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Alyssa Underwood Jun 2016
The moon and stars they wept
The morning sun was dead
The Savior of the world was fallen
His body on the cross
His blood poured out for us
The weight of every curse upon Him

One final breath He gave
As heaven looked away
The Son of God was laid in darkness
A battle in the grave
The war on death was waged
The power of hell forever broken

The ground began to shake
The stone was rolled away
His perfect love could not be overcome
Now death where is your sting?
Our resurrected King
Has rendered you defeated

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

The ground began to shake
The stone was rolled away
His perfect love could not be overcome
Now death where is your sting?
Our resurrected King
Has rendered you defeated

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
The Lamb has overcome

We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
We sing hallelujah
The Lamb has overcome

Forever He is glorified
Forever He is lifted high
Forever He is risen
He is alive, He is alive!

You have overcome
You have overcome
You have overcome
You have overcome

                   ~ Kari Jobe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mv4LRl2KI2M
Cweeta Cwumble May 2016
I followed my dear friends to the edge of a cliff
and was greeted by a peculiar thing.
There, standing on the edge of the earth
was a swing set waiting just for me.
Her thick black seat and strong metal arms
cradled me while together we flew
into the starry night canvas, sprawling
dark blue, except for a splatter of twinkling
firefly-speckles, from the cityscape
to the moon.

Each time she lifted me I felt closer
to the heavens. I raised my chin
and let the gentle kiss of raindrops
wash away my sins, cleansing
and revitalizing my body like a baptism.
I’ll never forget the smell of the rain
on the freshly-sprouted grass, with dew drops
made from the breath of my friends
hanging delicately in the sweet air
like glass beads strung on a wire
while the crisp wind carried me higher and higher
and the most brilliant masterpiece ever created
was painted across the entire night sky.
First by reflection.^^^^
I've detected^^^^. My deepest weakness.))))
It's a beastly need.
For love. Its unrequited. Leads ta grief))))
And.
Second by devotion.
I've relieved ))my need)) to meet)) my needs))
Through other human beings.))
I've maintained that unwanted inner feelings)))
Are the map that drives my demons))
So I've ceased to feed the))
Devils that lay dreaming in my
Rhyme and reason)))

3rd by living in the moment
I've come to appreciate. My inner being*
As a temple. That is the centerpiece
To my inner chi.

And through it bend my energy.*
To raise stones from.
Mental defeatism

And raise courage
From a tiny beast
That symbolizes freedom)))
Inspired by a famous quote from confucious. Sometimes I find my self lacking reflection and it's too ******* easy to imitate wisdom. My experience speaks for itself.
I been through hell and back
Joseph Miller Dec 2017
One glorious moment
God said to me
"I am here"

Tears of joy
washed away my fear
as he lifted the veil
revealed his face
radiating the essence
of all things
a cosmic oneness
filled with love
beyond imagining
the mystic sees
the infinite connection
of the ultimate power

But I a mortal being
consumed by form
it seems
God withdrew
left me standing there
in a world separate
where matter divides
and boundaries form
to close the mind
and hide the truth

Yet I am blessed
to seek the light
and find myself
witness to God
true story
Austin Sessoms Sep 2012
if all I was supposed to be
in your life
was an extra
I would happily pass you
on a street corner
if that meant I was somehow a part of your life
but I am more than that
to you
and you are more than that
to me
we are both heroes
of different epics
striving toward different goals
who have lifted each other up
rather than simply passing each other
on street corners
you didn't just serve me coffee
I didn't just catch your eye
we are more than that
whatever that means
and I love you
it is strange I should say so often
'I love you'
but it is my
constant reminder of
intelligence
superlative ability
and camaraderie
we are neither military men nor animals
we are the rewards of our labor
you of mine
and I of yours
King Panda Oct 2017
The birth of our sun wrote megalithic,
two-word bursts of observable heat to life.

It pounded the density of a billion
squealing animals and thought itself
star—a pencil

being lifted by an oven-mitted hand
somehow deft, fortune-telling
witch.

sun—which will, in time,
bow out to a goodnight city
where every light is eaten

by dark-spelled window—no reflection
of flame,
no kiss of magnet—no

just cold death to
the bones—a molded meatball
dancing in a spiral once believed

to be beautiful.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
The dead brown of winter gives rise to yellow cups in lacey dress,
lifting their bowed heads to take in the golden days of spring.
Mornings heralded by melodic songs calling out for spring partners
in trees filled with cascades of color and buds waiting to open.

The snow and blackness has lifted and life has begun once more.
Forgiveness has found a foothold in this crushed heart.
Like a doctor sewing wounds and stopping the drain of lifeblood,
I have found a way to heal and make it back to life once again.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
It was a cold, wintry December day.
I was at home,
sitting by the fire.
The fire was hot,
but from where I sat,
it felt like a warm blanket.
Suddenly,
my ******* started to lactate,
uncontrollably.
I did not know what was going on.
I lifted up my soaking wet shirt,
and put my hands over my *******,
in an attempt to stop the lactating,
but it did not work.
And then,
it stopped.
I squeezed my *******,
to see if they would lactate again,
but nothing happened.
I went to bed,
hoping this nightmare would be over in the morning.
But it wasn't.
When I woke up,
I went into the bathroom to perform my daily morning activities,
when I realized something on my chest.
A third ******!
I tried to rip it off,
but I couldn't.
Later that day,
at dinner,
I was eating a juicy, tender steak,
when suddenly,
all three of my ******* began to lactate!
I tried to stop them,
for they were lactating all over my steak.
Then, like before,
it stopped.
This proceeded for many days.
Everyday,
I woke up with another ******,
and everyday around six o'clock,
they would all lactate,
until one day,
the unthinkable happened.
I woke up.
I could not move.
I had no legs.
No arms.
I was a giant ******.
"NO!" I screamed.
Then,
as usual,
I began to lactate,
violently,
and then I exploded.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
CK Baker Mar 31
~ Ode to Spring ~

Cherry blossoms filled with bloom
rhododendron’s sweet perfume
warming winds feign summer’s breeze
songbirds singing from the trees

Open windows, déjà vu
sunsets filled with graceful hues
families gather on their strolls
Mother Nature for the soul

Baseball season at the park
evenings lifted from the dark
daylight savings' finally here
patios for wine and beer

Cleaning house and planting seeds
rebirth fills the days and deeds
picnic baskets, hummingbirds
poets find their way in words

Kaleidoscope of bedding plants
shorts in favour over pants
farmers markets, garage sales
power-wash the decks and rails

Hiking, tennis, gardening
inhale the freshness of the spring!
painters, sculptors shape their art
gather here with grateful hearts
King Panda Feb 2017
I feel your beads
pressed against my
neck
106 prayers lifted
106 left
in the ***** laundry
a coconut scent
a play on words and
your face buried
into mine
even at midnight
the union tracks
flick
and I stand
bedazzled by
the lightning
shade
you offer
a moth to flame
a boat to ocean
a joyous pain
cut up
cut up
cut up
but I wouldn’t leave
my blood
behind
for
anything
You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, soft and ever-flowing like your
frizzy, unkempt mane
You once had trouble roaring like I do,
when you were a cub
Heard a fragile roar, one that
broke my heart into happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Character, resilient and galvanizing like
your aspirations, never-ending
You once had trouble staying strong with
your claws of positive voices,
when you were a cub
Heard a decree of triumph, one
that lifted my spirits beyond happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, impactful and ever-confident
like your beautiful, voluminous mane



Melody
3/4/19
We are the physical embodiments of our parents.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2013
You love me with a love,
timeless in this world
of thrown away dreams, relationships and love.

You make me believe in the eternal
the make believe and the invisible
forces at work in our lives.

You have been there
through all the hard times,
when I did not believe.

You have lifted me
to the heavens and beyond
to a new world eternal in you.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Rhoni Marjonelle Sep 2018
last thing i saw
was me trying to
lure you out
from that iglo

last note i heard
were just murmurs

last words i read
were simply "dead"

not that i saw,
i heard,
nor word,
but i felt.

be that as it may
during this
winter holiday
that wraps you
with it's arms of
cold daybreaks
i try to let you
witness
how life
destroys yours
and mine.

but
it created shimmers
of hope
at least for me
and yes i see
how every piece of me
directly points
to your street
clamoring
for every piece
of thee
for every word
you say
for every breath
you take
for every love
you give
and for every one
of it
you receive.

just having me
see, hear, feel,
and love you
makes me feel
lifted
where all wishes
are simply granted
with all i wanted
which are
life, emotion, and
you, my kindred.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
I am a fool who fell from skies,
caught up in a ride among stars.
I lost myself one summer’s night,
in the blue grey of your eyes.

We lifted off through timeless space,
unaware of friends and places.
Looking for moons beyond our own
and rising to the unknown.

But now my king has lost his shine,
as a knight’s armor tarnishes with tears.
Leaving me to feel
discarded, breathless and numb.

Only now I see, we were both alone,
as we stood in different places;  
me loving you
and you loving yourself alone.

Perfection can be deceiving
for a newly christened king.
But your queen neglected
to look inside…

the part that gives life
and love was gone,
the most important part.

P.S. a space and place for your heart.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Robert G Page Mar 2015
by
rgpage

hollow now my world has grown
with age that time has ****** on me.
from carefree childhood days i'd known,
from days of climbing in a tree.

from summer sunlit mornings
from sundays in the park.
i didn't see time's warnings
or see the sun grow dark.

i didn't see the stranger
who followed me one day.
i didn't sense the danger
as i went off to play.

with eager youth i left from home
the world was my shell.
i didn't see the stranger
who'd lead me to my hell.

i'd lifted weights with youthful ease
these weights now known as life.
did what i wanted as i pleased;
i took myself a wife.

and with my wife we had a child
we had a baby boy.
with carefree sundays in the park
he filled our lives with joy.

we watched his life as he grew strong
'til off to war he went.
he told his mom, "it won't be long
until my journey's spent."

and as his ship pulled from the pier
i saw the stranger's face.
with deep set eyes he blankly starred,
he seemed so out of place.

i felt as if i'd known this man
had known him all my life.
in parks where as a youth i ran
and when i met my wife.

it wasn't long our son had gone
my wife had passed away.
and in the war he followed her
just six months to the day.

old and lonely now i sit
and watch the children play.
on carefree sundays in the park
until that final day.

a day in which the stranger comes
and takes me to my rest.
to my loving wife and son
upon my final breath.
kaycog Aug 2018
I'd tell you about the day I found myself
but to this year I’m still looking
my skills are better suited for finding four leaf clovers in the valley
I know what you'd tell me
you'd think I would have better luck by now
instead I'm left with a pile of mutated weeds and a disheartened mentality.
ryn Apr 2015
Welcome the new day
As night lifted her screen
The sun had brought its palette
Boasting of colours never before I've seen

Rays like paintbrushes
As they dove into the water
Light explosively burst into emeralds
Ripple and eddies would sparkle and shimmer

Bolts from the orange orb
Speared the tops of trees and sprawling ground
Tinting their leaves with green of olives
And grass with freshness abound

Its wand touched the tip of the distant lighthouse
Turning it the brightest green
It brought life back to my surrounding
Layered my eyes with the greenest of sheens

Such beauty laid bare
The difference was literally night and day
But my heart is also green
To readily accept what my mind has to say

As if a child
Or yet still a greenhorn
I should ignore the stains of yellow
And enjoy this new day that had just been born
ryn Dec 2014
Listening ears don't come easy
Most come with mouths harbouring wagging tongues
Pouncing on the chance to retell your story
Exploiting your need to empty acrid lungs

Listening ears, they're indeed very rare
Unidentifiable no matter how well you know
Lurking behind a mask of concern and care
Sweet words employed so your cards you'd show

Listening ears could be just a myth
An idiom to quench the thirst to confide
Listening ears sometimes come with fangs for teeth
Hungering and lusting for your trust and pride

Listening ear, oh why you come with a mouth so foul
Why the cunning trickery and unscrupulous deceit
Kindness as bait, when in fact you prowl
Many none the wiser until they are bit

Listening ear, in you I gave my trust
I bared my innermost and gave my all
Hoped that you'd soothe my ailing crust
Instead you lifted me high only to watch me fall
The covenant of secret-keeping is not for everyone.
fearfulpoet Sep 2018
objects in the distance may be closer than they appear  

how many thousands of times
these words mirrored blankly upon my eyes

only today did I-read them accurate

from the nowhere    from a great void
someone stepped and lifted me from a
rubbled prone
where there were no options
asking for nothing
over and over I beseeching

now I see
in the mirror
those words

I see only them
in the heart human
the object so close
it writ upon my face
proudly
i don’t want to die
in the shade this time
with the haunting phrases
that conjure every nearby demon
still pouring out of me

minerva of a thousand works
and condolences
red was everywhere
when you lifted up your shirt
and the water in your eyes
was boiling like mercury
at the thought
Robert Ronnow Apr 2018
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, ***** . . .
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in god and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.

On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time until
the public learns to ignore the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”

It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, Canto VIII, Italian, trans. Robert Hollander & Jean Hollander, Anchor Books, 2000.
--Ferlinghetti, Lawrence, Poetry Flash, November 1998
--Havel, Vaclav, Disturbing the Peace: A Conversation with Karel Huizdala, Vintage Books, 1991.
--Iyer, Pico, The Man Within My Head, Vintage Books, 2013
--Sophocles, Antigone, Greek, trans. Dudley Fitts & Robert Fitzgerald from The Oedipus Cycle: An English Version, Harcourt Brace & Co., 1939.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Yes, I remember you well, the curves of your face, your kiss,
your smell and look of love.
A lifetime ago now, I have visited that memory often in my dreams,
always trying to forget that moment in time.

Echoes of yesterday resonate within these empty walls
reminding me of the past I’ve left behind.
How different life with mercy could have been;  
kindness and compassion lacking, though pain remains.

Looking back I wonder, what life I could have made with you?
I grieved long over the image that soured long ago.
You claiming a life of love, betraying yourself and your beliefs,
yet breaking free from pain is what I choose to recall.

Seeing you now, I wonder how I could have believed that you
could have lifted me through this life,
and carried me though all that I have seen,
given me all that I’ve needed?
How could I have known you were not that strong?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Qweyku Nov 2016
Moe
Spirit of pleasant memory told me;
(to) keep writing
So
sweetly fell her words
to the crests of my shoulders
she lifted me with a breath...
"the world was waiting".

Selfishly I seek that soul of a day,
such that creation no longer tarries
save at least one precious moment,
sooner, than what was writ afore.
Thank you
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