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"ongoing" poems
Ilion gray poet extraordinary is away learning the codes hidden in raindrops no reason for surprise; for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays, neither high enough, narrow blinding, to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities to do the right thing he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our poem-dreams; avant-garde he says, but I laugh, never felt more misunderstood and reply take care, be en garde! no matter for he is learning a new language, the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat once called Indian Territory and eager await his return so we may walk along the Brooklyn shoreline, beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge where Washington’s men escaped a British trap and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of NY showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now, the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature We will walk lost in the absorption of our different commonalities, holding the hands of his young son, and my Wendy, both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes that give us poems He calls me me friend, I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best, well recalling a late night message that bred a five year conversation ongoing not everything need be coded what you read here it is not coded, for the raindrops come clear and clean and the poems land on our tongues bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue 7/18/18 ^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
0
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
poetoftheway
Ilion is learning the codes hidden in raindrops
Ilion gray poet extraordinary is away learning the codes hidden in raindrops no reason for surprise; for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays, neither high enough, narrow blinding, to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities to do the right thing he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our poem-dreams; avant-garde he says, but I laugh, never felt more misunderstood and reply take care, be en garde! no matter for he is learning a new language, the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat once called Indian Territory and eager await his return so we may walk along the Brooklyn shoreline, beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge where Washington’s men escaped a British trap and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of NY showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now, the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature We will walk lost in the absorption of our different commonalities, holding the hands of his young son, and my Wendy, both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes that give us poems He calls me me friend, I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best, well recalling a late night message that bred a five year conversation ongoing not everything need be coded what you read here it is not coded, for the raindrops come clear and clean and the poems land on our tongues bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue 7/18/18 ^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
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44
It's elementary, my dear This bittersweet affection that I feel From one boy to the next I grew Ladder rungs of broken hearts First grade Blonde hair and disarming smile Recess games and hallway passes A note in a diary and minutes spent giggling Never talking, always watching Fourth grade Glasses frame of brown hair and thin shoulders Curious enigma to come and go A bit more literate diary entrees One year of crossed legs and shy smiles Fifth grade A growing tree of lean muscle and blue eyes Short brown hair and a charming grin Side by side on a rubber track Gray skies and sweet goodbyes A bright dance floor and a shattered heart Miserable nights and heartbreak songs Seventh grade Long dark hair and chocolate eyes This spring has brought a strange surprise Wiry muscle and soft cheeks Once admired, then adored An ongoing thrum of sweet affection Sidelong glances and gym class stares New discoveries and quiet realization Girl can love girl Tenth grade A firecracker packed with mysterious boys And an enigmatic girl A bomb in the summer sky Spelling new names, new faces, new hearts A whisper of 'I love you' at long last returned Names carved on my ribs and pulling my lips A tightened chest never felt so good
0
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
skypath
Crush
It's elementary, my dear This bittersweet affection that I feel From one boy to the next I grew Ladder rungs of broken hearts First grade Blonde hair and disarming smile Recess games and hallway passes A note in a diary and minutes spent giggling Never talking, always watching Fourth grade Glasses frame of brown hair and thin shoulders Curious enigma to come and go A bit more literate diary entrees One year of crossed legs and shy smiles Fifth grade A growing tree of lean muscle and blue eyes Short brown hair and a charming grin Side by side on a rubber track Gray skies and sweet goodbyes A bright dance floor and a shattered heart Miserable nights and heartbreak songs Seventh grade Long dark hair and chocolate eyes This spring has brought a strange surprise Wiry muscle and soft cheeks Once admired, then adored An ongoing thrum of sweet affection Sidelong glances and gym class stares New discoveries and quiet realization Girl can love girl Tenth grade A firecracker packed with mysterious boys And an enigmatic girl A bomb in the summer sky Spelling new names, new faces, new hearts A whisper of 'I love you' at long last returned Names carved on my ribs and pulling my lips A tightened chest never felt so good
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38
Hiding the hurt, hiding the pain Hiding the tears that fall like rain. Saying I'm fine , when I'm anything but, This ache In my soul rips at my gut. My skin is on fire, I burn from within The calm on my face is an ongoing sin. The world must stay out, I've built up a wall My fragile lie will collapse should it ever fall. Loneliness consumes me, it eats away the years Until my life is swallowed by unending fears. Waiting for someone to see I wear a mask And care enough to remove it, is that too much to ask?
0
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
melisa-bernards
Behind The Mask
Hiding the hurt, hiding the pain Hiding the tears that fall like rain. Saying I'm fine , when I'm anything but, This ache In my soul rips at my gut. My skin is on fire, I burn from within The calm on my face is an ongoing sin. The world must stay out, I've built up a wall My fragile lie will collapse should it ever fall. Loneliness consumes me, it eats away the years Until my life is swallowed by unending fears. Waiting for someone to see I wear a mask And care enough to remove it, is that too much to ask?
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12
my tears aren’t forced they flow in that dark tunnel that she dreamed so long ago she wasn’t ready to take her first steps I wasn’t ready to take mine without her. Little things bring her back like empty bowls or the tower of books she’s never going to read. People have been calling this a trauma, but they’ve forgotten the loneliness of life’s journey. She dreamed a tunnel and added bright lights and dusted the floor with powdery snow she traveled far yet I can only see the trails of milk puddling around the lost key that she dropped under blankets of memory and phrases of I-promise and tomorrow. I’m growing up as she falls down. She wasn’t perfect but that’s why it was so easy to love her. My journey’s ongoing, and the deep undercurrents of pain and grief are pulling me through that tunnel. I’m rowing softly by, quietly, quietly, as she is laid to rest. her memories swallow the emptiness she is kneeling at the throne. I follow slowly and leave my tears for her to know that life’s path isn’t paved in water but with sorrow, with endings, and with lost boats on turbid seas.
