"millenniums" poems
Father could reprogram all six billion of us
if He felt the need, anytime
In fact that's exactly what He did
at Babel when our dodgy one-accord
threatened to bring the end nearer
than the six millenniums of earthtime
He'd allocated for us to seek His truth
He even re-wired Balak for a minute
to hear his donkey speak
and think of the Assyrians that fled
when He caused four lepers to sound
like a mighty mercenary army
coming to rescue Jerusalem
YHWH is omnipotent, like it not
The reason He's not 'interfering' right now
is simply because His plan is dead on time
He intends to blow the chaff from His wheat
The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful
(through Revelations and the mark)
will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns
for a thousand years of peace on earth
You may think "Oh I'll wait and see
if it's true, like, if the two witnesses
really die and then rise again in three days"
Problem with that approach is simple
You could be brainwashed before then
The neurophone is widely used today
Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached
and read surveillanceissues.com
Those of us who really care
will continue to bug you and **** your spirit
Hopefully you'll make the right choice
and refuse the mark of the beast
Consider these things while there's time
'After me the storm' won't cut it
There are less than three short years to go
* Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
In My Salad Days
Salad Days
**Wikipedia:
Modern use, especially in the United States, refers to a person's heyday when somebody was at the peak of his/her abilities, not necessarily in that person's youth.**
~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Salad
Hints of tints of golden
pear skins,
combine with
ruby'd cranberries
each a face, the cheeks of alcoholic old men,
each wrinkle,
a life's recording.
All are mates for the
marcona almonds
nestling, playing hide n' go seeking
tween silk sheeted leaves of
butter lettuce.
All dressed to the nines,
underneath a top hatted, cravatted, Fred Astaire
marinade.
Coated, bathed, loved,
protected by a vinegar of balsams,
aged grape must, pressed,
a lovely, desirable color,
a brown and bronzed rust,
pressed, then left,
to easy rest for
oh so many years,
like I do, easy resting,
when you feed me in
My Salad Days.
The Days
Though it was a life, decades destructed
Millenniums of de minimus,
Forty plus Seders of exile, of hell,
Marked by promises, whispers, horseradish tears of
Next Year and Jerusalem,
Time steeped in a tradition of patient waiting.
Each year, recorded by a spot of red wine
Purposely Spilled,
By my father on unbleached Passover tablecloth,
To example, to symbolize that
Messiness in life,
Is O.K.
The Salad Days
Salad served with irony generous,
When beard greyed and scraggly,
White speckled, wisps of sea salt,
All my youthful greenery, long wilted.
Yet the words herein writ are my
Afikomen, my just dessert,
My victory song of Hallelujah
Just before we eat, celebrating
My Feast of Ascension, marking a
Delayed Arrival, yet right-on time of
My Salad Days.
It was only when
I was resurrected as two bodies,
A pair of cuffed links coupled,
In My Salad Days,
With the taste of freedom,
A first-born infant survivor,
Was I rebirthed, and to the fore, risen.
When words fell from smiling lips, and
Rain and tears flew upwards, and
Each and every breath was an
Amen.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
*A dense black rock
in deep meditation for ever
gesticulated to him in the dark
as if they have met at the appointed hour.
He could feel the warmth
of love in its inner core
never ever given a chance to express
for long, long millenniums.
"Open your heart" he commanded
in a voice, that triggers miracles,
thunder roared, lightning flashed
goosebumps did quickly spread
in the center of the dense granite block
speaking a cryptic code,
cleaving it in to two, what a brilliance!
this moment was kept hidden by circumstances;
a diamond filled the darkness
with such radiance, that has no measure.*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
My mind keeps pictures of you up on its walls
again
and again
I find my thoughts drifting down that river of memory
orbiting around you, like forces of gravity drawn
to the idea of us (if there even is an us)
If I could then I’d lock you outside my brain, leave you out there to rot
in the abyss, where your words couldn't penetrate me
and your lips that work like anesthesia forbidden to numb me again
I won't do you the injustice of romanticizing your imperfections
You're no nebular, you're a black hole, a gaping flaw in creation
Your eyes that held millenniums of history, now hold me no future
You made me forget what it feels to have stability
To not walk out of a room and forget why I left
You make me want to shred the skin you touched
Like a reptile, to become reborn, purified from my past.
