"knox" poems
Rest in this, my bruised and weary soul:
I was a wretch, chosen to be a beauty;
a slave, chosen to be a bride;
an orphan, chosen to be an heir;
an enemy, chosen to be a friend.
I deserved nothing but wrath and death
yet received everything of life and grace.
I am loved beyond any dreaming of it
and blessed above all worldly wealth.
I have the incomparable birthright of those
whose Father is God and whose Lord is Jesus Christ—
righteousness from Him and peace with Him.
I am a cherished gift from the Father to the Son.
I was paid for by the Son’s own blood
and am "engraved on the palms of His hands."
I am the living temple of God’s Holy Spirit
Who empowers me to do His pleasure and bring Him glory.
I am the LORD's, chosen and set apart for His delight.
***What more could I ask?
But that's only the beginning...***
I will live as blessed as I believe myself to already be,
for "I have been blessed in the heavenly realms
with every spiritual blessing in Christ,"
"given everything I need for life and godliness"
through knowing Him and His precious promises,
"an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—
kept [securely and eternally] in heaven" for me.
I've been "raised up and seated with Christ";
my "life is hidden with Him" in the Father,
and "He will fill me with joy in His presence,
with eternal pleasures at His right hand."
Oh, that "the eyes of my heart would be enlightened
with the spirit of wisdom and revelation"
to see what’s already been prepared and given to me
and to know much more fully the One Who has
so meticulously prepared and lavishly given it.
As I walk intimately with Him and rest confidently in Him
(based only on His merits, never my own),
I am given free access to my account
in His heavenly storehouse and enabled to appropriate
its glorious riches to every circumstance of my life,
even the most searingly painful and confoundingly difficult ones.
I have a spiritual Fort Knox available to me
through knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,
but He Himself is my greatest treasure.
Without Him, nothing else matters.
Nothing else has meaning if I am not found in Him,
clinging to Him and carried by Him.
When I finally become desperate for Him alone,
I begin to understand the profound reality
of all He desires for me and offers to me
in my spiritual inheritance in Him.
There are infinite presents to be unwrapped
in His presence which cannot be told
in human words or comprehended by mortal minds,
but they wait to be taken hold of by
any and all who would take hold of Him.
***For He gives and gives and gives and gives,
and even when He takes, He gives.***#
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
My heart is but a lovelorn box,
For you the door is open;
Your heart resides within Fort Knox,
The only key is broken;
Yet if I found a way inside,
And showed you all I'd taken;
You'd shake your head with stoic pride,
And tell me, I'm mistaken.
So keep your heart in some dark place,
Where none will ever plunder;
And trust you'll never have to face
A day when you may wonder,
If hearts are naught but trinket things
To lock away and treasure,
Or if your heart released on wings
Would bring the greatest pleasure.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
Hollywood is dead and gone
It died a lonely death
It's just too bad no one was there
When it took it's final breath
Forget the tales of yesteryear
Of junkies and of ******
The Hollywood I speak of
Is behind the golden doors
Warner Brothers and MGM
United Artists and 20th Century Fox
Are now owned by conglomertates
With more cash than Fort Knox
Film is just an extra
In a business it once ruled
With the advent of computers
The industry's re-tooled
CGI and Green Screen
Let them do more at great cost
But, without the use of actors
There is something that is lost
The tie in with it's history
We only see each year
When they memorialize those who passed
At the Oscars....shedding tears
There is now just two places
To process film itself
When, way back in it's heyday
Of these there was a wealth
No new ideas forthcoming
Movies get rebooted or remade
And the startlets in the pictures
They're the one's who're getting laid
Merchanidising movies
That is where the real cash lies
If you're not attached to a food chain
Your bottom line will die
Hollywood died in it's sleep
It died with dignity
The funeral will be shown though
On reality TV
It smothered in it's excess
A victim of it's greed
It gorged on people's wallets
Forgetting peoples needs
Old Hollywood is magic
It lives on in peoples hearts
Too bad the studio system
Was sold off in such small parts
The western died, musicals next
Then came the comedy
You can't see them in the theatre
But they're on your big tv
I stand here and salute her
She put pictures in our heads
But, now thanks to her avarice
Old Hollywood is dead...
