"leaven" poems
I could not accept you—star
incarnate, carved and swollen
in the trunk of a fustic—
urine-yellowed and preened—risen
and alive I strap my
saddle to your back. My heels
dig to the dark side of
a price yet to be paid—an eye
of a coursing, being scrubbed
into the spots of grain—heat
eaten by earth. *Star set.
Star rise.
Star be
livid and leaven*
whispers the cowboy
sitting in a lawn chair on the
front porch—his hat falling
off from crowning, bald-headed
tilt. space and all its wonders.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
Nature has divine qualities
Beyond national divides
So heart enfold immortal love
Where one sees mountain dance and move
In this do love has no color
Skin pigment shouldn't be honor
For all bears reddish clot
As we tread on earth path
So soil of time embraces our body
As the enlived soul transpired to the sky
All become one in a starky heaven
Where no divide and rule leaven
Only unending peace it brings
Shrinking hearts with joy and unending smiles
As they commune in glows of divine instinct
For the greatest commandment is love
As bird fly above
So cloud of hate gives love as chance
Embracing one with will of divine
So our earth become an undying paradise
written by
Martin Ijir
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?
Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?
Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?
Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?
Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?
Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?
Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?
Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?
Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?
Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?
Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?
Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?
Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?
Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?
Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?
And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.
Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.
I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Is mystery dependent on me thinking of mystery?
It is a safe bet.
For when what is central is knowledge, then I can only become aware of mystery if upon something new or unknown.
Thus, mystery is not knowledge, but the lack of it.
Mystery is ignorance.
Thus, my meditation is rather reflection on ignorance,
As if I'm trying to better describe ignorance, or find a way out of ignorance with only the experiential.
I think of mostly consciousness and the universe here, in terms of my and humanity's ignorance of them.
Not only am I limited by my own understanding but also the understanding of others, however much they are even more intelligent than me.
I see others working on problems that have proven to not solve the mystery, the mystery being ignorance.
The only thing that could solve it is omniscience.
Then it follows that what I'm really trying to solve is omniscience.
"Infinite cognition" as the Buddha put it.
Even if a person could have omniscience, it would be colored by how they can make sense of reality.
Knowledge would take the form of what is most familiar.
Thus, when wondering about a question as to what is pi, they may say about 3.14.
The answer conditioned on how people and the omniscient one would have the capacity to hear.
Maybe this seems more like intuition.
But omniscience would denote the person as a speaker, yet only allowable to speak as what was conducive for everyone's best.
This is how Baha'is look at Manifestations of God: only allowed to share a certain amount at a time.
Just as the Son said "I have many things to share with you, but you cannot hear them now".
Still their capacity would be limited to what they themselves were interested in.
For one who is marginalized and oppressed or even thronged by multitudes, often has no willingness to delve deeply into subject matter, it causing some to stray from a correct path.
Since fractal systems work strongest in more diverse settings, it would seem that the very thing that makes it strong also makes its capacity to hear weak.
Omniscience therefore, if given to only a few, has a limited range of effect.
But even this limited range would change the entire system.
As Baha'u'llah calls His followers "the leaven" and the Son calls His followers "the salt".
"Many are called but few are chosen" seems derogatory in a world where "ye are all the leaves of one tree".
World consciousness almost arose to love tonight, but the lover ensared it in his anger once again.
If I close my ears to them, will it go away?
If they close my ears to me, will I go away?
Strength in the diversity of parts.
Strength really meaning pain.
E Pluribus Unum.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.
Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the
In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.
i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery
THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk
THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS
Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.
the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
When ever the clock gets to 11:11:11
I make a wish
I'm superstitious
I know this now.
It's always something about love
always about pain of losing someone
Of leaven your Lonely heart Broken on the floor
I wish at 11:11:11 for you to come back but that won't happen
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
**Everlasting joys are flowing like a river,
More abundant life, the Comforter has come.
Glory! Hallelujah! He abides for ever,
Spread it far and wide, the Comforter has come.
Comforter divine, blessed Holy Ghost,
Promise of the Father, fill this waiting host;
Overcoming sin, purity within,
Joy to overflowing - this is Pentecost.