There never were any butterflies in your stomach, only parasites
but you fed them to me readily like a disease
So no, I won’t dedicate you another love poem
no I want (deserve) better
This isn't what love should be
I’ll write you a poem where the words convulse on the page
and you’ll forget to read it (you always do)
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
truth be told,
the ticking hourglass will never be our friend.
cos it keeps pushing my milky way
farther away from yours.
somewhere along the way,
you found dharma.
leaving me to waltz on that dance floor alone,
like i did to you, millenniums ago!
back then, i became
poet, philosopher, king and the lord of the universe.
while you stayed behind,
a shy country lass with lotus eyes
pining for my love.
in the quarrels of love and life,
you hid my golden flute
and threw away my loaded dice,
which helped me win
the mundane games of *** for tat.
leaving me now with an inexhaustible quiver of karmas eager to fructify.
as i stand here in a tree pose
regulating my incoming breath,
i the yogi
eagerly await for our galaxies to turn,
perhaps, even collide and kiss some day.
© 2023
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 9:45 AM UTC
○☆♢☆♡☆♢☆○
She sends her love
She sends her love down
into the Mother
that holds her dearly
pressed deep within layers
crystalline veins
become fingers of light
beneath the surface
precious stone
purple points of symmetry
down through darkness so dark
ancient dreams she remembers
She sends Her Heart
Heart Pure
She sends her love
She sends her love down
into the Mother
that holds her dearly
millenniums of rotation
meld together in perfect form
full, round and firm
layers upon layers of
bones, stones n' trees
leaves laden with mud
pressed dense n' deep
beneath the surface
orbs of precious stone
purple points of symmetry
crystalline veins
become fingers of light
tunnels of silver
copper and gold
milleniumms of rotation
meld together in perfect form
full, round and firm
stones trees n' bones
mud laden with leaves
pressed deep n' dense
down through darkness so dark
ancient dreams She remembers
She sends her Heart
Heart Pure
fingers of light
Illuminating
the Warm Core
Beating Heart of the Mother
☆○♢☆♢▪♡▪♢☆♢○☆
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
The moon is my lover,
He and I love each other like no love there ever was nor ever will be,
I share him with many a fortunate soul,
His love sprinkled amongst all our hearts,
Yet there are millenniums where he despises me,
What love is this? I ask the moon,
The moon stares at me with an unrelenting glare,
This love is one of neither time nor rhyme nor you or I,
But of our own big bang,
Both catastrophic and melancholic yet filled with eternal bliss found and derived nowhere else by no one else,
Not even those others whom shower me with underserving love,
No our love is a Silverstone amongst pebble rocks.
An anonymous girl ©
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
Damnation haunts yesterdays footsteps
Poison tipped arrow's bearing memories
Seek their mark
The day offers no mercy or respite
From the long night screams in the dark
Salty sweat drops upon burning dreams
Awaken oh soul to the blackness and fear
Its but a fleeting moment of millenniums to come
Marked so carefully on a calendar of tears
Turning helpless eyes away from the light
Placing trembling hand upon forever's door
Incomprehensible words muttered under your breath
Slipping into oblivion
Off sanity's sharpened edge.
@ Tammy M. Darby Oct. 5, 2014
All Material Stored in Author Base.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Women can be men
Men can be women
People can be people
We didn’t write the feeling...
Stars can be supernovas
Meaning can be mending
And paintings can bend
And walls can return...
And shapes of architecture become earth
Lovers can be lovers
Leavers can believe us
Lights, camera, action, order, disorder
Dysphoria, euphoria
Academia, abracadabra
The moon, *** sun and laughter
Instantaneousness
Osmosis
Fear, friction, distance, pure bliss
Bubble toting aqua world
Top this...
Freedom, collaboration
Emancipation, cognification
Celebration...
Millenniums of us saving, changing...
What we actually are eventually...
One surging sway of soul-light soldered angels
Morphing from an oceanic abyss…
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
*In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human
a woman fell in love with a man,
he could be me too.In no way she could see
all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other
in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that
makes things work for us in this world we live.
A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other
as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough
I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist
in numerous universes, doing things in all
permutations and combinations, I am sure.
If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy,
remember in some of these worlds where a different
law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall)
our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there
would have been forced to write a different classic.
In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred
I am not one , but multitudes, in planets of different universes,
I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat
Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous
that made life and death suspects
I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings
that yearns deeply to merge in the absolute consciousness 'brahmam'
about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads'
millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day.
Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing
by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit
Higgs boson, please catch the cosmic slight of hand red handed.*
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:37 PM UTC
There are times
I miss holding babies,
touching the fleeting moments
of purity
and milk mouths.
There are times
I long for the womb,
to go back swimming
so I can be reborn
once more.
I am feeling ancient,
thousands of millenniums old
a speck of dust
carrying triple its weight
in my belly.
There are times,
my soul contracts,
breaking water almost,
becoming ready
for an arrival.
Tell me, how long
is the gestation of heartache?
How many embroys
must die before the soul wakes,
spitting an infant?
There are times
I miss tiny dimpled hands
a wink of a moment's reminder
of what was aborted
without my consent.
The cradle rocks
ever so gently in the corner
as my hands weave pink sweaters.
In the mist of the silky rain
I wait to give birth again.
v.k
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Like a chorus of angels singing slightly off key
In the chilly morning it builds as the sun rises.
Some mystery passes from one to the next, silent.
Just how, who can say? Their bodies lift in unison.
There is nothing awkward about them. Poetry!
I was quite unprepared for the glorious spectacle.
Thousands. Like watching a ballet of slow wing beats.
7000 miles they follow their heritage of millenniums;
And they rest upon the banks of this river.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
everything in the physical world ages.
this is the oil of the essence of the physical,
we are born, created, exist, cease and desist
and always,
the essentials exit
stage left
and yet, the met-aphysical has,
no markers visible to the keen eye,
no surface tension to it, neither does time rough hew its edges,
or pebble age it to silken smooth water borne baby skin consistency
with uncountable tongue lickings,
and lay two stones
side by side upon the beach,
fellow travelers,
arrivistes from differing paths
so lets us count.
have we ever met?
no, we have not.
will we ever meet?
perhaps, but no one counts the random< unimaginable<accidental,
for man's plans are more destined to awry then be planned away.
but how long have we known each other?
since the sun rose this morning
and every morning before that
when it rained,
and the drops rode down the window pane, and
two drops became one,
thus, since
a million millenniums before time was recognized as measurable
when the flower blossoms in the garden,
am I not the descendant of the first bee,
and will not our progeny,
ever propagate?
so I have known you for all time
have honored you for all time
and will do so again,
when I metaphysical choose to,
in a manner unknown and yet to be
chosen
perhaps when the earth circumnavigates a distance of 365
days and nights,
or perhaps, when the need is keen and well felt,
a poem in a breeze, very well hid,
shall caress a cheek, and
that will be an honor arrived,
when next the "time" counted by heartbeats
says
due.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
That little star
on the bank of milky way,
watching the flow with wonder filled eyes,
is my unborn daughter.
In my dream I see her
crying to sit cozily on my lap,
with her winks of starlight,
she pleads with me to tell her
sweet stories till she sleeps.
Soulfully she sings for me
the songs my beloved brought
from distant eons.
A ray of light from her
becomes love itself,
a flood of tenderness
sweeps me off my feet.
Sweet transcendence
binds us together
across light millenniums
that had come and gone.
I am delight personified sitting
on the lap of limitless universe;
I am a dream that conjures up,
whatever seems real in my mind.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
Time aged in millenniums breath, eternities
Upon it did the juncture's of a breach offer
A glimpse in others minds of reality's thoughts.
Whirlpools of confused visons, then calm.
To walk on the moments of each surge that
Washed upon realties exhalation. I talked to
Younger versions and like a paradox, repeated
Reflections I saw ourselves in memory and word.
There is an etched pathway of conscious thought
With each decision does a new pool open its
Moment creating fresh essence now as the other
But diverged time is a ripple that always falls.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
This feels like
This feels like
Eden repeatin'
Had it all
Fresh starts
And rainbows
Somehow got stuck
In the middle
And that one dream
Got me three strikes
Three millenniums to try
And take back
One simple little dream
Third time's the charm
But will they call me
Lucifer
Or will it all be
Over and done
By my eighth birthday
You can't see the color
And you can't see the light
Without darkness
Standing idly by
Oh, the October gore
Oh, the November bore
Oh, the December lore
Will it ever end
When can I start again
This feels like
Eden repeatin'
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
her Eyes?
her Eyes,
are like staring
into brand new millenniums
where not one
infinity is impossible
and she does this,
with just a simple flicker
of every blink she takes
opening up,
to an array of force fields,
and battles long lost
to one
I hope one day
to cross.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
If I give to you
what you've
given to me.
Then we
would be
millenniums
swallowed
in eternity.
To live forever
is nothing more
than a curse.
and to live forever
without you
would be
so much worse.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Caravans carefully cross empty mesquite desert
between howls from creatures too small to produce them.
There is a slight bump and the convoy tips.
Tips, tips, tips, like snapping fingers, tipping over cauldrons filled with molten magma. They laugh a maniacal laughter as they slip through millenniums of sand, counter intuitively freezing.
Long gone Pharaohs, oil drums and abandoned spare tires.
Once was lost, but now I've found.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
New millenniums
Have come and gone—
Echoes of
“The End is Near!”,
Cried throughout
The ages.
A Second Coming
Has passed,
A thousand times before.
The chosen people
Buried,
One hundred generations
Deep.
No promised glory,
Or wondrous rapture
For the believers
Overcome, instead,
By unforgiving time.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 1:47 PM UTC
Whispering mango grove, in its heart
keeps this secret, lone block of rock
black and sturdy, precambrian marks
making it a thing of curiosity.
Travelling by foot, weary, needing rest
he sat leaning against its ancient comfort
not knowing what a boulder has to offer,
other than that,
as his eyes pulled curtains,
and brought the night for the time being
he heard a music or was it a voice, almost like
another kind of silence?
The sculpture within the boulder's prison
told him in a pathetic tone,
how beautiful it was
"Help me come out of solidified darkness,
take away the bitter cup of solitude
millenniums made me drink
I want to see the light of the day"
When he opened his eyes he heard
the voice echoing deep in his psyche
---a flower bloomed suddenly within
the barefoot traveler's diamond moment ,
right then, he heard, the beauty within him plead
to be discovered, the rock and him aren't two,
realization dawned.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
Deny we the possibility of order
Ignore we an Outside Law
Suggest we an endless possibility
Worlds without end
Positions simultaneous
Moving in all directions or none
Claim we the future as ours
Defy we realities of law external
Look we inward-outward simultaneously
To become one or none or all
Reject a single story
Saw we the Arms from Truth
Reduce we the Other to I
Forget we the order of Universes
Without-Within
The clockwork structures
Atomic
Celestial
Genetic
Physical
Biological
In and or-ganic
Reorder or Retell we the Cyclical Tales
Birth and Rebirth
Seasons and Times
Journeys of stars swirling through space
Endless flights of planets
Endless migrations of living things
Each rhyming to universal rhythms
Watts and amperes circular-linear mysteries
Predicting futures from their undisputed histories
Deny we external truth
Held here in the gracious grasp of gravity
Warmed gently by a tolerant star
Inhabitants of a universe
Unable to explain itself
Or even how its atoms came
To repel and to attract
In perfect tensions
Or to unleash energies
Predictable and measurable
In milliseconds and millenniums
---------------------------
Marionettes macabre
Cut loose from our strings
Dancing slowing dirges
Proclaiming opening spaces
Beneath closed skies
Denying a Maker
Rejecting hymnody to sing
Ditties laden with lies.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
Walls of antiquity covered in green plants,
while hidden treasures are waiting to be found.
Rocky road leads every interested person
to uncover this mystery of history.
That's the Green castle,
sculpted by talented architects
millenniums ago will still remain stunning
in the eyes of the passer by for the rest to come.
With fields of tulips and a golden sunset,
piercing the flags of grass of the sunny gate
and solid foundations clung to the bowels of earth,
the castle changes its shades through the seasons.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 6:55 AM UTC