0
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
Alanallama
Past Tense
my tears aren’t forced they flow in that dark tunnel that she dreamed so long ago she wasn’t ready to take her first steps I wasn’t ready to take mine without her. Little things bring her back like empty bowls or the tower of books she’s never going to read. People have been calling this a trauma, but they’ve forgotten the loneliness of life’s journey. She dreamed a tunnel and added bright lights and dusted the floor with powdery snow she traveled far yet I can only see the trails of milk puddling around the lost key that she dropped under blankets of memory and phrases of I-promise and tomorrow. I’m growing up as she falls down. She wasn’t perfect but that’s why it was so easy to love her. My journey’s ongoing, and the deep undercurrents of pain and grief are pulling me through that tunnel. I’m rowing softly by, quietly, quietly, as she is laid to rest. her memories swallow the emptiness she is kneeling at the throne. I follow slowly and leave my tears for her to know that life’s path isn’t paved in water but with sorrow, with endings, and with lost boats on turbid seas.
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39
By now,the seed varieties of the world, may have been attacked beyond recovery by wars of pretense and relapses. We are still learning how to handle it properly. We tend to say. Some will talk and plan over dinner parties, over TV or Radio. Most will leave it behind like another corpse of lessons thrown to the gutter, like a dead *** on another Sunset Boulevard. Iraq's seed banks we blew up in the 2000s. In various places in Asia and the Middle East, places of life and cultured varieties gone in an instant. Echoing our imprisoned ignorance and drives for more instant goods and services. Indian farmers have committed mass suicides after their god Hanuman was used by a chemical giant to sell poison seeds and renewed bondages of indebtedness. One question a stranger asked a group of writers on tour was not what their poetry or books were about, nor why they wrote it, but how writing may and may not be helping as we make decisions and solve problems now? Once agricultural lands turn into new promises of commercial buildings. Cities of inaccessible towers and abandoned malls in America, Spain, China, and Russia feeds us back our own echo. Like converted uses of lands, our humanity is converted into inanimate collections and status symbols of some players or parties. As we face our continuing struggle between our oppressor-selves and our genuine roots. Despite the perversions, inside vicious habits of waste where we glorify promises of war and efficiencies, we continue to be entrusted with the ongoing lessons: Rarely do surviving generations through famine, war and diseases, throw away means to live, or destroy any kind of seed. Every day we wake to the ruins and remains of Our living poetry, word spaces, hours, exchanges, gains and losses, stopping and going. This time, not just for fires of anguish or unnecessary losses, but for each other's midnight lamps.#
0
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
kryselanson
BURIED
By now,the seed varieties of the world, may have been attacked beyond recovery by wars of pretense and relapses. We are still learning how to handle it properly. We tend to say. Some will talk and plan over dinner parties, over TV or Radio. Most will leave it behind like another corpse of lessons thrown to the gutter, like a dead *** on another Sunset Boulevard. Iraq's seed banks we blew up in the 2000s. In various places in Asia and the Middle East, places of life and cultured varieties gone in an instant. Echoing our imprisoned ignorance and drives for more instant goods and services. Indian farmers have committed mass suicides after their god Hanuman was used by a chemical giant to sell poison seeds and renewed bondages of indebtedness. One question a stranger asked a group of writers on tour was not what their poetry or books were about, nor why they wrote it, but how writing may and may not be helping as we make decisions and solve problems now? Once agricultural lands turn into new promises of commercial buildings. Cities of inaccessible towers and abandoned malls in America, Spain, China, and Russia feeds us back our own echo. Like converted uses of lands, our humanity is converted into inanimate collections and status symbols of some players or parties. As we face our continuing struggle between our oppressor-selves and our genuine roots. Despite the perversions, inside vicious habits of waste where we glorify promises of war and efficiencies, we continue to be entrusted with the ongoing lessons: Rarely do surviving generations through famine, war and diseases, throw away means to live, or destroy any kind of seed. Every day we wake to the ruins and remains of Our living poetry, word spaces, hours, exchanges, gains and losses, stopping and going. This time, not just for fires of anguish or unnecessary losses, but for each other's midnight lamps.#
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46
There's something about the ever-moving sea, Whose shimmering waves brighten every face, Whose calming sounds bring joy to every ear that hears There's something about the forever changing beach, Whose soft sand holds treasures from the deep blue, Whose sparkling granules clump together to create vast castles There's something about the ongoing sky, Whose blue tints are home to the warm, shining sun, Whose colors magnify themselves onto the gorgeous sea So look upon this picture and smile, Because each figure is a piece of a puzzle, Forming a complex but brilliant masterpiece.
0
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
lexisully
Puzzle Pieces
There's something about the ever-moving sea, Whose shimmering waves brighten every face, Whose calming sounds bring joy to every ear that hears There's something about the forever changing beach, Whose soft sand holds treasures from the deep blue, Whose sparkling granules clump together to create vast castles There's something about the ongoing sky, Whose blue tints are home to the warm, shining sun, Whose colors magnify themselves onto the gorgeous sea So look upon this picture and smile, Because each figure is a piece of a puzzle, Forming a complex but brilliant masterpiece.