Saints of old they tarried in the upper chamber,
Thirsting for the Spirit all with one accord;
Tongues of fire descended , we shall ever remember;
Power of Pentecost that brought the glory down.
So to-day we're waiting , for the gift from heaven,
Send the latter rain, Oh! fill us now we pray,
Purifying Fire now purge us from all leaven,
Comforter divine , descend on us to-day.
When the Holy Ghost makes His abode within us,
All desires for worldly pleasures fade away;
Fleshy lust and anger crucified within us,
Power to overcome,He gives us from that day.**
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
I BE MISSING YA BOB MARLEY
I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya songs roll'en round in me head
ya see I've learned to feel the rain and not just to get wet
and waiting in line is a waste of time cause tomorrow ya could be dead
yea- I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya words roll'en round in me head
trouble I not be want'en (mun)/ just some peace and harmony
to live and love the life I want / and (to) be happy to be me
I hear ya words every night and day they be taken me far away
to islands still uncharted (mun) or to a place called yesterday
I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya songs roll'en round in me head
ya see I've learned to feel the rain and not just to get wet
and waiting in line is a waste of time cause tomorrow ya could be dead
yea- I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya words roll'en round in me head
I hear the tides roll into shore / feel the sun upon my face
while I listen to ya music mun / and my dreams fall into place
people feel deh will get hurt / so don't allow themselves to feel
might as well be blind my friend / cause the sun you'll never see
I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya songs roll'en round in me head
ya see I've learned to feel the rain and not just to get wet
and waiting in line is a waste of time cause tomorrow ya could be dead
yea- I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya words roll'en round in me head
the paper say you be famous man / what more could one man wish
ya laughed and smiled and then replied / I don't need no more than this (diss)
leave everything be as it be / don't disturb old mother earth
you be leaven here someday (my friend) / with no more than at birth
I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya songs roll'en round in me head
ya see I've learned to feel the rain and not just to get wet
and waiting in line is a waste of time cause tomorrow ya could be dead
yea- I be miss'en ya voice Bob Marley ya words roll'en round in me head
so live each day now the best you can / you never know when it will end
don't pain your days and nights away / in a world of where or when
just drink some *** and sing a song / cause tomorrows round the bend
talk with those ya do not know / for some day they may be friends
by vjkelly...(c)2016 from the song of the same name
by vjkelly
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
You can rate me,
You can bait me,
You can freight me,
You can strait me,
Simulate me,
Even better
Drop a roofie,
Game a debtor.
You're so groovy, misbehaving,
Misbehaving,
Give it to me,
Trouble waiting,
Fascinating,
Always mating,
You can wake me,
You can slave me,
You can grade me,
You can shave me,
Integrate me,
I pulsating
A new navy,
All the skimmings,
Underpinning
Jehovah's witness,
Keep on stalking,
Better fitness,
Keep on shocking,
Shell is thinning,
Gettin' gotten,
Rot 'n' reeling.
Don't touch my bikini.
Better smile when you see me,
You can stare
That's a freebie.
Don't touch my bikini.
Looking is free,
But touching's gonna cost you
Something.
Smooth and lanky,
Hanky panky,
Got no treat or
New York Yankee,
Super leader,
Count to seven,
Go to Paris,
Break the leaven,
Roger Maris,
Bleed the Czar,
Shooting star,
You're so levy,
You're so sunny,
Getting ready,
Here's the money,
Socking heady,
Making honey,
Toasting herons,
That's not funny,
Waiter Betty,
Way too ****
You're so on it,
You're so honest,
You can fool me,
You remold me,
All the preachers never told me,
Heavy breathing
Punting reason,
Welcome season.
Don't touch my graffiti.
Smile if you dare,
Oily oinkers everywhere.
Keep watching, you graffiti.
Next time you'll learn
That touching's gonna cost you
Something.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
I see your pain
hiding behind your smile.
I see the tears
behind the smile
you try to hide.
I heard your heart
pounding as it buried itself
beneath the tears
behind your eyes.
I see your fear
peeping through your smile
to hide the unspoken words
dancing on your lips.