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
One day Professor George Knox
Sunbathed on some Greek rocks;
He saw something rude:
A girl swimming ****
So he photographed Pandora's box.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
You wonder why I cover my heart
With a shawl so heavy and thick.
You don’t even understand how impenetrable
It is.
You wish I’d take off this mask
So you could see my soul.
See the pain
The hurt
The anger
The shame.
If I removed my veil
What would you do with what you saw?
Would you laugh?
Would you sigh?
Would you try to help?
I didn’t want to find out
What reaction you would have.
I held everything in.
You thought you knew how to bottle things up.
Honey I invented the cork.
You thought you knew how to hide.
Sorry to break it to you dearest,
But blackout shades?
That idea was mine.
You weren’t about to get in.
I had it all on lock.
Held tight like Fort Knox.
Until
I didn’t.
The windshield cracked
There was a slit in my shades.
A leak in the cork.
The mask
It fell.
I broke down.
You broke in.
And now I no longer wonder
What you would say if I spilled.
And I know for sure,
Thanks to you,
That I’ll never slip up again.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:16 AM UTC
I have treasure in my mind,
But can't even open up my own vault.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
If I could do anything
I would be controlling clocks
And go right back to that mouldy box
With the broken locks
And the electrics off
Those days when I would sold me socks for cake and drops
Whist cooking rocks
***** this K detox
I feel like a baby fox
Thats I been ***** by all 3 bears and goldilocks
But day by day with my tool box and theese building blocks
I'll build my very own fort knox
Il see the light shine when I stike the fire from my matchbox
Listening to my old jukebox
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
Whose love is given over-well
Shall look on Helen's face in hell,
Whilst they whose love is thin and wise
May view John Knox in paradise.
2k
WAGON WHEEL GAP is a place I never saw
And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of ******* Creek.
Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices,
Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets,
The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo,
The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley,
The straight drop of eight hundred feet
From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley:
Men and places they are I never saw.
I have seen three White Horse taverns,
One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania,
One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin.
I bought cheese and crackers
Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon
Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office,
And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross.
On the Pecatonica River near Freeport
I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves
Throwing clubs at the walnut trees
In the yellow-and-gold of autumn,
And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands.
On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County
I know how the fingers of late October
Loosen the hazel nuts.
I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls.
I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand.
I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe.
And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy;
And some are not on payrolls anywhere.
Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.
2k
Responsibilty
I dance away from thee
Why can't you just let me be
Escape with some poetry
and voy age for free
A void created
my feet elated
As the A-Voy Dance
is celebrated
We all know this game
As we tango with shame
Find something to blame
Time went and now came
Tax day approaches
Conscience coaches
mind scatters like roaches
A Voy Dance encroaches
Merengue away my tasks
Sip from all of life's flasks
Eye's wide shut with masks
Sick again? your boss asks
Avoid dance, and die in a box
No Samba dancing underground
Alive I feel richer than fort Knox
Lost but now A Voy dance is found...
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
You knew I didn't want babies or a wife.
You poke holes in condoms what's up with that?
You got pregnant on purpose and don't know if it's mine.
I still don't want to be a dad anybody's baby daddy.
Your kid and your idea to trap a man who barely knew you.
Men and woman meeting on personals should not plan future
because we don't know each other and I never wanted kids.
Using a ****** makes you safe only if you lock it in fort knox box before using.
****** right I don't want you or that baby that might not be mine.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Twenty-one years of what exactly was I taught? I believed you two to be super heroes, or so I thought. Turned seventeen realized life's nothing but a thought.
I'm thinking I'm alive, but really I'm not.
I saw past materialism, chose to sin.
Now I hope I can be forgiven, look into the mirror I'm afraid of my reflection.