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12
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper, A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink, Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused, The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy, Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident, There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls, Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help, And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created, As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest, Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him, After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember; You don't have to die in a dream ~ Umi
0
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
UmiofLove
Angel Sandalphon
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper, A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink, Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused, The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy, Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident, There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls, Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help, And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created, As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest, Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him, After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember; You don't have to die in a dream ~ Umi
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14
In depth there's only fear and disbelief deeper you will find nothing else just void the courage is only the drop on the surface wearing it like my favourite dress not many times there is rage it intensifies how I feel using every other emotions as fuel it burns them After the fire Tired enough not to think much and in a bad situation as such I fall asleep Waking the regret funnily it keeps on returning the cycle ongoing bury it within I am emotionless with too many emotions dancing improved a lot in masking happy with my newfound skill.
0
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
nylee
Completely Emotionless
In depth there's only fear and disbelief deeper you will find nothing else just void the courage is only the drop on the surface wearing it like my favourite dress not many times there is rage it intensifies how I feel using every other emotions as fuel it burns them After the fire Tired enough not to think much and in a bad situation as such I fall asleep Waking the regret funnily it keeps on returning the cycle ongoing bury it within I am emotionless with too many emotions dancing improved a lot in masking happy with my newfound skill.
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24
Clothe yourself in the full armor of God and be able to withstand the Devil’s schemes; know that he’s only the father of lies, looking to destroy your earthly dreams. Cover yourself with Christ’s Breastplate of Righteousness and protect your torn heart; your essence has been purchased for His Kingdom, meaning that you’re meant… to be set apart. Gird your waist with the Belt of Truth and stand firm with integrity and honesty;   don’t allow your flesh’s nature to interfere with conditions that you need observe and see. Shod your feet with the Gospel’s peace; keep from searching for earthly trouble; instead congregate with the Body of Christ and focus on your faith becoming redoubled. The ongoing battle is not with flesh and blood; wield Faith’s Shield to quench life’s fiery darts. Remember that the wiles of Satan are limited! So outmaneuver him with your spiritual smarts. Put on your Helmet of Salvation, for the battles are within one’s mind. Allow the Divine knowledge of The Word to resonate with your spirit and find… yourself continually praying in the spirit and with understanding on all occasions. Be alert to His transformational messages, for upholding Godly principles and persuasions. Resist the Devil now and he will flee; endeavor to thwart the enemy’s attack; be strong in the Lord with power of His might; promises of victory have been already stacked. For we don’t wage war with human methods and plans. We use mighty weapons to knock down evil strongholds and breakdown every proud argument that keeps people from knowing God… as His Kingdom, continues to unfold. . . . Author Notes: Loosely based on: Eph 2:2, 6:10-20; 1 Thes 5:5-8; Joel 2:12-13; Rom 4:5; Jam 4:7; 2 Cor 10:3-5 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
0
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: Armor of God
Clothe yourself in the full armor of God and be able to withstand the Devil’s schemes; know that he’s only the father of lies, looking to destroy your earthly dreams. Cover yourself with Christ’s Breastplate of Righteousness and protect your torn heart; your essence has been purchased for His Kingdom, meaning that you’re meant… to be set apart. Gird your waist with the Belt of Truth and stand firm with integrity and honesty;   don’t allow your flesh’s nature to interfere with conditions that you need observe and see. Shod your feet with the Gospel’s peace; keep from searching for earthly trouble; instead congregate with the Body of Christ and focus on your faith becoming redoubled. The ongoing battle is not with flesh and blood; wield Faith’s Shield to quench life’s fiery darts. Remember that the wiles of Satan are limited! So outmaneuver him with your spiritual smarts. Put on your Helmet of Salvation, for the battles are within one’s mind. Allow the Divine knowledge of The Word to resonate with your spirit and find… yourself continually praying in the spirit and with understanding on all occasions. Be alert to His transformational messages, for upholding Godly principles and persuasions. Resist the Devil now and he will flee; endeavor to thwart the enemy’s attack; be strong in the Lord with power of His might; promises of victory have been already stacked. For we don’t wage war with human methods and plans. We use mighty weapons to knock down evil strongholds and breakdown every proud argument that keeps people from knowing God… as His Kingdom, continues to unfold. . . . Author Notes: Loosely based on: Eph 2:2, 6:10-20; 1 Thes 5:5-8; Joel 2:12-13; Rom 4:5; Jam 4:7; 2 Cor 10:3-5 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
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46
they say you're terrifying scorpio I think you're stagnant and not in the mouldy water way you're a mountain always there looming above they say you're intense scorpio and i know you love intensely and hate intensely and find nothing in between you're ongoing and everything pulling the world towards you you're not mine scorpio and I don't know if I want you to be but I think we'd work born with the moon in scorpio I was and i'm a little bit you and i'm not sure if it's that or that i'm a little bit not you that makes this a fire ******* You're definitely a fire scorpio even though they say you're water I'm an air sign even though I know i'm earth I guess in another world you'd set fire to me but in this world I'm only rippling your surface bubbling up to the top of you and you can't bother to set me alight it's okay though we're a firecracker either way
0
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
n-t
born with the moon in scorpio
they say you're terrifying scorpio I think you're stagnant and not in the mouldy water way you're a mountain always there looming above they say you're intense scorpio and i know you love intensely and hate intensely and find nothing in between you're ongoing and everything pulling the world towards you you're not mine scorpio and I don't know if I want you to be but I think we'd work born with the moon in scorpio I was and i'm a little bit you and i'm not sure if it's that or that i'm a little bit not you that makes this a fire ******* You're definitely a fire scorpio even though they say you're water I'm an air sign even though I know i'm earth I guess in another world you'd set fire to me but in this world I'm only rippling your surface bubbling up to the top of you and you can't bother to set me alight it's okay though we're a firecracker either way
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31
Ongoing failures of the Church to act, will guarantee the sure success of evil; for faith without works is… still dead and visible today is spiritual upheaval. The internal chasm between the members of both sides -the presbytery and laity- must be bridged with faithful cooperation, girded with policies that last permanently. Even today, God is quietly waiting on the Body, while the unsaved are queued up for Hell. Individual Faith is a person’s responsibility, but the Great Commission impels us to tell… others about God, His Love and Christ’s Salvation. After 2000+ years, The World has not misunderstood. A final solution is required and not yet in place- each of us must desire to… overcome Evil with good! . . . Author Notes: Loosely based on: James 2:14-26; Obad 1:11-15; Gal 6:7-9; Matt 5:45, 28:16-20 All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men continue to do nothing -Edmund Burke Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
0
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:07 AM UTC
joseph-j-breunig-3rd
Poem: Overcoming Evil with Good (Spiritual Secret)
Ongoing failures of the Church to act, will guarantee the sure success of evil; for faith without works is… still dead and visible today is spiritual upheaval. The internal chasm between the members of both sides -the presbytery and laity- must be bridged with faithful cooperation, girded with policies that last permanently. Even today, God is quietly waiting on the Body, while the unsaved are queued up for Hell. Individual Faith is a person’s responsibility, but the Great Commission impels us to tell… others about God, His Love and Christ’s Salvation. After 2000+ years, The World has not misunderstood. A final solution is required and not yet in place- each of us must desire to… overcome Evil with good! . . . Author Notes: Loosely based on: James 2:14-26; Obad 1:11-15; Gal 6:7-9; Matt 5:45, 28:16-20 All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men continue to do nothing -Edmund Burke Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
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28
United ***** College Fund Continuing education in never being outdone A mind can take you far providing you have the education supplying the fundamental tools Intellect with the approach to define Knowledge in resolutions to find Education be ongoing doesn’t need to end It’s a matter of affordability with an organization that says can Having the opportunity with acceleration on when Achieve is a form of excel It’s tomorrow being our young people to tell United ***** College Fund who has education to sell College education being everyone’s given right The thirst for knowledge with understanding in plain sight It’s a solid learning foundation A word having an expression A sentence being the given promise The paragraph forming the success The College Graduate who can contest Presentation illustrating achievement It was the college education where knowledge was gained United ***** College Fund wants this to remain The aim to inspire continuing thinking minds Achieve beyond and turn into wonder “An educated mind is too precious to lose, but continued learning and not be confused” Support the United ***** College Fund anyway you can Put soar in education for our young people to explore, and turn from neglect which is an element of ignore.
0
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
preservationman
THIRST FOR CONTINUED EDUCATION INTO KNOWLEDGE
United ***** College Fund Continuing education in never being outdone A mind can take you far providing you have the education supplying the fundamental tools Intellect with the approach to define Knowledge in resolutions to find Education be ongoing doesn’t need to end It’s a matter of affordability with an organization that says can Having the opportunity with acceleration on when Achieve is a form of excel It’s tomorrow being our young people to tell United ***** College Fund who has education to sell College education being everyone’s given right The thirst for knowledge with understanding in plain sight It’s a solid learning foundation A word having an expression A sentence being the given promise The paragraph forming the success The College Graduate who can contest Presentation illustrating achievement It was the college education where knowledge was gained United ***** College Fund wants this to remain The aim to inspire continuing thinking minds Achieve beyond and turn into wonder “An educated mind is too precious to lose, but continued learning and not be confused” Support the United ***** College Fund anyway you can Put soar in education for our young people to explore, and turn from neglect which is an element of ignore.
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26
Soon  I will be done with the ledger of my adolescence The sun is still in his puberty, though older than me The moon is still in her perfection, a blessed queen I have bejeweled you with the sweat of my love And have garlanded your beauty with rubies and pearls…. Today you are the ocean of love, And I the sunny heat of summer. You came that day, Expecting for your arrival Sun poured shower of anguish on my amethyst Panjabi Out of the blue You appeared like an expected spring In her colorful curcuma domestica costumes. Your locks  under the veil of spring’s yellow umbrella Still counting the days, the nights, the ongoing time, Sometimes my heart in quest of a Time –machine…. We took  the weight off our feet under a Blessed tree I touched your hand joining my two palms The cold current of  spring was soaring  there My ill-fated heart could not Kiss your "Petals of Blood" I drowned, I drowned in my own made ocean……..
0
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
md-huda
My song of adolescence
Soon  I will be done with the ledger of my adolescence The sun is still in his puberty, though older than me The moon is still in her perfection, a blessed queen I have bejeweled you with the sweat of my love And have garlanded your beauty with rubies and pearls…. Today you are the ocean of love, And I the sunny heat of summer. You came that day, Expecting for your arrival Sun poured shower of anguish on my amethyst Panjabi Out of the blue You appeared like an expected spring In her colorful curcuma domestica costumes. Your locks  under the veil of spring’s yellow umbrella Still counting the days, the nights, the ongoing time, Sometimes my heart in quest of a Time –machine…. We took  the weight off our feet under a Blessed tree I touched your hand joining my two palms The cold current of  spring was soaring  there My ill-fated heart could not Kiss your "Petals of Blood" I drowned, I drowned in my own made ocean……..
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19
staring out at the rushing creek, standing on the edge, crushed leaves beneath my shoes. i toss my phone on the soil; i don’t need you right now, devil. instead i focus on the passing water, on the ongoing march of time thrusting us forward no matter how hard we try to make it stop for us. i sit down. birdsong fills my ears, joining the creek as it glides smoothly over its bed. leaves brush against each other as a spring breeze picks up, rustling their way into my mind. the gentle wind smells of flowers, of soil and of memories. i close my eyes, allowing myself to forget everything. -l.s.
0
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
leahsnyder
the creek
staring out at the rushing creek, standing on the edge, crushed leaves beneath my shoes. i toss my phone on the soil; i don’t need you right now, devil. instead i focus on the passing water, on the ongoing march of time thrusting us forward no matter how hard we try to make it stop for us. i sit down. birdsong fills my ears, joining the creek as it glides smoothly over its bed. leaves brush against each other as a spring breeze picks up, rustling their way into my mind. the gentle wind smells of flowers, of soil and of memories. i close my eyes, allowing myself to forget everything. -l.s.
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21
A day consists of 24 hours 1,440 minutes 86,400 seconds That average person takes about 20,000 breaths a day Every second of every day is based around my recovery Mind games Distractions How many times I can look in the mirror and tell myself no At least 4 Maybe 5 3 on a good day A person blinks almost 28,800 times in 24 hours But sometimes I just stare So I can focus on something other than my recovery My addiction My need for something other than what I can't have I can hear my thought process Sometimes it's quiet Like when I'm asleep Other times it's the only thing I hear So I call her because she knows how to turn down the volume She is my recovery Because even for a split second everything is perfect when I see her The amount of breaths I take double The number of times I blink goes down rapidly My need for recovery increases exponentially She is the calm that flows over my body The rush of oxygen to my brain When she talks to me my number of bad days plummet Because she loves me and I love her So by hurting me I hurt her My recovery is an ongoing process That consists of 24 hours 1,440 minutes 86,400 seconds Of me trying not to hurt myself 1 day turns into 1 victory And when I tell her that over the phone I can sense that she is smiling So 1 day really turns into 2 victories
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Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
jackie-harrington
My Recovery
A day consists of 24 hours 1,440 minutes 86,400 seconds That average person takes about 20,000 breaths a day Every second of every day is based around my recovery Mind games Distractions How many times I can look in the mirror and tell myself no At least 4 Maybe 5 3 on a good day A person blinks almost 28,800 times in 24 hours But sometimes I just stare So I can focus on something other than my recovery My addiction My need for something other than what I can't have I can hear my thought process Sometimes it's quiet Like when I'm asleep Other times it's the only thing I hear So I call her because she knows how to turn down the volume She is my recovery Because even for a split second everything is perfect when I see her The amount of breaths I take double The number of times I blink goes down rapidly My need for recovery increases exponentially She is the calm that flows over my body The rush of oxygen to my brain When she talks to me my number of bad days plummet Because she loves me and I love her So by hurting me I hurt her My recovery is an ongoing process That consists of 24 hours 1,440 minutes 86,400 seconds Of me trying not to hurt myself 1 day turns into 1 victory And when I tell her that over the phone I can sense that she is smiling So 1 day really turns into 2 victories
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39
Lying beneath trees in the heat of the day cannot possibly be compared to any other pastime: to watch the light toy with the leaves, shining bright and brighter in the ever-changing gaps in the leaves turned dark by the shadow. The interplay between the light and the leaves in ever-ongoing banter and they hate to quit their game when the sun moves too far beneath the horizon for the light to reach above the boughs and must return to its source. The wind plays a part in the sport as well, when it rustles the leaves and causes a sparkle in the variance of illumination. Tortoiseshell patterns scatter along your limbs and features and tumble off the cliffs of your sides into the grass you recline on. The filter of light casts playful interlocking patterns of light and dark impossible to decode without the proper encryption, forever lasting while the world speeds past their lazy game.
0
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
poeticalamity
Komorebi: Sunlight That Filters Through the Trees
Lying beneath trees in the heat of the day cannot possibly be compared to any other pastime: to watch the light toy with the leaves, shining bright and brighter in the ever-changing gaps in the leaves turned dark by the shadow. The interplay between the light and the leaves in ever-ongoing banter and they hate to quit their game when the sun moves too far beneath the horizon for the light to reach above the boughs and must return to its source. The wind plays a part in the sport as well, when it rustles the leaves and causes a sparkle in the variance of illumination. Tortoiseshell patterns scatter along your limbs and features and tumble off the cliffs of your sides into the grass you recline on. The filter of light casts playful interlocking patterns of light and dark impossible to decode without the proper encryption, forever lasting while the world speeds past their lazy game.
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1
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body. I am not the body. I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies. always learning learning learning. I have developed nous from my experiences only. I WILL NOT EVER- accept a mind in my head. accept any conditioned identity as being  me. cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind that exists anywhere.. I WILL NOT EVER-- cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or group conditioned identity that exists anywhere. or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in. I WILL NOT EVER-- be prey to opinion-formers and experts and  pie charts and focus groups and surveys. be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits. see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda. be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking  their way. be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace. respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear. I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies.. see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda. I WILL NOT EVER-- take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily-- food additives... No one has ever died from any cannabis product. or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin. believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess". believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess". accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful or valuable in any way except as emergency papers to roll a grass joint or to wipe my **** on. be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess". I WILL NOT EVER-- accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that it is beyond duality. accept any Conditioned Identity as me. For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual, autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!. which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit or any other religious concoction. I WILL NOT EVER--- accept Mind as a necessary evil accept GroupMind as a necessary evil. I WILL NOT EVER --- eat junk food of any kind. drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency. eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate. be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian. become stoopid through bowing and scraping and stooping at stupas. I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
0
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
mannley-collins
My promise to the Isness of the Universe
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body. I am not the body. I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies. always learning learning learning. I have developed nous from my experiences only. I WILL NOT EVER- accept a mind in my head. accept any conditioned identity as being  me. cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind that exists anywhere.. I WILL NOT EVER-- cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or group conditioned identity that exists anywhere. or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in. I WILL NOT EVER-- be prey to opinion-formers and experts and  pie charts and focus groups and surveys. be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits. see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda. be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking  their way. be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace. respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear. I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies.. see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda. I WILL NOT EVER-- take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily-- food additives... No one has ever died from any cannabis product. or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin. believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess". believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess". accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful or valuable in any way except as emergency papers to roll a grass joint or to wipe my **** on. be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess". I WILL NOT EVER-- accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that it is beyond duality. accept any Conditioned Identity as me. For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual, autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!. which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit or any other religious concoction. I WILL NOT EVER--- accept Mind as a necessary evil accept GroupMind as a necessary evil. I WILL NOT EVER --- eat junk food of any kind. drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency. eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate. be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian. become stoopid through bowing and scraping and stooping at stupas. I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives. www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
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60
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the                                parameters of my body. No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’         I witness dates         and         feel as an apprentice of such a trade might         an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity         Childhood is laced in linens of silk         Soft-spoken words         and         Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor         Depravity seems to chain my soul         which leads to         a Resolution in pixelation         due to        a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right My friends make me happy         but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &         half-full         one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes         for My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation         heavy on the mind         light keystrokes Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma i ask myself What good is it?         To be thoughtful         Yet have no action What good is it?         To fantasize         Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation What good is it?         To be dramatic         Yet have no one at your performance I do understand what it means to ‘be’         Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks                               -    lacking peaks    -         As I continue to lay under clothes line         Wrapped in a melody of melancholy But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’         My mind feels as a lemon candy might,         sour at first bite -         hollow on the inside, then gone         Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
CanvasPrints
Astral Projection
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the                                parameters of my body. No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’         I witness dates         and         feel as an apprentice of such a trade might         an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity         Childhood is laced in linens of silk         Soft-spoken words         and         Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor         Depravity seems to chain my soul         which leads to         a Resolution in pixelation         due to        a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right My friends make me happy         but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &         half-full         one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes         for My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation         heavy on the mind         light keystrokes Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma i ask myself What good is it?         To be thoughtful         Yet have no action What good is it?         To fantasize         Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation What good is it?         To be dramatic         Yet have no one at your performance I do understand what it means to ‘be’         Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks                               -    lacking peaks    -         As I continue to lay under clothes line         Wrapped in a melody of melancholy But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’         My mind feels as a lemon candy might,         sour at first bite -         hollow on the inside, then gone         Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
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48
The rhythm of life is like an endless melody and goes on regardless of where we might be. Throughout the day and all during the night it never stops tho’ it’s not obvious to sight. When the sun rises and again when it sets that rhythm of life all things never forgets. With each coming and going to and fro we’re all part of its main working show. In birth and death as in growth and decay all creatures have their moments of play. In the heavens above and on the earth below one after another they all must come and go. With the ebb and flow of each wave in the ocean it’s apparently like a ceaseless rhythmic motion; tho’ they’re caused by the moon’s gravitational pull, and is itself also subjected to being either new or full. In the four seasons of the year and all the changes they bring, as the earth revolves around the sun, affect every living thing. By these regular distinct cycles each lasting its period of time it’s a universal ongoing phenomenon and never ending rhyme. Whether we like it or not it embraces us all in its sway and our affairs in this world enjoy their night and day. It makes order gradually come forth out of chaos it seems and helps us all to survive and even realise some dreams. We all have certain basic needs and so many wants or desires and flowing with the rhythm of life all in harmony transpires. If we have unnatural obsessions by which our mind is caught then it’s freedom with a high price that is actually most sought. This rhythm of life has an existence and power of its own and all that does ever happen by it unmistakably is known. When we become in tune with its reality and stay in touch all that goes on in the world will be to our benefit as such.
0
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
George-Krokos
The Rhythm Of Life
The rhythm of life is like an endless melody and goes on regardless of where we might be. Throughout the day and all during the night it never stops tho’ it’s not obvious to sight. When the sun rises and again when it sets that rhythm of life all things never forgets. With each coming and going to and fro we’re all part of its main working show. In birth and death as in growth and decay all creatures have their moments of play. In the heavens above and on the earth below one after another they all must come and go. With the ebb and flow of each wave in the ocean it’s apparently like a ceaseless rhythmic motion; tho’ they’re caused by the moon’s gravitational pull, and is itself also subjected to being either new or full. In the four seasons of the year and all the changes they bring, as the earth revolves around the sun, affect every living thing. By these regular distinct cycles each lasting its period of time it’s a universal ongoing phenomenon and never ending rhyme. Whether we like it or not it embraces us all in its sway and our affairs in this world enjoy their night and day. It makes order gradually come forth out of chaos it seems and helps us all to survive and even realise some dreams. We all have certain basic needs and so many wants or desires and flowing with the rhythm of life all in harmony transpires. If we have unnatural obsessions by which our mind is caught then it’s freedom with a high price that is actually most sought. This rhythm of life has an existence and power of its own and all that does ever happen by it unmistakably is known. When we become in tune with its reality and stay in touch all that goes on in the world will be to our benefit as such.
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32
Now you realize what you did, 
 you took it too far, 
this time it was to deep, 
to raw, now its going to be hard for us both.   I asked for your help ' Its never ending, I again want to die. Please tell me why? Be my Soul Mate now just talk to me help me find my life again. Not with you, just my life. ' I couldn't get your abuse out of my system you repeated "You need to do the leaving" "Let's die rather then not be together" I said "Only with You". The ongoing flashbacks of pressurizing demanding me to do what you wanted heightened in Athens. Questioning all that happened what did it mean just ******* my soul and body So abused I couldn't disentangle from it So violated And you continued it with your talk and talk. Your lies of reflection and regret Your abuse of my love and belief Then my desperate wish was granted You made contact via a third party On reflection to address the end, to answer my questions, to give us some meaning, to help us move on with our lives you cared about my life, to be honest. the day, the place, the time, the third party all set then you renegade last minute, no explanation, once again shut me out without a thought for my life, you willful behavior, ongoing abuse. So finally now I know you are a pathological liar. I don't  give a **** about you anymore. Its like I have woken from a nightmare I have no more energy for you I am not afraid of the fall out of exposing you I will no longer protect the secret. The legal proceedings will tell the truth And you will have to face your demons. I will move on with my life which is so much bigger than yours. I will fight on to free myself from your abuse. My life no longer tenuous. This is the end of my series of poems - love and deception. The courts will be my voice.
0
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
patricia-tsouros
'Only with You'
Now you realize what you did, 
 you took it too far, 
this time it was to deep, 
to raw, now its going to be hard for us both.   I asked for your help ' Its never ending, I again want to die. Please tell me why? Be my Soul Mate now just talk to me help me find my life again. Not with you, just my life. ' I couldn't get your abuse out of my system you repeated "You need to do the leaving" "Let's die rather then not be together" I said "Only with You". The ongoing flashbacks of pressurizing demanding me to do what you wanted heightened in Athens. Questioning all that happened what did it mean just ******* my soul and body So abused I couldn't disentangle from it So violated And you continued it with your talk and talk. Your lies of reflection and regret Your abuse of my love and belief Then my desperate wish was granted You made contact via a third party On reflection to address the end, to answer my questions, to give us some meaning, to help us move on with our lives you cared about my life, to be honest. the day, the place, the time, the third party all set then you renegade last minute, no explanation, once again shut me out without a thought for my life, you willful behavior, ongoing abuse. So finally now I know you are a pathological liar. I don't  give a **** about you anymore. Its like I have woken from a nightmare I have no more energy for you I am not afraid of the fall out of exposing you I will no longer protect the secret. The legal proceedings will tell the truth And you will have to face your demons. I will move on with my life which is so much bigger than yours. I will fight on to free myself from your abuse. My life no longer tenuous. This is the end of my series of poems - love and deception. The courts will be my voice.
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55
Oh let’s sing Church bells ring Dingaling ling. Sing out loud Boldly and proud Enormous crowd. Hear those chants You debutants Some breathless pants. Poetry starts here, Perhaps with a beer Ask Shakespeare. Oral tradition An ongoing mission So start the audition. A memorable rhyme Lasts for all time Let’s make it chime. Free verse is still fine Bring in the wine And vary the line. Who cares if it scans You grammatical fans We don’t need your plans. So free up your souls Whatever your goals And loose those controls. Yes let your heart sing A bird on the wing Tingaling ling. If singing’s your thing Think what you’ll bring Tingaling ding. Paul Butters © PB 7\9\2018.
0
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 4:44 AM UTC
paul-butters
Sing
Oh let’s sing Church bells ring Dingaling ling. Sing out loud Boldly and proud Enormous crowd. Hear those chants You debutants Some breathless pants. Poetry starts here, Perhaps with a beer Ask Shakespeare. Oral tradition An ongoing mission So start the audition. A memorable rhyme Lasts for all time Let’s make it chime. Free verse is still fine Bring in the wine And vary the line. Who cares if it scans You grammatical fans We don’t need your plans. So free up your souls Whatever your goals And loose those controls. Yes let your heart sing A bird on the wing Tingaling ling. If singing’s your thing Think what you’ll bring Tingaling ding. Paul Butters © PB 7\9\2018.
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35
sure, first we had the schism of the church & state... "oddly" enough... we now live in the 2nd tier of schism -   the segregation of                   state & media... no?     really?          we're not?!            i'm kind of enjoying this ongoing schismatics -     the segregation of church from state, at least left us with the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) - but this, current... segregation of state from the media?       **** me cram my testicles into a monkey-wrench and subsequently watch me laugh... and there i was thinking, that psychiatrists, were the new priests of the secular age... prescribing the alt. to the metaphor of cannibalism in the form of big pharmacological pills, to replace the wafer for bread, or the watered down wine / grape juice of the...     so how does that party trick goes? is that the wine turned into blood? symbolically:    turned water into wine:    flag-wise...   white,        cardinal...   and then burgundy of cardinal red teasing the bishopric coloring of purple? i'm not here to undermine the faith...    i'm here for the self-deprecating humo(u)r... you don't even require atheism to get a laugh out of the conundrum - you, simply need... the deviation from the catholic rites...            an apostasy - but sure as **** it's there... secularism has allowed journalism a monastic status... first came the schism of church from state -    which remained intact in the church-state of the Vatican... so... FAIL... secondly had to come the schism of the state from the media...                i'm watching a schism take place...   apparently...         the comparative concern of church's divorce from the state was easy, having imploded into the Vatican... but the divorce of the media from the state?         apparently... not so easy... the media is already locking-down on obstructing the schism - arguing from an entertainment perspective...        a century or so later, and still, the persistent, media symbolism -      of crafting caricatures of a state...    as the state embodied in nothing more than subordination to its will... media is the new church... and if the separation of the state from the church took so long... how much time, do you "think", it will it take, for the state to segregate itself, from the media baronage? i suspect - as much time as it took to segregate itself from the church's cardinal-lineage.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
an apostasy humour
sure, first we had the schism of the church & state... "oddly" enough... we now live in the 2nd tier of schism -   the segregation of                   state & media... no?     really?          we're not?!            i'm kind of enjoying this ongoing schismatics -     the segregation of church from state, at least left us with the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) - but this, current... segregation of state from the media?       **** me cram my testicles into a monkey-wrench and subsequently watch me laugh... and there i was thinking, that psychiatrists, were the new priests of the secular age... prescribing the alt. to the metaphor of cannibalism in the form of big pharmacological pills, to replace the wafer for bread, or the watered down wine / grape juice of the...     so how does that party trick goes? is that the wine turned into blood? symbolically:    turned water into wine:    flag-wise...   white,        cardinal...   and then burgundy of cardinal red teasing the bishopric coloring of purple? i'm not here to undermine the faith...    i'm here for the self-deprecating humo(u)r... you don't even require atheism to get a laugh out of the conundrum - you, simply need... the deviation from the catholic rites...            an apostasy - but sure as **** it's there... secularism has allowed journalism a monastic status... first came the schism of church from state -    which remained intact in the church-state of the Vatican... so... FAIL... secondly had to come the schism of the state from the media...                i'm watching a schism take place...   apparently...         the comparative concern of church's divorce from the state was easy, having imploded into the Vatican... but the divorce of the media from the state?         apparently... not so easy... the media is already locking-down on obstructing the schism - arguing from an entertainment perspective...        a century or so later, and still, the persistent, media symbolism -      of crafting caricatures of a state...    as the state embodied in nothing more than subordination to its will... media is the new church... and if the separation of the state from the church took so long... how much time, do you "think", it will it take, for the state to segregate itself, from the media baronage? i suspect - as much time as it took to segregate itself from the church's cardinal-lineage.
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96
Hypermart. News on air. Boondoggles, owl ogles, ongoing. Jaywalking. Reverse gear. Biting into ginger. Hindsight: familiar. Slow down, observant mirror. Heartwringing. Twigs flying in a whirl. Coiled up cord; Snakes from the past. Boondocks, hornswoggling, heartwarming.
0
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
prabhu-iyer
Hysteresis (short poem)
Hypermart. News on air. Boondoggles, owl ogles, ongoing. Jaywalking. Reverse gear. Biting into ginger. Hindsight: familiar. Slow down, observant mirror. Heartwringing. Twigs flying in a whirl. Coiled up cord; Snakes from the past. Boondocks, hornswoggling, heartwarming.
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19
ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ *Walking down a wooded path tall flowing trees all around, I came upon the river’s edge and sat down on the ground. Sitting at the edge of the river I stare at its ongoing flow, I start to give it all my pain a release with each little throw. My hardest pain is fear that I’ve had from so long ago, of never feeling good enough that’s dulled my inner glow. It eats at me like a cancer each and every day, the fear of never being good enough and again being thrown away. Years of disappointment and abuse only being property, nothing to love, but always trying to make things right so everyone else could rise above. I throw this fear out into the river sit back and watch it pass slowly by, I wrap my arms around myself feel the release, let myself cry. I throw out all the other pains betrayal, heartache, loneliness and more, I watch them drift gently way these last tears will be left on this river shore. Noticing as each and every pain slowly floats down the river away, I observe at a distance as they fade into the suns sparkling rays. Walking down a wooded path tall flowing trees all around, I came upon the river’s edge and was surprised at what I found.* ***And ever onward shall we strive and from the circle peace derive. The sea in robes of mossy green and blues the eye has never seen... In grays that mock the stormy sky and depths that hold the tears gone by....*** *A sweet release we give our heart from pain of past that tore apart, relief that only one can find when hearts we let, become unconfined, to leave behind those stormy skies letting self-love baptize…* ***A tide of tears resides within and waits to overflow. i greet with a smiling face so others will not know. How feeble is this masquerade. Transparent are the games. Emotions should be given room without the chides and blames. The time will come to open up and let the dam release... my will, the pressure stop. my soul will be at peace. Weep when grief prescribes. Laugh for humor's sake. Love with everything you have and forgive, all your mistakes.*** ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ
0
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
BriannaLovess
A Collaboration Between Brianna Love & Cné “Sweet Release”
ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ *Walking down a wooded path tall flowing trees all around, I came upon the river’s edge and sat down on the ground. Sitting at the edge of the river I stare at its ongoing flow, I start to give it all my pain a release with each little throw. My hardest pain is fear that I’ve had from so long ago, of never feeling good enough that’s dulled my inner glow. It eats at me like a cancer each and every day, the fear of never being good enough and again being thrown away. Years of disappointment and abuse only being property, nothing to love, but always trying to make things right so everyone else could rise above. I throw this fear out into the river sit back and watch it pass slowly by, I wrap my arms around myself feel the release, let myself cry. I throw out all the other pains betrayal, heartache, loneliness and more, I watch them drift gently way these last tears will be left on this river shore. Noticing as each and every pain slowly floats down the river away, I observe at a distance as they fade into the suns sparkling rays. Walking down a wooded path tall flowing trees all around, I came upon the river’s edge and was surprised at what I found.* ***And ever onward shall we strive and from the circle peace derive. The sea in robes of mossy green and blues the eye has never seen... In grays that mock the stormy sky and depths that hold the tears gone by....*** *A sweet release we give our heart from pain of past that tore apart, relief that only one can find when hearts we let, become unconfined, to leave behind those stormy skies letting self-love baptize…* ***A tide of tears resides within and waits to overflow. i greet with a smiling face so others will not know. How feeble is this masquerade. Transparent are the games. Emotions should be given room without the chides and blames. The time will come to open up and let the dam release... my will, the pressure stop. my soul will be at peace. Weep when grief prescribes. Laugh for humor's sake. Love with everything you have and forgive, all your mistakes.*** ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ
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66