to keep honing my skill.
I have to develop a hunger for meat.
Hal Loyd Denton May 2013
From gentle falling snow to air born blossoms Mexico City stroll the city observe the
Architecture with the tree above fragrant and scented the place and its history is mind and soul
Altering the culture undertakes enhancing you could quickly transport yourself to ancient
Mesopotamia at the gate Ishtar a honing emerges from the submersed recesses of knowing
Plentiful abundance you are a space traveler in your own planet what happened the possibility
Of renewal of nature triggered something wondrous you are on solid ground but you are also in
Wrapped by Cinergy so large nature unbound intricate exquisite the very mood of life
Expressed through a wild heart that never fails to excite stillness holds your sight you presume
Certain facts just by the innocence that casually hangs in display beauty enriches then
Sweetly on a wafting breeze the fragrance of Lilac everything now is sought in this perfume that
Can never be bottled but it catches and releases joy and thrills across the tendrils of the heart
Amazing disembodied that can’t be matched or missed every turning ever filling with
Enchantment pleasure that is universal everyone is accosted delighted the spectacle is then
Perfected by rain and mist that leaves droplets on all that is visible saturation enters and drips
Unconsciously in the extravagant folds of the soul bliss awash in environs where only gentle
Fields grow such richness competes with the poverty that rules at so many points in life we
Walk imprisoned then it occurs happens without fanfare or announcement nature explodes as
Far as the eye beholds a virtual fair an extravaganza nothing is left unaffected you are invited to
This show you are to be a participant in life at its far reaches the swirl the blending of affection
And tranquility gifts so unabashedly presented hush befalls the entire world quietly it
Commands Without rehearsal the perfect show comes to life for your viewing and pleasure
Though we are buffeted by strife and challenges that at times seem unreasonable but just by
Taking a stroll and looking at the garments Mother Nature adorns herself in paths and gates
That are lying before you twist and turns that speak to the essential human in us all come to
Such wonder all you have to do is open yourself cherished living you will find created by an all
Loving Heart for His children you are the entitled keepers and reapers of a harvest that
Continues its Renewal year by year and truly does get sweeter as time goes by
O my Lord, long ago I accepted the idea
of being open and accepting of change.
My resistance was ultimately futile, when…
Salvation caused my life to be rearranged.

For my perspective was spiritually altered
and my heart was subtly humbled by You;
when ready, I sought after Your Kingdom,
knowing that I would remain in Your view.

Know that there can be joy in serving others,
which is complemented with learning opportunities;
depths of understanding can be accelerated,
for we’re taught to look differently and see…

the holy lessons Christ has intended for us!
Interactions with the Body of Christ may be hard,
since the religious honing of ‘iron against iron’
can leave one’s soul feeling dulled and scarred.

Spiritual maturity is an important aspect
in the development of faith that can’t be overblown;
for a real relationship with Christ insures that…
His Children are pushed - out of their comfort zone.
.
.
.
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Matt 8:20, Prov 27:17 and the following commentary from Abraham Israel

At the same time when Jesus said, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” (Matt 8:20), it does not mean that Jesus described how poor He was to not even have a place to rest or buy a pillow and a mat to sleep. Instead Jesus used a figure of speech to convey to the certain scribe who came and said to Him, “Teacher, I will follow You wherever You go,” that when he wants to follow Jesus who does the will of God all the time according to heaven's instruction, then he has to forget about having a permanent place to sleep and a comfortable bed time. Implicitly Jesus was saying to that scribe who was very excited about following Jesus, that in the will of God, persecution might come and he will have flee from place to place, they might catch hold of him and bring him before kings and governors as a testimony for God, then from time to time food will not be placed in a table to be eaten and a time when no proper place to rest also might arise at certain times. And to another disciple who wanted to follow him, Jesus clearly expressed that in the will of God he might have to leave his father and mother and his fleshly family and relatives to go away to fulfill the will of God for his life. Sadly both of these above people did not follow Jesus further because they felt that the cost of the discipleship was great and that they were not able to leave their comfort zones.

But if we are thankful to God in the will of God with a gratitude for giving life as a gift to experience and not just hold on to our ****** comfort as the prime priority even above obeying the voice of God, then we will be very happy, joyful and content like the family above to experience heaven on earth again and again. Then we will also be followers of Jesus and his true disciples in the world as long as we are present. May God help us to be the true followers of Jesus!

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr11?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory

(Poem) By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Curt A Rivard Sr Jan 2014
It is year two thousand and fourteen
Reformatting my brain I’m dripping Dimethyltryptamine
Revelations is now here for I had a vision I had seen.
So many experiences now under my belt
Unexplainable sights overcoming I had seen
Smelling something like moth ***** is all I smelt.
I’m setting the stage, I am setting the scene.
Actions with matching words having ultimate precision
Three times is truly the lucky charm
Traveling to a brave new unseen world
Is this heaven, is this hell
Or am I stuck somewhere in-between?
Stepping outside myself I now watch and see
Confusing images revealing, turning me inside out
Suffocating my mind how is this happening to me?
High pitched frequency dialing in my ears are now ringing
Disconnected words lost why is he now not singing?
Honing on each and every instrument in his band
Everything that is happening to me is because
I had again awaking my pineal gland.
(SirCARSr. 1-8-14)

— The End —