I'm not who I was.
I'm not where I am.
I don't know who I am.
I can't find where to stand.
Miss the days when blankets were stronger than Fort Knox, and money had one meaning: to buy train stations, and the chances we took were cards in a box and we didn't use our cars to hotbox but we matched a lot.
While momma was tryin' to teach me don't monopolize the TV that's just greedy. Noweverydaygoesbyspeedy and I don't have an effort to make myself peace treaties stuck in my self pity, wallowing like a wallaby with abstract gynecology Twitter-less no one follows me I hate my top eight. I've ruined the recipe but I still eat this teaming plate so I'm just left with a bitter taste.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
My memories are alphebetized and filed in steel cabinets
But at least I've never paid taxes.
These tracks rack my heavy head,
And with consistancy of lose lead I find I make my bed
Eastward and upward and moving forward feels back asswards
And not only have my once-loved-ones forgot their own adivce...
They let street rats dine, dash and flash feces like crack rocks.
School of the soft-knox they bare qualities close to the itch of a chicken pock.
Rockin' failure in the lines on their faces, I've placed this between I and U,
These steel tracks rack, my, how the time does fly when
You've never paid taxes.
And I'm dusting off files close forgotten,
Tucking rotten ones behind other cold cases
Using laughter to mock roofed and mute traces of
Never more and here we go again.
But if only! If only the woodpecker croaked!
Jokes pried from pedestals marked "short lived" -
Six suicides long and my hometowns *** is wound so tight
It actually drops diamonds. of course in spite of this
The majority spit is ****
Misery takes to masses, foul stench latched, snatched,
Roofed and mute and at least I've never paid taxes.
(Written 3/12)
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
Priest And Beast
I live for today, not yesterday or tomorrow,
I have no regrets or no sorrow.
It's just the way I like living,
I always forget, I'm always forgiving.
I traded in my medication,
now I just do some meditation.
Nothing ever gets me depressed,
all my sins, I have already confessed.
Go to church every Sunday,
God helped me find the way.
I pray every single night,
my future is so very bright.
I exercise and I diet,
hating noise, I love quiet.
Every Sunday, I eat my wafer,
after that, I feel much safer.
As Stryper sang, To hell with the devil,
back in the day, I was quite the rebel.
Fooled you all, I'm really an atheist,
no one is more of a racist.
I hate all people, no matter the skin,
I don't care if you're fat or thin.
I pick on everyone, I leave no one out,
I've walked up to people dressed like a girl scout.
I really could care less what you all think,
whether you're a jew, ***** ***** towel head, ***** or *****
If you think god is real, you're a fool,
hard knox is where I went to school.
Religion is nothing more than a joke,
just bought me an eight ball of coke.
When I step in church, my feet burn,
if you're like me, you'll have to wait your turn.
I'm atheist but I'm also a priest,
I'm a beauty and a beast.
Can you give me a hell yeah,
cat got your tongue, then give me a meow.
I hate you, you hate me,
a mass suicide would set us free.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
Master of money motivated murders
plying prostitutes with liquor
You only want them for their bodies
Knee on chest
hand over mouth
look them in the eye
as they die
Slip her in a tea chest
nail shut the crate
ship her off
to Dr. Knox
He never questions how they died
Science requires sacrifice
to satisfy our endless quest
to know what we do not need to know
Cutting up corpses
can't reveal the truth
Flesh is impermanent
Dragging drunks into alleys
Hare helps with the bigger ones
You only want them for their bodies
Swift suffocations secure shillings
for a bottle of whiskey
to help you ignore
your own evils
Killers can't be trusted
Hare gave you up to save himself
they hung you in Edinburgh square
Sold your skin and skeleton
to make little leather book covers
and an anatomy dummy
They only wanted you for your body.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 7:38 AM UTC
when no man pursues
the truth,
the idea which contains all true ideas, aha
ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,
i think
When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think
How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.
we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson
-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem
spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop
The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)
see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation
verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,
"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.
Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit
in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec
just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,
knowing, my side won.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
It’s the gold that is fused through the years a different fort Knox it is powerful it is all consuming and
Refreshing its buying the best earth has to offer with never entertaining the idea of selling it is secure
The stronghold of lovers the pen marks and distills adoration captures the enthralling
Qualities showing one to be a true prince and a true princess it is spellbinding creates the flow
That alone allows two separate beings to intermingle fused as one leaving a testament more
Enduring than marble can anyone match or make such facts that endure through the mapping
Of one’s person the details of their humanity revealed in the most loving description never to
See hair so gorgeous lips so luscious eyes that you only want to linger in their gaze for ever
Arms hands and fingers for the bliss of touch that melts your whole being the surrender that
Defines cozy to the ultimate excess what wonder is experienced by couples who through
Committed love have found the fragrance of the rose it is the rarified air they alone breathe
From these dizzying heights they draw themselves back to earths plane when they pick up the
Pen and with honesty born from delirium they write with utmost tenderness I love you a gush
Of wind is set in motion pleasure captured as it describes rapture of being held in your arms
When you speak it is nature breathing you hear coursing water the tree branches are swaying
You have entered a gulf that is fixed there you both are suspended the drifting clouds soften
Your brow is smooth the painter would and follows such sites to create masterpieces and this
Is Common among you all things are in harmony truly the cooing of the dove forlorn exquisite
Brooding enlarges your hearts you drift among the sacred forever without effort the enhancing
Advancing years what abiding how far can wonder be stretched it is between these two pillars
That lovers know the pen and the rose wakefulness is for living the dream sleeping is for
Magical conferment boundless endless twist and turns of greatest delight thanks for your love
My dear what joy and happiness you have made in my life how fortunate all of us are that are
Loved and love and His love for us will never end in this we are in a mighty fortress first we have
Each other then it is all enriched and made alive by pure love from above
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
I haven't yet
figured out
how to put into words
what it feels like
to be trapped in my own head.
I fear that's a fate worse than death.
My whole life
everything--
every single emotional pang--
has flowed from me;
through my pen,
on to paper.
Just like that:
A balloon of troubles
released into air.
Well I've been silent
too long now.
My emotional drain,
clogged,
without a single bottle
of Drain-O left on any
of the Superstore shelves.
I'm in the unforgiving chokehold
of Depression.
With a capital D.
"Write your feelings down,"
my counselor says to me.
"writing can be therapeutic."
I know, Doc.
Which is why I'm here
on this double stuffed couch,
instead of in the safety
of my apartment
with my ink filled sword
and leather bound shield.
No thesaurus can aid me.
Merriam Webster is at a loss for words.
What is a poet without poetry?
I'm as useless
as the g
in lasagna.
Scars line my wrist;
Feeble attempts
of liberating the feelings
by placing them saddleback
on droplets of blood.
Keeping an open mind
is hardest when
your mind is the vault
sealed away
in your Fort Knox skull.
The pill popping lethargy.
This rainy day sadness.
