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"insuring" poems
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
0
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
km-1
Contentment
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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34
iPad Love 4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon and our iPad screens turned down low, we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each, each of our own devices, this technique, it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being. No need to tell you in sound, out loud, how you turn my heart upside down, I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook, you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition. The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" - no longer will do we venture outside in pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts, a legal gesture of neighborly disdain. Americana, losing another icon, as well as insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers, boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent. Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine, the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight. your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love, but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and I don't even have to move! Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision, you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined. So baby, shut it down, turn me on, make me warm for real, glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek, whisper a phony "ugh," cause I know, you will read this iPad love poem and cherish us for evermore. Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!) will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of the human touch. 2011
0
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
iPad Love
iPad Love 4:49 AM, and by the light of the silvery moon and our iPad screens turned down low, we snuggle side by side, our fingers glide so softly upon each, each of our own devices, this technique, it could be an app, teaching how to caress a human being. No need to tell you in sound, out loud, how you turn my heart upside down, I'll just post a note of appreciation on Facebook, you will see it faster, and besides, you got your earphones on and could not hear my sweet nothings if I screamed them in high definition. The newspaper arrives on the electric "doorstep" - no longer will do we venture outside in pink bathrobes and curlers, or boxer shorts, a legal gesture of neighborly disdain. Americana, losing another icon, as well as insuring the unemployment of thousands of newspaper deliverers, boys and girls, on bicycles, their first job, now obsolescent. Your feet, so cozy and warm, touching mine, the sensation, lovely and fine, duly recorded in a poem that on my iPad I scribble, as my typos disappear, out of sight. your ear, I nibble, something you hate and I love, but electronically, it's done with no fuss or muss, and I don't even have to move! Sadly, I can find no app that will bring the warmth of a cup of coffee to my night table, and the gun metal casing of this invention is chilly, but still Steve, with almost God like vision, you brought us closer in ways prior unimagined. So baby, shut it down, turn me on, make me warm for real, glide your now practiced fingertips on my grizzled cheek, whisper a phony "ugh," cause I know, you will read this iPad love poem and cherish us for evermore. Nothing, something, even as thin as my iPad 2(!) will come between us and the holiness, the uniqueness of the human touch. 2011
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41
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons, this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons. These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died. My interest in the machines began at an early age, enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole, I think, motivated by the idea that these machines processing information, the core mechanism of reality, might be used to create understanding. In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me that while some are used for this purpose, most, like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with: 1) self-preservation AND 2) the collection of, and limited divestment of, unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the existence of another similar organism valued for its 1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND 2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access to the aforementioned important combustible materials. —it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use, is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny. I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism that my button pushing is of sufficient quality, on sufficiently frequent good days, that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest, of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units. I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise. I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles. In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates and a unfathomably vast universe, I thought you might be interested to know
0
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
donald-guy
An Autobiography
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons, this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons. These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died. My interest in the machines began at an early age, enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole, I think, motivated by the idea that these machines processing information, the core mechanism of reality, might be used to create understanding. In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me that while some are used for this purpose, most, like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with: 1) self-preservation AND 2) the collection of, and limited divestment of, unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the existence of another similar organism valued for its 1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND 2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access to the aforementioned important combustible materials. —it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use, is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny. I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism that my button pushing is of sufficient quality, on sufficiently frequent good days, that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest, of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units. I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise. I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles. In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates and a unfathomably vast universe, I thought you might be interested to know
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43
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear She never came back for me, but watched as I derail Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion ♚ Kunbi Dia
0
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 6:56 PM UTC
Kunbi_dia
WHISKEY & WHITNEY
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear She never came back for me, but watched as I derail Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion ♚ Kunbi Dia
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10
1434 Go not too near a House of Rose— The depredation of a Breeze— Or inundation of a Dew Alarms its walls away— Nor try to tie the Butterfly, Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy, In insecurity to lie Is Joy’s insuring quality.
0
2.1k
Emily Dickinson
Go not too near a House of Rose—
1434 Go not too near a House of Rose— The depredation of a Breeze— Or inundation of a Dew Alarms its walls away— Nor try to tie the Butterfly, Nor climb the Bars of Ecstasy, In insecurity to lie Is Joy’s insuring quality.
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9
Ambiguous propaganda seeps paranoia into crevasses of budding knowledge, spawning hordes of diffident souls that cower behind the Aegis of altruistic motives. Self preservation clings to pragmatic love and delayed satisfaction, while enthusiasts of law leech gold from delicate words left unsaid. The expense of insuring hope dooms creative anomalies to tedious and ceaseless indentured servitude. And the day split-lip parasites swarm like Death to claim souls, the only cure will waste away final days in an attempt to prolong them.
0
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 2:00 PM UTC
john-hosack
Tyranny with Manners
Ambiguous propaganda seeps paranoia into crevasses of budding knowledge, spawning hordes of diffident souls that cower behind the Aegis of altruistic motives. Self preservation clings to pragmatic love and delayed satisfaction, while enthusiasts of law leech gold from delicate words left unsaid. The expense of insuring hope dooms creative anomalies to tedious and ceaseless indentured servitude. And the day split-lip parasites swarm like Death to claim souls, the only cure will waste away final days in an attempt to prolong them.
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20
You've caught me in a constellation. Stars surrounding us as the galaxies intertwine themselves in our hands and stardust settles in our hair. I don’t think we’re flying, no, we’re just kind of floating. Sustained in space without gravity to pull us down back to reality. Your skin is glowing as the pale moon illuminates you, your aurora embracing mine as we become one. Our hands are interlaced and our legs tangled up. I kiss your chest and I feel your heartbeat on my lips, insuring me that you are, in fact, here in this very moment with me. There is no time, nothing to pass us by. We simply exist in the now with no past to haunt us or future to worry about. Your breath leaves a chill to run up and down my spine, goosebumps rising and falling in time. Whispered words left in each others ears meant to flutter hearts and bring solace to souls once lost. At this moment, nothing has mattered more to me than your eyes and your hands and the way your lips move when they speak and you tell me the same thing, that right now I’m all that matters to you. It’s something I never completely believe but it’s so sweet to hear, making me feel as if I do matter, at least to you. We’re floating in space, no direction or objective. Our heads lost in each other as we fade away into the blackness that is not really as black as it seems. It’s more like a deep blue that is not found in the sea. Who knew something so dark could be so comforting. But it’s not really dark, because I’m here with you.
0
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
diana182
Galaxies
You've caught me in a constellation. Stars surrounding us as the galaxies intertwine themselves in our hands and stardust settles in our hair. I don’t think we’re flying, no, we’re just kind of floating. Sustained in space without gravity to pull us down back to reality. Your skin is glowing as the pale moon illuminates you, your aurora embracing mine as we become one. Our hands are interlaced and our legs tangled up. I kiss your chest and I feel your heartbeat on my lips, insuring me that you are, in fact, here in this very moment with me. There is no time, nothing to pass us by. We simply exist in the now with no past to haunt us or future to worry about. Your breath leaves a chill to run up and down my spine, goosebumps rising and falling in time. Whispered words left in each others ears meant to flutter hearts and bring solace to souls once lost. At this moment, nothing has mattered more to me than your eyes and your hands and the way your lips move when they speak and you tell me the same thing, that right now I’m all that matters to you. It’s something I never completely believe but it’s so sweet to hear, making me feel as if I do matter, at least to you. We’re floating in space, no direction or objective. Our heads lost in each other as we fade away into the blackness that is not really as black as it seems. It’s more like a deep blue that is not found in the sea. Who knew something so dark could be so comforting. But it’s not really dark, because I’m here with you.
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1
Sergeant Weeble, stepped up to the firing line insuring every soldier aimed, and took his time The evil dinosaur rebellion it just had to be put down saving every good toy motionless on the battleground The Sergeant loudly exclaimed "RELEASE THE DESTROYER!" all is not, as it is claimed Destroyer released, within the foyer The fell Destroyer now freed to deliver killing blows the rank and file reminder a laying low, of friend, and foe It doesn't matter, if you take all the toy guns away a tennis ball destroyer will always, win the day
0
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
TemporalFugue
Ultimate Destroyer!
Sergeant Weeble, stepped up to the firing line insuring every soldier aimed, and took his time The evil dinosaur rebellion it just had to be put down saving every good toy motionless on the battleground The Sergeant loudly exclaimed "RELEASE THE DESTROYER!" all is not, as it is claimed Destroyer released, within the foyer The fell Destroyer now freed to deliver killing blows the rank and file reminder a laying low, of friend, and foe It doesn't matter, if you take all the toy guns away a tennis ball destroyer will always, win the day
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20
With assistance of the Holy Spirit, compelling achievements will be seen; supernatural strength is available to… overcome the nonsense of human routine. As His responsible Christians today, we must mature and have understanding of the authority and power given us by Christ, to address Life’s demanding. When we have not, it’s the direct result of not asking for… what we really need. Working from our natural strength fails, and we will be trampled by sin’s stampede. The fleshly combination of impure motives and one’s selfish, wrong timing for results will keep one ensnared in Satan’s traps- insuring the onslaught of ongoing assaults that interfere with one’s divine purpose. Prayer remains a violent, spiritual force that interrupts the enemies’ plan against us. We have a High Priest who keeps us on course- One Who understands our weaknesses, infirmities and the God-given abilities for Kingdom victory! Come boldly now, to the heavenly throne of Grace; enable your faith with prayer and learn to see that Faith only works by the power of His Love. Be anxious for nothing, with real thanksgiving and let your specific requests be known by Him. Only in His Name, can we achieve… greater things! . . . Author Notes Inspired by: John 14:12-14; Jam 4:1-2,5:13-16; Heb 4:15-16; Gal 5:6; Mark 11:22-25; Phil 4:6; Luke 10:19 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
0
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: Greater Things
With assistance of the Holy Spirit, compelling achievements will be seen; supernatural strength is available to… overcome the nonsense of human routine. As His responsible Christians today, we must mature and have understanding of the authority and power given us by Christ, to address Life’s demanding. When we have not, it’s the direct result of not asking for… what we really need. Working from our natural strength fails, and we will be trampled by sin’s stampede. The fleshly combination of impure motives and one’s selfish, wrong timing for results will keep one ensnared in Satan’s traps- insuring the onslaught of ongoing assaults that interfere with one’s divine purpose. Prayer remains a violent, spiritual force that interrupts the enemies’ plan against us. We have a High Priest who keeps us on course- One Who understands our weaknesses, infirmities and the God-given abilities for Kingdom victory! Come boldly now, to the heavenly throne of Grace; enable your faith with prayer and learn to see that Faith only works by the power of His Love. Be anxious for nothing, with real thanksgiving and let your specific requests be known by Him. Only in His Name, can we achieve… greater things! . . . Author Notes Inspired by: John 14:12-14; Jam 4:1-2,5:13-16; Heb 4:15-16; Gal 5:6; Mark 11:22-25; Phil 4:6; Luke 10:19 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
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38
We have that secret way of traipsing around each other Dancing at the outskirts of each other's minds Carefully caressing the others heart but trying not to let them notice Very carefully, ever so subtly, insuring the other that the feeling is mutual
0
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
liv-rose
Mutual.
We have that secret way of traipsing around each other Dancing at the outskirts of each other's minds Carefully caressing the others heart but trying not to let them notice Very carefully, ever so subtly, insuring the other that the feeling is mutual
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4
How do we judge Patterns of love For I have found myself Trying to look Past the water wrinkled pages of my tired book Having just used it as cover from the pouring rain Stepping into this crowded café And immediately being struck By the sight of you I quickly divert my glance away Yet finding my sight slowly circling the room Slowly coming back around to The arresting sight of you Having realized that I had already given my order Defaulting to an autonomous response Showing that my mind was currently preoccupied I hastily hand over a five Having missed the exact price As I walk away I look your way again And of course I don't pursue Sitting myself across the room Viewing the setting in which I would be resting Insuring it was visible by you Quickly looking at lighting And the surrounding set dressings Of a slightly worn couch in front of a hearth I set my book down Making sure it was obvious from across the room Hearing my name being called I turn to gather my mindlessly ordered coffee I see a glint in the baristas eye Having seen me organizing my setting And my quite obvious glancing She called another name And rising from her seat The girl I had been admiring Arose and let her eyes rest on mine Bringing this suddenly heavy question to my mind How do we judge patterns of love And if it's possible to achieve at first sight.
0
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
ryan-galloway
Love at First Sight
How do we judge Patterns of love For I have found myself Trying to look Past the water wrinkled pages of my tired book Having just used it as cover from the pouring rain Stepping into this crowded café And immediately being struck By the sight of you I quickly divert my glance away Yet finding my sight slowly circling the room Slowly coming back around to The arresting sight of you Having realized that I had already given my order Defaulting to an autonomous response Showing that my mind was currently preoccupied I hastily hand over a five Having missed the exact price As I walk away I look your way again And of course I don't pursue Sitting myself across the room Viewing the setting in which I would be resting Insuring it was visible by you Quickly looking at lighting And the surrounding set dressings Of a slightly worn couch in front of a hearth I set my book down Making sure it was obvious from across the room Hearing my name being called I turn to gather my mindlessly ordered coffee I see a glint in the baristas eye Having seen me organizing my setting And my quite obvious glancing She called another name And rising from her seat The girl I had been admiring Arose and let her eyes rest on mine Bringing this suddenly heavy question to my mind How do we judge patterns of love And if it's possible to achieve at first sight.
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40
If you think that your passwords are   Un-hackable, change them anyway... In a recent study it is shown that women are 80% more likely than men to use the word "password" as their password. This gives hackers a #1 target. Along with "password" other easy combinations follow "1234" "4321" "123456" etc... So what do we do to prevent pervs from getting our credit card password and buying all the stuff off of any perverted website... Think about your password really hard, write down what it is on a private file "in/out of the computer", never ever have the same password for anything. What is our government doing to make sure that they don't get hacked? The governments preventative measures to insure that there is no "cyber terrorism" they have hackers hired to literally hack the U.S. Government. Then if they get through (which happens a lot) the government then immediately fixes it. The way the government is insuring and enforcing security in the country is failing, due to the amount of "supposed" and "legally" obtained land around the world, the more they collect the less smaller the number of people you have to protect the area. The amount of money going into the country itself is much less than what is invested into international military involvement. Why spend so much? Because Americans have a lot of pride, they think that the world owes it to them because their so rich. Yet the U.S. Has a debt of $19.3 trillion dollars. Every year the US government spends $598.49 billion dollars, why? Since the US loves to put its big shiny boot into everyone's ***** a lot of people start disliking them, so the US ready to **** it's pants builds up a military that makes them look tougher.
0
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Thomam111
Security
If you think that your passwords are   Un-hackable, change them anyway... In a recent study it is shown that women are 80% more likely than men to use the word "password" as their password. This gives hackers a #1 target. Along with "password" other easy combinations follow "1234" "4321" "123456" etc... So what do we do to prevent pervs from getting our credit card password and buying all the stuff off of any perverted website... Think about your password really hard, write down what it is on a private file "in/out of the computer", never ever have the same password for anything. What is our government doing to make sure that they don't get hacked? The governments preventative measures to insure that there is no "cyber terrorism" they have hackers hired to literally hack the U.S. Government. Then if they get through (which happens a lot) the government then immediately fixes it. The way the government is insuring and enforcing security in the country is failing, due to the amount of "supposed" and "legally" obtained land around the world, the more they collect the less smaller the number of people you have to protect the area. The amount of money going into the country itself is much less than what is invested into international military involvement. Why spend so much? Because Americans have a lot of pride, they think that the world owes it to them because their so rich. Yet the U.S. Has a debt of $19.3 trillion dollars. Every year the US government spends $598.49 billion dollars, why? Since the US loves to put its big shiny boot into everyone's ***** a lot of people start disliking them, so the US ready to **** it's pants builds up a military that makes them look tougher.
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9
O Lord, I know and see that I’m powerless to fight against circumstance’s mountain; meet needs; anoint me with oils of gladness as those, who mourn -before God in Zion-. Rest Your mantle of praise upon me now; allow me to recuperate my strength and sing mightily of Your goodness, grace and mercy. For You alone, dominate my heart’s strings with the knowledge of the scarlet thread, that binds my Life’s existence to You; enlighten my spirit with more of Your Truth, insuring that enemy traps… I will eschew. Give me ‘beauty for ashes’, soon and suddenly; from my sadness and hurt, I will have victory! I will never possess a spirit of fainting, since I’m His child, on a spiritual trajectory that insures my ability to overcome troubles. Avoiding bitterness from my experiences of pain, I’ve felt the healing force my soul required- found alone in the power… of His Holy Name! . . . Author Notes Inspired by: Isa 61 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
0
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: For My Heaviness
O Lord, I know and see that I’m powerless to fight against circumstance’s mountain; meet needs; anoint me with oils of gladness as those, who mourn -before God in Zion-. Rest Your mantle of praise upon me now; allow me to recuperate my strength and sing mightily of Your goodness, grace and mercy. For You alone, dominate my heart’s strings with the knowledge of the scarlet thread, that binds my Life’s existence to You; enlighten my spirit with more of Your Truth, insuring that enemy traps… I will eschew. Give me ‘beauty for ashes’, soon and suddenly; from my sadness and hurt, I will have victory! I will never possess a spirit of fainting, since I’m His child, on a spiritual trajectory that insures my ability to overcome troubles. Avoiding bitterness from my experiences of pain, I’ve felt the healing force my soul required- found alone in the power… of His Holy Name! . . . Author Notes Inspired by: Isa 61 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
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29
If it's a distance empty from the A to B we can't decipher. lined along with bricks and mortar, stick and stone left how we like em. How do efforts scurry through assuming light could bless the shadow nose to sky with hopeful glances honing in on roads of gravel. Growing disillusion suits a lofty breadth of chest to beat on knowing in the end a setting sun eclipses better eons. Apropos of nothing and devoid of any hopeful signal known to try imposing gold on weathered stone, and broken spindles Drew the yoke upon a sect who we prescribed a disposition drawing red each sordid line, insuring they'll be sent to prison. Never free. The harvester assumes the fruit have grown impatient failing here to see them printing license plates on new plantations. Maybe in the future we'll refuse the craven role, observer, graduate to breaking through, return the lives we stole with fervor. Maybe while elites are keen to trim the fat and clip the losses, we'll discover links they hadn't seen, between our little boxes.
0
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 4:03 AM UTC
AaronE
Framing
If it's a distance empty from the A to B we can't decipher. lined along with bricks and mortar, stick and stone left how we like em. How do efforts scurry through assuming light could bless the shadow nose to sky with hopeful glances honing in on roads of gravel. Growing disillusion suits a lofty breadth of chest to beat on knowing in the end a setting sun eclipses better eons. Apropos of nothing and devoid of any hopeful signal known to try imposing gold on weathered stone, and broken spindles Drew the yoke upon a sect who we prescribed a disposition drawing red each sordid line, insuring they'll be sent to prison. Never free. The harvester assumes the fruit have grown impatient failing here to see them printing license plates on new plantations. Maybe in the future we'll refuse the craven role, observer, graduate to breaking through, return the lives we stole with fervor. Maybe while elites are keen to trim the fat and clip the losses, we'll discover links they hadn't seen, between our little boxes.
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16
Glued to the T.V. When you explore the mouth of a tiger and don’t find a genie, But meet the teeth of a beast who is grinning out feed me. Is this the world my teachers praised and reminded me of? **** no wonder I’m glued to the T.V. Drug called control and getting off it isn't easy. When addicted to it you become a victim to it, insuring a stormy life And words aren't making it breezy. **** no wonder I’m glued to the TV. Rather not hear the complaints of feminists, Or pay attention to images of slit writs that only provoke me to reminisce About some stupid **** that didn't apply to me but I wished it did, until it really did. No tears shed, whenever I’m glued to the TV. Religious fear implemented by the hypocritical, demented spirits who will spit at you And write the lamented. Not the desired destination for eternal resting, but hell in a daydream is so interesting. Anybody who walks on holier ground would have stood and questioned But I’d rather be Constantine than a teen that complains constantly. **** no wonder I’m glued to the TV. It should be against the law to escape into another’s mind, Or have your dreams influenced by another’s. “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, we’ll find out some other rhyme, But let’s put on Loki’s mask to and joke of each other’s crimes. Inspired to do so, Glued to the TV.
0
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
benjamin-wilks
Glued to The T.V.
Glued to the T.V. When you explore the mouth of a tiger and don’t find a genie, But meet the teeth of a beast who is grinning out feed me. Is this the world my teachers praised and reminded me of? **** no wonder I’m glued to the T.V. Drug called control and getting off it isn't easy. When addicted to it you become a victim to it, insuring a stormy life And words aren't making it breezy. **** no wonder I’m glued to the TV. Rather not hear the complaints of feminists, Or pay attention to images of slit writs that only provoke me to reminisce About some stupid **** that didn't apply to me but I wished it did, until it really did. No tears shed, whenever I’m glued to the TV. Religious fear implemented by the hypocritical, demented spirits who will spit at you And write the lamented. Not the desired destination for eternal resting, but hell in a daydream is so interesting. Anybody who walks on holier ground would have stood and questioned But I’d rather be Constantine than a teen that complains constantly. **** no wonder I’m glued to the TV. It should be against the law to escape into another’s mind, Or have your dreams influenced by another’s. “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, we’ll find out some other rhyme, But let’s put on Loki’s mask to and joke of each other’s crimes. Inspired to do so, Glued to the TV.
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25
The path was long and arduous And night began to veer O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates Its' shadows breeding fear Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round Tombstone crosses where Hissing its’ frustration Loudly in despair It sought to nourish fears The shadows did create Searching everywhere to find It’s soul-less night-time mate. Moonbeam light kissed the Night Claiming shadows as their child Together then in lock-step They bent on running wild And there, where he awaited Their cold inspiring touch With doctrines of all Evils Firmly in his clutch The blackness in his heart, Thumping ‘neath his frock Soon it’s rancid maladies The Wind would there unlock Thoughts of what’s to come Then twisted lips to smile Revealing stained and yellowed teeth Trapping breath so rank and vile ‘twas then The Prince of Avarice Rose and stood ***** The world would soon be his To ravage and infect His eyes of snake, both bespake Behind their reptile lids The embrace of the doctrine For no Evils it forbids The Wind increased its’ howling Icy fingers pushing fro Arranging fallen hopes Into a dead rouleau And you and I so un-suspect Of pending alchemy Believing we were safe inside Cocoons of normalcy. Our naiveté so firmly grasped Caused us to belie The chaos we knew not … ‘twas there, and drawing nigh As Wind fingers touched him He yelled out his decree: “ The Prince of Avarice shall reign And destroy Democracy!” His school of ghouls, dunce and fools Clamored to his side Greed having won the day Was about to take It’s ride! Greed, first blessed the banks And Wall Street did rejoice The Prince of Avarice then silenced All protestor ‘s voice With lies and propaganda All fabricated well Then all the bankers rang The borrowers death knell Morgan Stanley, AGI, Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs Raking in what Greed gave out: Billions in green-backs. Glutted bankers, Through laughter Greed had honed Uncaringly showed the world A prediction - their prodrome Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes Insuring that which failed But jobs the cost, as homes were lost And not a banker jailed.
0
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
medgar-fallon-roe
Vociferous Avarice: Wall Street Creed
The path was long and arduous And night began to veer O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates Its' shadows breeding fear Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round Tombstone crosses where Hissing its’ frustration Loudly in despair It sought to nourish fears The shadows did create Searching everywhere to find It’s soul-less night-time mate. Moonbeam light kissed the Night Claiming shadows as their child Together then in lock-step They bent on running wild And there, where he awaited Their cold inspiring touch With doctrines of all Evils Firmly in his clutch The blackness in his heart, Thumping ‘neath his frock Soon it’s rancid maladies The Wind would there unlock Thoughts of what’s to come Then twisted lips to smile Revealing stained and yellowed teeth Trapping breath so rank and vile ‘twas then The Prince of Avarice Rose and stood ***** The world would soon be his To ravage and infect His eyes of snake, both bespake Behind their reptile lids The embrace of the doctrine For no Evils it forbids The Wind increased its’ howling Icy fingers pushing fro Arranging fallen hopes Into a dead rouleau And you and I so un-suspect Of pending alchemy Believing we were safe inside Cocoons of normalcy. Our naiveté so firmly grasped Caused us to belie The chaos we knew not … ‘twas there, and drawing nigh As Wind fingers touched him He yelled out his decree: “ The Prince of Avarice shall reign And destroy Democracy!” His school of ghouls, dunce and fools Clamored to his side Greed having won the day Was about to take It’s ride! Greed, first blessed the banks And Wall Street did rejoice The Prince of Avarice then silenced All protestor ‘s voice With lies and propaganda All fabricated well Then all the bankers rang The borrowers death knell Morgan Stanley, AGI, Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs Raking in what Greed gave out: Billions in green-backs. Glutted bankers, Through laughter Greed had honed Uncaringly showed the world A prediction - their prodrome Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes Insuring that which failed But jobs the cost, as homes were lost And not a banker jailed.
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76
now i wake up at five a.m. insuring i've sufficient time to paint my face on kind enough my hands smell like coffee i taste blood from blisters breaking down and around my smallest joints *(in control stay in control i have to stay in control)* smile until my face aches in a kind of competitive way because my pain will bring no gain if i can't seem nicer than the next girl *(i keep saying that i'm dead inside but the irony of the joke is that i'm actually too alive to want these thoughts)* and i'm sure if i told anyone that anxiety keeps me wide awake and depression keeps me asleep they just might not believe it *(i don't think it sounds reasonable to say i've got a physical and chronic pain in my head from the pressure of my darkest most brutal thoughts)* when i was thirteen i told myself never ever to use my mental illness as an excuse so i plunged forward through depression deserts anxiety avalanches forests of fear tired old towns migraine mountains warped wastelands and suicide swamps and just last week i realized my downfall in not letting my pain tell me when to slow down when what i would not allow to be my excuse became my disability.
0
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
be-mccomb
excuse
now i wake up at five a.m. insuring i've sufficient time to paint my face on kind enough my hands smell like coffee i taste blood from blisters breaking down and around my smallest joints *(in control stay in control i have to stay in control)* smile until my face aches in a kind of competitive way because my pain will bring no gain if i can't seem nicer than the next girl *(i keep saying that i'm dead inside but the irony of the joke is that i'm actually too alive to want these thoughts)* and i'm sure if i told anyone that anxiety keeps me wide awake and depression keeps me asleep they just might not believe it *(i don't think it sounds reasonable to say i've got a physical and chronic pain in my head from the pressure of my darkest most brutal thoughts)* when i was thirteen i told myself never ever to use my mental illness as an excuse so i plunged forward through depression deserts anxiety avalanches forests of fear tired old towns migraine mountains warped wastelands and suicide swamps and just last week i realized my downfall in not letting my pain tell me when to slow down when what i would not allow to be my excuse became my disability.
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54
Are your ears being tickled? Is your soul’s carnality being fed? Are you running on the wrong path? Are you blindly being led? What is your theology? What do you really believe? Where will you spend eternity? Does The Word match… what you perceive? Continually, out of your mouth, the desires of your heart flow; understand your true motivation; move beyond the Church’s status quo. Be humbly filled with The Spirit and receive God’s holy unction; ask for your vision, insuring… that your gifts properly function. God is examining your heart, against Truth’s only baseline! Are you devouring the Scriptures or feeding on some… toxic doctrines? Author Notes: Loosely based on: 1 John 2:18-27; Matt 12:34, 15:11; Ecc 11:9; Psa 51:17; Heb 4:12; Luke 6:45 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513 By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
0
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: Toxic Doctrines
Are your ears being tickled? Is your soul’s carnality being fed? Are you running on the wrong path? Are you blindly being led? What is your theology? What do you really believe? Where will you spend eternity? Does The Word match… what you perceive? Continually, out of your mouth, the desires of your heart flow; understand your true motivation; move beyond the Church’s status quo. Be humbly filled with The Spirit and receive God’s holy unction; ask for your vision, insuring… that your gifts properly function. God is examining your heart, against Truth’s only baseline! Are you devouring the Scriptures or feeding on some… toxic doctrines? Author Notes: Loosely based on: 1 John 2:18-27; Matt 12:34, 15:11; Ecc 11:9; Psa 51:17; Heb 4:12; Luke 6:45 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513 By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
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27
The sky split, cracked open through sheer force. A spectre’s mind is hailed away to a foreign shore, nestled amongst unsolidified generalities, binding it to the aftermath of time’s relevance. Hope came in a voided sun, imploding in the sky over Bethlehem, and through its transparency, a vision of the end was brought forth to this unjust land, where filth rules supremacy, and dominion is granted for a grandfather’s pittance. It displayed the market value of a soul through a diminished stance, collapsing on the shore as violent waves crash and beat the resonant senses held within. … Contemporaries held in fear, chucked and pushed down back alleys, ending up under the pier, vandalizing a vanquished peer, awkward glances insuring no one is near. Washed away with the evening tide, passed up to the coast after a lifeless ride. Broken down, drifting with the stream, token now, drifting with the dream. Naturalized and neutered before a board of advisors, composed of highly unsanitary elders, pieces of flawn stuck to the chin, picked up while eating from another’s bin. Dictated and deemed to seem all right, recreations shown on daily late night, refracted and turned into a joke, remuneration held as big brother had spoke. Patience restored as order forms in line, hastened into place by fluorinated wine, individuals return to their lives, and negligently pass over recent lies.
0
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
charles-lutwidge-dodgson
Swim Good
The sky split, cracked open through sheer force. A spectre’s mind is hailed away to a foreign shore, nestled amongst unsolidified generalities, binding it to the aftermath of time’s relevance. Hope came in a voided sun, imploding in the sky over Bethlehem, and through its transparency, a vision of the end was brought forth to this unjust land, where filth rules supremacy, and dominion is granted for a grandfather’s pittance. It displayed the market value of a soul through a diminished stance, collapsing on the shore as violent waves crash and beat the resonant senses held within. … Contemporaries held in fear, chucked and pushed down back alleys, ending up under the pier, vandalizing a vanquished peer, awkward glances insuring no one is near. Washed away with the evening tide, passed up to the coast after a lifeless ride. Broken down, drifting with the stream, token now, drifting with the dream. Naturalized and neutered before a board of advisors, composed of highly unsanitary elders, pieces of flawn stuck to the chin, picked up while eating from another’s bin. Dictated and deemed to seem all right, recreations shown on daily late night, refracted and turned into a joke, remuneration held as big brother had spoke. Patience restored as order forms in line, hastened into place by fluorinated wine, individuals return to their lives, and negligently pass over recent lies.
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4
An important message for Christ’s saints, is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden. Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation, knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden. People must not lose sight of their Godly identity, during this critical age of holy dispensation. The Great Commission is still relevant today, for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation. Eternity is a serious subject that no one, imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly. Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom; continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly. Your belief system demonstrates the way you think; therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word. The power of speech yields a degree of influence; be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard. The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him; we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer. Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord, insuring to diligently remain… within His care. Though we have not reached the fullness of time, we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation. Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth, so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions. Author Notes: Loosely based on: Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
0
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: Hearts of Saints
An important message for Christ’s saints, is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden. Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation, knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden. People must not lose sight of their Godly identity, during this critical age of holy dispensation. The Great Commission is still relevant today, for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation. Eternity is a serious subject that no one, imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly. Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom; continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly. Your belief system demonstrates the way you think; therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word. The power of speech yields a degree of influence; be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard. The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him; we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer. Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord, insuring to diligently remain… within His care. Though we have not reached the fullness of time, we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation. Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth, so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions. Author Notes: Loosely based on: Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
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30
There in the road lay a free-minded crustacean. Turned out to be no more than a wayward piece of insulation. . . . “Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste” Turned out to be no more than a man cleaning up basic waste . . . Good morning fool… I said to myself. Reaching for the uniform on the bottom shelf. Spent a few minutes putting it on, Insuring the curtains weren’t fully drawn. Stood a minute posing before the glass… A man bellow presented himself as a colossal *** So I dropped a loogie just over the edge Poor aim left it hanging from my window’s ledge                                                              .                               .                               . The streets were swarmed with the innocently vain, Looking for regal alleyways to make a social gain. Marching through the “Slickers” campus, Watching the bobbing of books holding tidbits on the hippocampus. . A new year comes. The freshman student runs. Princeton ushers in a new breed; Teaching that blue is the only blood to bleed.                                                             .                                                             .                                                             . As I stumble towards the school, Can’t help but feel I’ve been made to feel the fool. Snickers jab at my waning pride. Preppy children always seem so snide. Overhear a remark mocking my attire, Said by an ascot wearing boy filled with mire. Left the path for ivy coated building. An hour later, the day’s dwindling.                                                                                       .                                                                                       .                                                                                       . A teacher stands at the front of a classroom. A man at the back sweeps with his broom. The professor, Proceeds with his lecture. Spreading misconceptions on malformed events. The man at the back cleans the covers on the vents. There, a question is put toward the crowd. The janitor in the back answers aloud.                               .                               .                               . I shouldn’t have opened my ******* mouth! Who cares if bigotry’s still relevant in the south? People glare in mocking jest. Blankness sits on the faces of the rest. I’m only here to pick up the trash, A job I use to make some extra cash. They all have money for a proper education. There’s no time for me, and my financial situation. . . ;
0
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
charles-lutwidge-dodgson
Good Will In A Lecture Room?
There in the road lay a free-minded crustacean. Turned out to be no more than a wayward piece of insulation. . . . “Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste” Turned out to be no more than a man cleaning up basic waste . . . Good morning fool… I said to myself. Reaching for the uniform on the bottom shelf. Spent a few minutes putting it on, Insuring the curtains weren’t fully drawn. Stood a minute posing before the glass… A man bellow presented himself as a colossal *** So I dropped a loogie just over the edge Poor aim left it hanging from my window’s ledge                                                              .                               .                               . The streets were swarmed with the innocently vain, Looking for regal alleyways to make a social gain. Marching through the “Slickers” campus, Watching the bobbing of books holding tidbits on the hippocampus. . A new year comes. The freshman student runs. Princeton ushers in a new breed; Teaching that blue is the only blood to bleed.                                                             .                                                             .                                                             . As I stumble towards the school, Can’t help but feel I’ve been made to feel the fool. Snickers jab at my waning pride. Preppy children always seem so snide. Overhear a remark mocking my attire, Said by an ascot wearing boy filled with mire. Left the path for ivy coated building. An hour later, the day’s dwindling.                                                                                       .                                                                                       .                                                                                       . A teacher stands at the front of a classroom. A man at the back sweeps with his broom. The professor, Proceeds with his lecture. Spreading misconceptions on malformed events. The man at the back cleans the covers on the vents. There, a question is put toward the crowd. The janitor in the back answers aloud.                               .                               .                               . I shouldn’t have opened my ******* mouth! Who cares if bigotry’s still relevant in the south? People glare in mocking jest. Blankness sits on the faces of the rest. I’m only here to pick up the trash, A job I use to make some extra cash. They all have money for a proper education. There’s no time for me, and my financial situation. . . ;
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67
To be the man I want to be, that I know I should be. Father, friend, husband, lover, these are the things which escape me. I look at you, at her, him, in eyes I see within my failure. The way you look upon me, wishing I were someone other— our mutual hunger. Each night I pray, forgiveness, guidance, love and understanding. The very same I myself reluctant advancing. My cheek stings by correction's notice. Loving him, to love my clan. To ask him, is to beg man. An apology, not in word but in deed. To seek and uncover a new self, not insuring soul redeemed. Rather to show than say, my sons, wife, I am sorry— tomorrow is a new day.
0
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
shaun-meehan
To Apologize
To be the man I want to be, that I know I should be. Father, friend, husband, lover, these are the things which escape me. I look at you, at her, him, in eyes I see within my failure. The way you look upon me, wishing I were someone other— our mutual hunger. Each night I pray, forgiveness, guidance, love and understanding. The very same I myself reluctant advancing. My cheek stings by correction's notice. Loving him, to love my clan. To ask him, is to beg man. An apology, not in word but in deed. To seek and uncover a new self, not insuring soul redeemed. Rather to show than say, my sons, wife, I am sorry— tomorrow is a new day.
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24
There has been no interbellum. We, the committee investigating the threat that has resurged, or refluxed from the gut, we offer in conjecture objects of affection. Biometrics bind us to knowing our BP & HR, to the most precise degree… insuring some shall live far too long, and be granted executive rank, after all common sense would tell a man, step down, admit the fact, we ought not mess with the message, entrusted to our care, we must be two minded, when we form bonds that have been known to hold family ties religiously, as ifs we know, familiar spirits, whispering peace from war, in true confusion we needed liberty, oh, we really needed to be free to take from those who had, survived since the Clovis Culture disintegrated into travelling teachers, trading stories for stories, bundled recollections of what the other knew, - and and not and gate design - discerning between soul and spirit all the ones whose signs we see on stone, with arrows showing they went from here into the whirlwind, and we are standing where that was planned.
0
Jan 12, 2023
Jan 12, 2023 at 4:38 PM UTC
kenpepiton
Try the spirit, save the soul
There has been no interbellum. We, the committee investigating the threat that has resurged, or refluxed from the gut, we offer in conjecture objects of affection. Biometrics bind us to knowing our BP & HR, to the most precise degree… insuring some shall live far too long, and be granted executive rank, after all common sense would tell a man, step down, admit the fact, we ought not mess with the message, entrusted to our care, we must be two minded, when we form bonds that have been known to hold family ties religiously, as ifs we know, familiar spirits, whispering peace from war, in true confusion we needed liberty, oh, we really needed to be free to take from those who had, survived since the Clovis Culture disintegrated into travelling teachers, trading stories for stories, bundled recollections of what the other knew, - and and not and gate design - discerning between soul and spirit all the ones whose signs we see on stone, with arrows showing they went from here into the whirlwind, and we are standing where that was planned.
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31