I feel your heart
as it hides itself
beneath the breathe of
each words you utter.
But i know the power
of the strength within
flowing like the river
to conquer your shame.
I see you rise
like the leaven bread
to share the beauty
that was once abandoned.
Like the morning sun
you rise from the
ashes of your brokenness.
With vim and vigour,
you are full of vitality
to get back to
the business of living.
And like the sunflower
you opened up to spread
the love of your glory.
©2021,Emeka Mokeme.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 3:52 PM UTC
We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.
As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.
As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.
Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
Joseph's sons are still in Egypt
All is not fulfilled as yet
The elder child, Manasseh
calls himself a Christian these days
and still seems mightier than Ephraim
as foreseen by Israel
but has this small problem
keeping Father's commandments
having been suckled on
papal leaven
with that false gospel
girlfriend he likes to call
prosperity ...
I'd rather remain a gentile, thanks
Invite me to the wedding
I'll come visit every Sukkot
He really needs his younger brother
to come of age and stop fussing ...
to stop copy-catting Judah
and feed Yeshua's lost sheep
from that double redeemer's portion
Jacob blessed him with ...
that which speaks of BenDavid
and the keeping of true Torah
which is the tittles and jots
'Jesus' said would remain
a blessing till all is fulfilled
till His Torah shines forth from Zion
once again
Jealous Judah awaits him too
Prays each day the prodigal will come home
and tell him who Meshiach is
There really are no Gentiles or Greeks
except in diaspora
No, not even Jesus freaks
Just a faithful, obedient remnant
in Jacob's trouble
going to the promised land
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.
Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,
His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,
Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.
A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.
The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,
Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of *******
2 Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.
3 For I testify again to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law.
4 Christ is become of no effect unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace.
5 For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.
6 For in Jesus Christ neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision; but faith which worketh by love.
7 Ye did run well; who did hinder you that ye should not obey the truth?
8 This persuasion cometh not of him that calleth you.
9 A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.
10 I have confidence in you through the Lord, that ye will be none otherwise minded: but he that troubleth you shall bear his judgment, whosoever he be.
11 And I, brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution? then is the offence of the cross ceased.
12 I would they were even cut off which trouble you.
13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another.
14 For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this; Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
15 But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another.
16 This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.
17 For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
18 But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law.
19 Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,
20 Idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies,
21 Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.
22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,
23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
24 And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.
25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.
26 Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
They tried to bury Yahushua Alef Tav
behind a nice Platonic, less Jewish facade
Renamed Him Jesus the Alpha Omega
and chanted many HEP HEP Hoorahs
... beside His feminist-friendly god/mother
to the tune of many hail Marys
even freed Him from His own Torah
despite "think not I came to replace it"
But see, He's risen now
from every holy papal place
from every charismatic falsity
that preached pew-warming prosperity
He's restoring Israel
not gentiledom...
one lost sheep at a time
back into twelve chaste tribes
just as she was under Sinai's hupa
before the separation
He's elbowing aside modern pharisees
who refuse to know Moses
and therefore can't know Him
or follow His commandments
who really aren't into feeding lost sheep
Egyptians hate sheep
It reminds them of plagues
Leaven goes better with bacon
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 11:54 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
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.
Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,
His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,
Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.
A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.
The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,
Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
Incendiary asperity:
The world's existentiality
Agony, the Merciless & Mercenary
Scourging me entirely.
The Angst of the Aeons
Are the pedigree, the genealogy, the history borne to emancipate Me as a Vessel of Sanctity
For the valiant souls
Are the souls of transcendence, who revere in remembrance
The Amour of the Yore
My Vestibule Heart
Expands, contracts, being consecrated demands just as
Starry-Wombed the Cosmos, we
Must grow, burgeon through our learning & yearning, deserving & pining for the Promise of Morrow
For we were not formed
To wallow in sorrow.
As I gaze to the heavens
O, ***** and Gomorrah I remember
The Wife of Lot looks back forever: emblazoned as a Petrified December,
Then Fire & Sulphur descended, mankind nearly ended;
What is the lesson?
Of faith we are descendants.