Somewhere inside me
a little poet waits out the storm.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Here's another story that I just made up
That just can't wait to be told
About a weary prospector, down on his luck
That gave his life for his gold
He was way up yonder in the hills, they say
Just him and his scrappy old mule
That poor old mule didn't have no teeth
So he'd sit around the camp and drool
Now that prospector, who we'll call Jake
Was as secret as he could be
He didn't like people snooping around
So he wasn't much for company
See, Jake had been on that mountain
For nigh on twenty years
But he never did hit the mother load
With all his sweat and tears
Then, one day he decided to go fishing
A fish pulled him right in the river
He tried to hang on with all of his might
It's hard to do when you shiver
Jake looked up and was headed toward the falls
So he decided he'd better let go
When he dropped that line, he sunk like a rock
And started thrashing to and fro
Now, Jake was a real good swimmer
He was on the prospector's Olympic team
But, everytime his head went under
All he could do was scream
Now Jake had prospected his whole life
But now, he was getting pretty old
He didn't know the reason he was drowning
But his pockets were full of gold
When he figured it out, he had gold fever
And he refused to let it go
All poor old Jake could think about
Was he finally hit the mother load
See, when that old fish had ****** him in
He was dragging him on the bottom
There was gold just laying everywhere
And that's where his pockets got 'em
Poor old Jake drowned that day
Richest man in the world, I think
His old mule was standing on the bank
Drooling, as he watched him sink
They fished his body out of that river
The next morning before dawn
But they found both pockets as empty as could be
It was stolen by a leprechaun
Well, I guess it's time for me to go
I can see as I look at my clocks
But if you really wanna protect your prospector's gold
Then let me suggest Fort Knox
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 11:59 AM UTC
The hearse set off through the mansion gates
Pulled by a pair of greys,
Stepping high, so they’d not be late
For the church’s hymns of praise,
Lord Gordon Knox on the catafalque
Awaiting his final ride,
Just down the hill where the graveyard spilled
And spread on the eastern side.
But staring out from behind the grass,
From between each tree and bush,
There gleamed the beam of a hundred eyes
In a sacred kind of hush,
The word was out it was Gordon Knox
Set to take his pride of place,
And from the woods had come every fox
To afford his lordship grace.
For Gordon had been the Master of
The Aldermaston Hunt,
Had chased them across the countryside
More than a man can count,
But somehow managed to lose the fox
As it turned, became covert,
And often seemed to confuse the hounds
As the fox returned to earth.
Three generations had come and gone
Since the young Amelia Knox,
Had left to walk in the countryside
And found a secluded copse,
The peasants say that she fell asleep
By a well protected earth,
And Reynard Fox had uncovered her
Before she had given birth.
So Raymond was the first of the breed
In a mix of fox and man,
A Knox by name but a fox by shame
When his mother’s guilt began,
And when he had a son of his own
He could see that the eyes were sly,
And every fox in the countryside
Could tell him the reason why.
Gordon carried the bloodline on
Though he rode to fox and hounds,
He ruled the hunt with an iron fist
They were hunting in his grounds,
And every time that the quarry went
He would make a lame excuse,
The scent was wrong, or the wind was strong
Or the hounds were far too loose.
And every time that the Master died
And the hearse had trundled by,
The foxes all came out to see,
In a way, they said goodbye,
But Gordon had left no son behind
Just a daughter, Elspeth Knox,
And I heard they’d given up on her
Till they found her in some copse.
David Lewis Paget
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
They told me
You are worth your weight in gold.
I replied
Thanks for you kind words
Good thing I carry a lot of weight
You might need to go to Fort Knox
To pay me what I’m worth.
So pack up the bags and prepare the cars
And make sure you have a lot of gas.
They asked, But don’t you want to take an airplane.
I told them, I want them to see me coming
And going in laughter
All the way to the bank.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
feet heavy on the path
i'm hot
very, very hot
legs propelling me ever forward
i went too far
too far
and for a moment
i thought this would be
as good a path
to die on as any.
but i was wrong.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
This mind is the treasure
You all hold the key
To unlock
this golden nugget
located inside of me...
Verbal emancipation
More than just a copper coin
Its like Fort Knox inside a skull
Located in Illinois.
All I need is one thought,
One Phrase,
one Word,
Might thinks its nothing now
But a billion pennies
Can change a egg in to bird
Boy into a man.
A woman into a Queen
I mean Its all in what you say
Are you living the Dream
or just reliving your dreams
You can unlock the writers block
just live, love, and believe!!....
So as I conjure up a potion
that will leave you spell bound..
I'm A Wizard off the Wall...
that once shot Bullets at your mind...
The good kind Don't worry
Your Kane, Kendricks, Murphy
So You've opened a Door
to a supernatural experience..
Its the PyschoSuperhero
Raw, Brisk, and Delirious
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC