"intercede" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
1255
Longing is like the Seed
That wrestles in the Ground,
Believing if it intercede
It shall at length be found.
The Hour, and the Clime—
Each Circumstance unknown,
What Constancy must be achieved
Before it see the Sun!
9.7k
Fifty years of peace,
Not always been bliss,
But they've all been filled with hope,
Seeing things get dope ;)
Going up the slope,
Christian nation,
So proud of this declaration,
But it doesn't mean other religions we can not allow,
There's always been freedom of worship even upto now.
Mother Zambia,indeed you're as peaceful as a mother,
Interesting and vibrant like a brother,
Loving as a sister.
Free from disaster,
Blessed are you among all nations,
These are my simple declarations,
That you shall exceed,
Greatness you shall supersede,
As I continue to intercede,
For your eventual success
You shall stand out in the masses.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
The tavern roof was smokey
with a pall of blueish ash.
The juke box was a- booming
as it played "The Monster Mash".
A giant puffed a burning witch
whilst smoke rings he exhaled....
While victims of our neighbor,
Vlad...on stakes were all impaled.
The Faceless Man was grinning...
from ear to missing ear.
The hanged man turned his twisted neck
to sip a mug of beer.
The Headless Horseman shouted
for an aspirin or three.
He popped them down his gullet
where his head was meant to be.
The zombies waited tables
and the werewolf tended bar.
Mothra was the carhop
and took orders car to car.
Godzilla worked the griddle
and served burgers ala carte.
Dracula complained about the steak
caught in his heart.
Ghosts and ghouls were dancing
with abandon on the stage
While cyborgs did "the robot"
'cause they thought it was the rage.
The mummy came unraveled
as we took him for a "spin"
As Frankenstein played tuba
to contribute to the din.
Igor brought "the monster"
and then Freddie brought his claw.
Jason brought his butcher knife
and his buddy from "The Saw".
The guillotine was working
and the raven refereed
So nevermore would pardons
be
allowed to intercede.
The pendulum was swinging
to the beating of my heart.
I hoped that I would wake up soon...
then did so...with a START!
Halloween is coming. So, I guess
I should prepare.
Watch out for bars with men from Mars...
'cause BEASTIES party there!
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Though in Prime Moment the Truth we discuss
The Third Great Angel flew to Intercede,
Playing her Harp which enwrangles the Lust
And gently reveal the Beauty-in-Thee
Yes, that Truest Virtue which no Malice accords
On Serving Patience a Letter was read
No more, no more for Condensation's Words
Are just enough to leave these Germs for dead
Not much for Command of Good English proposed
Was starting to tassle the Rumours and Wine
But such as you are yet too Young to dispose
A Lady's demanding Shell you design.
Pray take, this Harper knows how to direct
The Vitruvian Boy, waving for your Affect.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
[Crime-scene. Time ceases to exist for YOU,
the necrophile. YOU are on top of the corpse.]
YOU:
Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body
and yes, I'm guilty, sleeping with the dead
it loves me, then it doesn't love me.
[Beat]
The rosary you must! To rest in peace, so
transfigure me baby while warm on my bed.
Cadaver, corpse, a body's still a body.
Indulge me; martyr to your livid beads
please intercede for me, oh, please I beg
for it loves me, then it doesn't love me.
[Beat]
Now shall I exorcise you; set you free, from
the purgatory found between my legs?
My body, yours a corpse, but still a body,
And when your sinews loosen, skin erased
by time who shows no mercy for the dead,
will you still love me then, or won't you?
[Beat]
To resurrect is daunting, but you shall have
the body that my kiss declares undead.
Cadaver, corpse, a body's just a body,
which loves me, 'til it doesn't love me.
[Exeunt]
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
** In An Old Cathedral**
She knelt upon a plank, plain oaken
(sable cloak, her mourning guise),
and sensed the breath of distant sighs,
pale shades of pain behind blue eyes…
While clasping close a cross-like token
(holding hope for those in need)
she prayed her Lord "please intercede,
my woes be washed, my soul be freed"…
Archangels, in the skies evoken
(candles flickered, shadows shivered),
through the panes, the moonlight quivered,
summoned forth, the wish delivered…
Forgotten words he once had spoken
(dimly echoed ’neath the dome)
swept sweetness of the honeycomb
o'er distant realms they used to roam…
At midnight's knell, in dreams awoken,
memories of love unfeigned…
Though loneliness of grief remained,
she still held hope… hope hadn't waned…
And when the dawn had early broken,
by the font, in peace, she lay…
As sudden as a sunset ray,
the light of life had slipped away…
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
At the Saudi Arabian Consulate,
In Istanbul, Turkey, I hear
Something dreadful happened, although
Details are as yet unclear.