Why do you
Roil my ravaged and brutally savaged soul?
Must bitterness be the wage for days spent having prayed
On my knees, for armistice, by The Empyrean One’s decree?
Though I have fallen,
I shall rise up
For the Fate’s Auric Visage radiates light upon the leaven,
Dost ferment the flesh dominating mine spirit.
Hearkening to
The susurrus of the Sovereign of Songbird’s Sacrosanct Love.
Let the Ethereal Tides of Time
Bathe me in baptismal & divine tribulation, trial
For a writhing while,
Sacrality is a war,
The Primal Instinct’s Immemorial Diminuendo.
Where has fake paradise of the Sylvan Shine
Those forested, emerald Eyes
That glisten in mine dreams gone?
Your visage twas my divine.
Though I am forlorn,
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love hath sworn
To the Days of Yore
That I shall soar once more.
To my Enfettered Soul,
Excelsior.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
10,000
early morning muses
but sometimes late at night
he brings enough sun
to make 1000 poems look easy
he is the leaven to our loaves and
the tequila to our margaritas
positively
positive he works through
the dark of night
to bring us light
and for the full effect
of his efficacy
drink dark coffee
first
then
sufficiently caffeinated
awakened and ready
to read
put in the work
to discover the words
his encouraging words of life
and maybe you’ll burn to earn
a bonus of how to survive
so very little sleep
for me
personally
its more about
the lines between the lines
than those not spoken at all
or written at all
rather realized
if I were to
focus on others
half as much as he
then maybe my life
would be less miserably
my own
more jokes than yokes
and less wails to no avails
no non-satiated regrets
or cratered frustration
rather
peace in a storm of senility
he writes for us all
with a message of hope
like the god of HP he sees
we are radiating rays
positivity pointed
one and all and
all together at
the same time
toward heaven
he moves freely
amongst our home page
from whence did he come?
from the fourth dimension
he brings forth conjuration
his style is love
his style is hope
his style is empathy
his style is encouragement
his style is truly who he is
he is an early morning beacon
bewildering
he comes from the east
to rise across our browsers
seeking the infection of discovery
in each hissy fit writ
we write
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
(the poem, the story intends to reveal,
or vice versa, the story I'm told is very old)
Seven silent days of shiva, sort of premature,
sitting with one called their friend,
our friend, as we watch, from now
from here
we know the daysman,
we observers in mind,
flies on sores, flies on walls, we can use their eyes
we can pity the comforters and the comfortless moan,
Come into my comfort zone, cries Job. What comfort?
Why me?
was answered,
Job looks our way and winks, an a side,
I invited the daysman, he says,
but only ere knowing God almighty
knows,
and the accuser of man,
whom mine symbolizes,
knows not,
how it is to be a mortal man,
wombed or un.
Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, unaware,
completely of any good news on its way my way
I coulda said nothing, had I known
Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, I thought,
So I can
wonder whys and hows, ask where truth abides in what men have
imagined, what drew the sweetness, what drew pain,
is luck a factor? Sacred making, did we get that wrong?
Seems is as it seems to be, here.
This is not afterlife, this is life, today.
This day's daysman twixt truth and lie,
in the meta game, he is neither
archaic warden of loafing warrior's watchtower,
or miller minding the grinding, seeing
all who labor,
they shall eat.
Who legislates tradition? Meek or mighty?
******* speaks: ax Moses.
Fair, that's fair. Meekest man God knew,
some of his works
could be cut and paste, that's fine,
he wrote the rules in his day.
He can be the referee, the daysman in this game.
A mediator for fools who only ever knew lies.
A man who once was a speechless babe.
A referee who makes the rules? Jesus, can we cheat?
This is leaven? We loosed leaven? Jo-bob, we didit!
Jesus H. Christ! The bomb.
Once enacted the package never stops,
as long as there is that which can be leavened,
it shall be leavened.
The Kingdom of Heaven is like that.
===
No, life isn't fair. The good guys won the metagame,
quite a while ago.
But, if you ain't in the game, you wouldn't agree.
Time will tell. What the hell, wait and see.