Saudi born Jamal Khashoggi,
Journalist for the Washington Post,
Entered the consulate knowing that
It might not be a welcoming host.
An Apple Watch might seem useless.
Khashoggi's Watch, nevertheless,
Recorded his brutal beating and ******
According to the Turkish press.
But was it an Apple Watch, or had
Turkish authorities bugged the room?
Whatever the case, people are certain
That that’s where Khashoggi met his doom.
We know he entered the building whole.
We're waiting to hear more news releases,
For many fear that the journalist,
Exited the building in pieces.
When asked if he'd condemn the Saudis
If they had committed the ghastly deed,
Trump at first appeared reluctant
To criticize them or intercede.
The Saudis pay billions of dollars
For weapons, he said, to the USA.
And what's-his-name wasn't even
An American citizen anyway.
Later, Trump admitted that
We need a thorough investigation.
But sanctions involving money? No,
That would severely hurt our nation.
Meanwhile, the Saudis **** innocent
Yemenis with the weapons they buy,
And rectitude falls by the wayside
As bank accounts multiply.
-by Bob B (10-13-18)
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
I could fall to the ground and forget that it hurts
When I see them smile, I know the pain that is supressed.
Drowning beneath a shadow of endless regrets,
What they are, where they come from, a nation begets.
Hiding behind a veil of corruption,
Unknowingly had them intercede.
Rising smoke, from a burning soul,
Hear their cries, they hide, yet plead.
How can you pass them, not notice their tears and agony?
Is your life that beautiful, you can't stop and extend a hand?
Building cities, empires, and fools, you complain!
Why, the minute you let your feet touch the ground,
You'll see what the world looks like,
Behind that mask of glittering facade.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
While many people all over the world
Are busily running to and fro
Engaging in cheerful holiday
Festivities, one thing we know:
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While Saudi Arabia nonchalantly
Covers up its heinous act
Of butchering a journalist,
We cannot ignore the fact
That children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While Congress fails to intercede
And chooses instead to bicker and quarrel
Over whether America should
Keep supporting a war that's immoral,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While the oppressive Houthi rebels
Backed by Iran dig in their heels
And Saudi Arabia bombs the cities,
Intensifying a clash of ideals,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
When ports are blocked and money is scarce,
And fishermen's boats can't leave the shore,
And food and medical equipment
Are cut off in a three-year war,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
A 12-year-old girl weighs 28 pounds;
An 8-year-old boy weighs about 30.
Chances are slim that they will survive.
Who dares to say that war isn't *****
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
The people caught in the middle are certain
What the fiendish fighting portends:
A huge, unimaginable
Catastrophe unless the war ends,
For children are starving and dying in Yemen.
-by Bob B (12-14-18)
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
235
The Court is far away—
No Umpire—have I—
My Sovereign is offended—
To gain his grace—I’d die!
I’ll seek his royal feet—
I’ll say—Remember—King—
Thou shalt—thyself—one day—a Child—
Implore a larger—thing—
That Empire—is of Czars—
As small—they say—as I—
Grant me—that day—the royalty—
To intercede—for Thee—
1.8k
The tears I shed for you, all one by one,
Are more precious than moon or sun.
I hope they come alive at Judgment Day,
So they will intercede, before it's done.
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 12:30 PM UTC
Hail Mary
Full of Grace
The Lord is with You
Blessed are you among women
And Blessed is the fruit of your womb:
Jesus.
Holy Mary
Mother Of God
Pray for us Sinners
Now,
And at the hour,
Of our death.
AMEN.
Greetings Mary! You are filled by God's grace and his grace covers and surrounds you. You are hand selected by God to carry out his plan; blessed are you among all women! By the Holy Spirit you shall conceive while still a ****** Blessed is the fruit of your womb a son whom you shall name Jesus Emmanuel meaning God With Us.
Mary, mother of God made flesh, you are pure and holy in heart, spirit, and flesh. We pray to you now, to intercede for all of us sinners to your son today, every day of our lives and at the hour of our death. We ask this with humble hearts and we know you hear and intercede for us who seek your help. Thank you. Help our lives and our answers be a "yes" to God that all things may be done unto us according to your son's will. We ask this and all things in your confidence,
AMEN!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
When blue meets blue and green appears to intercede,
And a waft of breeze dusts one's cheeks with mild
Chastisement -- a wind that offers a hint of more to come.
What do we realize in the appearance of the endless sea?
We realize we have reached the limit of land.
The idea of infinity is objectified in one color --
Or is it two? This we only discover by trying
To understand what our human nature must be.
A truce with ourselves betrays the need
To learn and discover our self in our actions.
Trying to become the end we only imagined
In the breeze -- we create hope for our future.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC
I wander through a land of pain
Not knowing where it leads
Facing things I can't explain
My soul so torn it bleeds
While trying to make excuses
To justify my need
I find no satisfaction
No one to intercede
My prayer becomes an empty mist
A vapor, nothing real
No words were ever written
To describe the way I feel
Even my reflection screams
My glass dreams start to break
I cannot find a purpose here
My life, a mere mistake
Death is still a mystery
He will not look my way
Unless this life is truly death
I'll die some more today
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
Expanding at the speed of light
The universe unfurling
And on our little ball of rock
Our world is ever swirling
The cries, the pain, the saddened hearts
The suffering and the sorrow
Eighty spins around the sun
That shorten our tomorrow
Angels of mercy intercede
And speak in dreams and visions
Lonely hearts find each other
And God heals our divisions
To grow, to live, to hope, to dance
To sing with each new morning
The starburst of the Creator’s love
Sends our spirits soaring
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:36 PM UTC
Seldom have I seen such strength, such purposefulness shown
And I have witnessed many who have made their message known,
Immovable this woman stands in seas of raging tide
Where friend and foe, as challengers, she’s deftly swept aside.
Resolute she stands atop white cliffs of blazing chalk
To glare across the Channel where her predecessors stalked
In league with Winston Churchill with pugnacious jawline set
When he thrashed the fiend in Jackboots and field grey appuletes.
In league with Margaret Thatcher with that glint of grey in eyes
To the accolades of Gorbachev who recognised the prize.
In league with Boadecia the ghost of power past
Who rallied this great nation to fight on to the last.
Snapping at her ankles the dogs of turmoil writhe
And comrades of another time amass to criticise,
Labourites howl murderously to all who would take heed
While the rabble rousing Europeans joust to intercede.
Swirling round her skirts they mass now screaming their abuse
At her articulated message of a pathway less obtuse.
If Tony Blair had the ***** it’s to her side he’d dance
As would Jeremy Corbett but of that there’s little chance,
Her Majesty stands forthright, as do all her heirs
Including Will and Harry who are cheering from the stairs.
Dianna’s there in spirit plus the Kiwis from the pub
And the rough crowd from the chippie all dolled up with a scrub.
She needs ALL of you behind her in her struggle for the best,
Independence for Great Britain is ascendancy’s great quest.
The very heart of what It means to dwell within these shores
The very heart of what it means to be Brittish to the core.
England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales combining for the task
Of a guarantee of future from the quagmire of the past.
We SHALL stand behind Teresa May and make our voices heard
As we scream aloud the anthem to impart our final word….
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITTANIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER…
SHALL BE SLAVES!
Boom, boom, boom
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER….
SHALL BE SLAVES!
M.
18 December 2018
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
I will wait here.
I will wait precisely in this cabinet,
Until you prise it open
In that delicate curiosity
That is lost in ‘today’.
My words are more patient than myself.
I know that now,
I think I always did.
It is why I love and
Why I love so patiently.
I will wait so gladly in my place,
Until poetry is fashion once more.
It is a sure case
In a sorry state.
Hearts that beat too fast
And breaths that are too frequently
Forsaken for a foolish enterprise
Of some invested individual
Sat watching behind a blast screen.
I will wait here and think back.
To remember the fuzzy nothing
Of my childhood mind. I recall little
But the polarities. The spaces of life
That intercede mere existence.
I bask in these doctored images of a past
That I never quite had. A fatherless summer
Forgotten instantly in garage top vigils,
Kicked footballs and years that were endless.
I wonder if my words will last longer
Than the etchings of your gravestone.
I wonder more so whether you would
Approve of them and how much I would
Have cared if you did not. A father is lost
And is abstract for me. Like God,
An ever-present utterance of nothing at all
Or perhaps everything that I am
Or could possibly ever be.
I wonder whether my love of words
Is nothing but a longing for permanence
In a world that has forever shown me
Futility. I have read of it in your name
Again and again through till now,
And thenceforth years to come. Your name,
How it needs to mean something,
Your voice, your ‘I’ through the ages,
For it envelops me within it - we are the same Mr.
It is within your void that I search for a father.
An ancestor to tell me who I am
And from where I have come. The plight of the
Ape-men that have been, their legacies
Wrought in blood-stained gold
But also in each yellowing poem
And from the hand prints on cave walls.
These are the will of my fathers,
The trinkets on my mantelpiece.
It is within you all that my words
Remain patient. It is within you all
That my will remains clear. For I know now
(Or perhaps I always did)
That there is a voice amongst us.
It may sleep through the noise of today,
All-talk and no communication. It may sleep
Right on through until we awake. Our eyes
Will burn for staring at the screens,
But our hearts will sing for their reprieve.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
A physician to me is what thou art
yet all of this is unbeknown to thee,
and if to prove all true where should I start
in truth to pay such an exquisite fee.
For upon none I call to intercede
for succour to cure such a sweet sick state
for no physician's counsel do I heed
as Eros stands by and scoffs at mine fate.
O, but to be with thee for just one hour
would ease mine fever'd brow and calm mine mind
for being in thy presence thou hast such pow'r
but when apart a paradox to find ⎯
it seems mine fate perforce I must endure
finding in thee my sickness and my cure.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Long divorced from love,
owned three guitars
and slept with nine women.
Remembers every song,
every poem,
scarcely recalls their faces;
lilt of their tongue
as sleep took hold of them-
not him.
Trigger finger over the snapshot
through each baulk and ****** of passion:
"this is the poem, this is the verse
I can lay down in print
and finally live again."
Night sky too full of uncertainty.
Cannot observe a desert scene
without a commentary
on each unanswered question.
She is dressed in sequins
but what for the spaces in between?
He cannot accept filler,
blank spaces that intercede
moments of ineffable beauty.
Maddening crowds emerge,
bright-eyed and stupid
to each early, pink noise morning.
He awakes, drugged to the eyeballs,
slow to movement; formulation of words.
Each night a battle of sobriety
as the sun does bleed
in the skyline before him.
Each night a generation dies,
subtle points of light
lost in the noise of the modern day.
Screams pointlessly, without need:
"don't forget me, don't forget me..."
would rather leave a scar
than no mark at all.
Lives for the colours
he cannot see, for the common thread
that connects everything.
Tweaks the string of each broken seam
to expose each diversity,
each personal loss
as a collective sigh;
every sleepless night
as an off-white lullaby.
Born for collision
beneath a dying star,
long divorced from love;
he is married to art.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
Take it
where I cannot go
Take it
where I cannot follow
Bury it
in the ground,
far below
where it can't be found
Burn it, Lord
all to ash
Pick me up
like shattered glass
Find the pieces
here in me
Take me, now
and crucify me
Because I can't do this
on my own
You know that
You've seen that
You see this
You see me now
in the ground,
dying,
not breathing,
lying far beneath,
and grasping
just for air to breathe
Well this dirt on me
has made me see
exactly what I need
So take it, Lord,
all away
Wake me up
to a brand new day
I'm holding up
a yoke of shame
Replace it, God
Don't leave me the same
This load's too much
for me to bear
You see the Truth
in every tear
But I can't turn,
so please come here
And take me to a place
where I can look You in the face
And feel the comfort of your Grace
Because
I long to crucify this sin
I hope that You will take me in
I want to take it
to the grave,
throw it down,
and be remade
(I've tried, I've tried, I've tried)
But I can't do it,
not alone
So I ask You now,
please,
once and for all,
to intercede
for me
I’m asking You, Lord,
please,
just take it
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
Rhian took her best milk cow
two sheep skins
and her healthy sow
to Olwen in the woods
of green to plead
for her to intercede..
"Olwen help me if you can
i've just a wee daughter
and a fading man
the sun makes him crawl
when he tries to plough
he never does fall
I don't know how
My daughter is pretty
and her hands are soft
she dreams of spirits
and gazes aloft
her eyes are far sighted
gentle and grey
she is my sweet
and I'll keep her that way
Please send me a boy
to work the land
so my girl can keep
that soft wee hand
before my good man
leaves us all
I need a child
please hear our call"
"Listen Rhian of Pont Erwyd
nothing from me ever is hid
you sit and keep your gifts so kind
sit and listen as I speak my mind
Put your girl into the field,
teach her to farm and tools to wield
she will come to love the work of her hands
as much as any worthy man
Your husband may be hurt inside
I healed his wound when he nearly died
don't worry Rhian oh my dear
He won't leave you for many a year
Send the girl to the Leri for my special grey clay
she must bring it back by the next day
I will throw a *** of ancient form
then work it till the clay is warm
next bring your barley your seeds and leaves
into the *** then these we will weave
I'll fire it and as they burn off in smoke
my timeless words will be soft spoke
they will carry the spell into the air
far out to the goddess strong and fair
a bargain she will make for you
think on this her word is true
Rhian tell your Daughter Nef
to think and hold a moments breath
what she can have for her long life
does she want to be a wife
Rhian a boy will come to you soon
lie with your man on the next full moon
and if your Nef then makes a choice
she will speak with the Goddess' voice
No girl of quiet soft and neat
Woman of spirit rough hands and feet
striding over the hills and vales
One more Great Woman for the Gaels"
" Olwen you are so right to see
the truth and what will come to be
but keep you my gifts I'll gladly part
for the words you give and your warm heart"
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 2:00 AM UTC