Merry Christmas.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 9:12 PM UTC
Crawling through line after line,
precept after precept,
I find
here
a little there,
a little, cognitive dis sonance inhibiting resonance,
here
why must I… evermind…
I prefer short lines to commas and ellipses
But both maybe, may be, yes,
Is yet more
Precise…
cision, cutting, precise
insision ssss
---…---
cut the knot,
re
connect the thread
ssssee
history is unraveling, we
may
see
a god's POV.
Don't blink, ****
We'll see
watch
Eventually,
everything's eventual as long as
liar's prosper.
{don't agree, no no no, just because
Stephen King said it is believable}
Then protuberances begin to rise,
inflamed,
packed with ***** winjin'sooks
off-ended,
topple-toddle tiny steppers,
k-boom, skintyerknee,
ye'll heal. Try running. or flying.
There, there, hear the rules:
Mother may I and Simon says, overlayed
with the decalogue jubilee of the
first hidden child emergence,
and the fertilizing procedures used to make
Amazonian Black earth…
wait…
who remembers the bailers of putrid pig guts,
virgins Demetria got to love their job?
What did they believe they were doing, eh?
The mysteries of Thesmorphia, those
are no secret to science not falsely so called.
We have access to knowns known long afore we'as bornt.
We sentient sapient augmentals, we open all the books,
A.I. reads them, and we remember, see:
The Thesmophoria (Ancient Greek: Θεσμοφόρια) was an ancient Greek religious festival, held in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone.
From <https://www.google.com/search?q=thesmophoria&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQpquu74_kAhU_HjQIHXrxB5QQBQguKAA&biw=1280&bih=631>
and we spread as leaven might, whither the winds list.
fertile soil production is why some **** happens.
it’s a good thing t' act like you understand.
From a web of interlocking bubbles of being POV.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 6:04 PM UTC
.
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.
Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,
His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,
Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.
A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.
The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,
Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
i.
I canst not thanketh thee enough, for assuaging mine pang's
On earth, in heaven, on the dwarf planet's, in thy kiss of leaven;
When thou art down, I'll taketh thine frown, when broken, when hopeless, I shalt giveth thee mine own gladness; lifting thy smile.
ii.
In cities, in town's, aloft the skies, on the ground, in the open, in the wild, cadmium yellow floret's, mine Asian child, in thy eye's;
In thy laugh, passed the noise, of hellish mess, passed the pain's, madness and stress; I shalt always be by thy waistside, mine pet.
iii.
In ourn life, and beyond ourn death's, we shalt meeteth at the place of holiness, tis not a place sculpted by hand's of men;
Tis a place of dominion's and kingdom's. Inside God's house wherein we shalt be in peace, the angel's shalt singeth, halo sleep.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane Nagley (Pookie) dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
left, sinistral, left sided, left out,
left behind,
gastropod sea shells,
coiling counterclockwise,
when viewed from the apex
when that all alone,
left-out feeling pervades,
to the party uninvited,
for the team, unchosen,
stand out for not standing in,
invisible moat surrounds and suppresses,
life's outward bound sounds,
vision best,
when only looking inward,
remember this too well..
this world, this work,
was created by an
ambidextrous soulbeing
his soul,
favoring neither right or left,
favoring doing right,
and no one
left behind
cognizant that both sides now
are necessaries
for human and seashell existence
proof be that
the creator,
his perfection, at the very least,
in his design motifs,
unquestioned,
made us all
sinistral shells
and sinistral poets
those apex corkscrewing left poets,
the leaven of human fermentation,
you and your sinistral tidbits
are the influencing spice
of an average world,
keeping the world tilting
on its proper axis
make us and
our daily bread rise,
sinistral yeast,
vive la difference,
you are
the best of us
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
in seven of sevens,
in time, times and a half,
from the very first night,
the harvest is completed.
the fruition of the leaven of truth,
once a strange tongue,
coded in familiar languages;
unquenchably burns on altars.
a foreign bride awaits,
the reason a man leaves his family;
love shall be awakened and aroused,
for the time is right!
the light, fully revealed.
a child, a new creation:
King of kings for a thousand years,
then Armageddon!
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC