"professes" poems
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threatening to snap everything,
severe down pouring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will never occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally succumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower.
Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling,
the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threating to snap everything,
severe down poring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally secumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower. Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling, the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet..
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
There’s a difference between calling a girl fit and hot and calling her pretty and beautiful
When you call me beautiful I imagine you noticing the way my hair falls from the clip over time
I imagine you noticing the way my giggle sounds and the way my smile lights you up
When you call me pretty I imagine you noticing the complexities of my eyes, the way my freckles come out in the sun and and depth of my dimples
Pretty is noticing the way my legs are sculpted when I walk ahead of you and the way my nose flares when I genuinely laugh
Fit is the body two ***** and a waist
A pair of lips you can only imagine what they do
Hot is the low cut top exposing my cleavage and my ability to open my legs for you
Fit is a one night stand word or the words of a man in a club hoping that that night you are feeling especially vulnerable and insecure
Beautiful is the text she gets when she lies in bed at 11pm asking if she wants to go on a walk
And although she professes to him excuses when she walks out the door of a lack of make up and three jumpers to keep out the cold and her insecurities encapsulated by her self destructive smile and her hair pushed behind her ear
You lift her face and examine that untouched smile
The rawness of her appearance and the purity of her eyes
That is beautiful
And you call it so
When fit is the way a body looks and how much makeup can look like none
Pretty is the way she smiles when she sees you and the way she feels looked upon.
Sep 24, 2023
Sep 24, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
winter covers the earth
in a requited slumber
dropping a bleak veil
of prolonged eventides
a sparse season's
dire landscape
professes a chill
of privation, across
frost crusted furrors
crowning cold fallow fields
resting from offerings
of a past season's yield
reaping passages
to the royal realms
the mystic visions of
this twilight nexus
germinating seeds
burrowed deeply in
recurring reveries
of future harvests
our dreamscapes
of abundance, sustained
in the deepest memory of
the advent of new seasons
Music Selection:
Paul Winter Consort: Icarus
Oakland
12/21/13
jbm
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Every couple of days.
She comes around.
She claims to not like me.
She looks the other way.
When she needs me
She knows where to find me.
Reaching with open arms.
When no one is around she professes her love.
There is no other.
She breaks my heart.
The start of another week.
She claims to not like me.
She calls late night.
Apologizing for what she's done.
I never felt so bad.
It's coming to an end.
In another couple of days.
Things'll be back the same.
The same old same old.
Both our selfish ways.
She knows where to find me.
I have no clue where she is
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
you need not be looking / looked upon so aloft with the music, of course it's dramatic settling the heart to a frenzy - less happily endorsed feet dancing, alt. Jews in Europe rather than Muslims in a similar state of geographic - they call all appreciators of classical music fascists these days, it doesn't matter.... what matters is that the heart once danced, and the feet were wheelchair bound - but now the heart is wheelchair bound, crippled... and the feet dance, indeed, a dance of fiddled thumbs of a confused coliseum spectacle awaiting Caesar's nod.
~48 hours away from seeing Nabucco
at the Royal Opera House;
i better get drunk before the opera,
so that i might cry at
the chorus of the Hebrew slaves -
gold-digger of tears at my christening;
that old hummingbird;
take a Scotch pouch of whiskey into
the toilet for a one-two impromptu
and a nutmeg past the goalkeeper -
whatever high European culture professes,
the countryside alliance will always
make peasants of us all.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Love is so overused
isn’t it?
the over expressive teens
eating each others faces
in dim high school hallways
(though they’ll have an appetite for someone else next week),
the velvet chocolate
which gives so much
temporary
enjoyment that the feeder
professes her adoration
to it’s milky swirls,
the flimsy hallmark
cards which are bought to accompany
over- priced roses on
february 14th cause
the commercials are persuasive.
and yet,
that man over there,
on the park bench,
he sits empty and alone.
his finger tracing the spot beside him
that no one cares to fill.
and yet,
that girl,
so young,
she puts the gun in her mouth.
she thinks of the looks
and the words
and also the lack of words.
walls are built high,
plenty of artillery holes;
no door.
Love is so rare
isn’t it?
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
This war professes the whispers of infatuation
A hopeful faith yearning for satisfaction
Deteriorating steps that began to carve my way
The spirit knew he had to stay away
With visions of burning fields
As you return from your flight
I'm condemned for the harsh tight wounds
That you created and sewed in my chest
A dress made of scars and a lost youth
You may stay and gather
To try and survive
Although this place will beat your bare
All hours I still wanted to come inside
You were awake hiding in a piece of a shadow
Sheltering your rage
Destroying the hunger of lies
The mystery of numb thinking
The very words that escape your throat
Lust that reflected the water onto the stones
A displaced reflection without the truth
Vomiting my beliefs of this solitary exhaustion
Petals of torment that hindered me
Trembling with a million pieces of need
Obstructed by the hostility that fulfills me
A vision of intolerance frantically spreading
The taste of callouses gathering on my tongue
I unearth the truth
Peeling the flaws of our mistakes away
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
My heart professes perpetuity, and was so faithful to, yet my mortality minds no frame nor memory of you.
This epidermis sheds and skins from disuse; need my heart evidence, might my chill-cracked palms be your proof?
The contours of your constitution, all known by their names, are perhaps now amended by the passage of passing age and days.
The sirens of your voice's sound, awaken me from my dreams; the symphonies of my soul's supplications, now so strange and foreign seem.
My heart professed perpetuity, and is so faithful to, so should this skeleton and its dependents devoice - mon Amour; my heart remains with you.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
Slurries of hails to the standard rail of self-expectations in the projector that melts back-bone whenever faced with a path over mountain that always professes from the abstraction sinkhole. Emptying that cobbed and worthless orafice seems pretty good lain back. it's during stalkings around the star of an other soul's eyes the motor behind the sighs that cut through the man-made fog is needed in my anxious tissue. It comes now an epic old stone to my skull like an old and overfed dog needs a forest's unmountable cedar amber airholm and rushing pulp thick with the scent of meat.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Thank you Lord for saving my yesterday,
and for saving my today if I make it to tomorrow,
but if I fall on the battle field today
who will offer You my thanks when the sun rises tomorrow
All I have been constructed into
is like a seeing a building being built
while some of the stones were crumbling,
You are the Mighty Creator, moving towards completion
All the earth declares Your marvelous wonder,
and so oh Lord how can You be mindful of a small voice
that professes in it's own language, it's own weary gladness,
again, make the singer's song sweet to his own ears
Mighty Lord Your majesty contains all things,
and so the honorable sons of God declare
that all the earth should exalt the name of the Lord,
thanking Him with singing and dancing because they too are the blessed property of a Holy King
Let not my thanks fall into the abyss of woe,
Let not those who stand against Your Glory see me silent,
Let not the earth be scorched any longer,
but let your people honor You, carry those who thank You to your Holy Mountain Top Kingdom
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised)
How to say this briefly:
Firstly,
Words that help convey the hidden.
They exist.
Here is the gist:
Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim
Of being chosen.
Tenets frozen,
Woven into scripture
Which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
Spirit's -ality puts stress on union,
The approach to life
Emphases
On oneness under all beliefs;
On peace and joy and getting these;
Transcendence over time and space
A sense of being face to face
With truths about reality, its indescribability -
Yet not impossible to give a voice to.
Fear that goes,
Love that grows.
Agape’s universal call,
Connecting to an All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song,
Means to fit all shapes and sizes,
Geniuses as well as dunces,
Non-, theistic preferences
Which need to be demystified.
Not magic, pagan, or god-based,
Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful,
And mystical, the core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
The cancer has spread too far,
the mass is too massive to be excised.
The chemo bag is secretly filled with carcinogens.
The pills they charge us a fortune for
are only placebos.
The last doctor died in 1963,
and the man in the white scrubs,
who rubs your hand, and says it will all be alright
is a card carrying servant
of the very cancer he professes to fight.
Nighty-Night little ones,
its time to turn out the light.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
I am so afraid,so scared
How will I be able to bear
A lovely,sweet hearted child
Kind in disposition, loving and mild
A home and money to share
with a body weak and sick,it isn't fair
I just want to be a Mother
A Mother who loves Another
With all her heart
I am late to start
That is what the world professes
Not knowing how to get well,doctors keep me guessing
I just want to love...is this wrong
In my heart it beats it's own song
I want to love and my child love me
So my soul can finally be opened and I can see and be
A Mother.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
Thirty-two is fourteen short of forty-six.
Thirty-two collects pools of hope,
and swims naked in them without fear.
It no longer wears a muzzle
but proudly wears a mask.
Thirty-two sees through a lens
of remarkable colors.
Its prismatic visions are
years ahead of its time.
Thirty-two tastes like tinny blood
on a tongue bitten for far too long;
it sings confidence
through chipped teeth—
freed from four years of clenched disgust.
Thirty-two does not have time
to stop and smell the roses,
but will demonstrate how
to make perfume from them, instead.
It has the words that
thirty-one never had
and keeps them in a pocket
that will accidentally go through the wash.
Thirty-two walks in the opposite direction,
but ends up on greener grass.
It orders a drink with a covered smile
and still generously tips the rude bartender.
Thirty-two prefers both
honey and vinegar to catch its flies,
and professes that knowledge
is a weapon best sharpened by modesty.
Thirty-two is an even number with
an odd beginning.
It suggests that what comes next
might have even more curves.
Thirty-two sets the stage for transformation,
but, more importantly,
drops the mic.
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 11:23 PM UTC
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious
How to say this briefly:
Firstly, find words for the inexpressible.
They do exist.
Here is the gist:
Each has components -
Churches, sects and cults, their creeds:
The claim of being chosen.
Pure spirit's -ality doesn’t seem to need
A system woven
Into scripture which professes knowing
What is best for all,
Where if you’re good you rise
And if you’re bad you fall.
The spiritual as an approach to life,
Seems to place the emphases
On unity within the mixture of beliefs;
On peace and joy, and getting these;
Transcendent over time and space
And, most of all,
A sense that you are face to face
With truth about reality,
Its indescribability.
Yet not impossible to give a voice to;
Love that comes, fear that goes!
****** no. A loving kindness big & small,
Universal, – if you will,
That permeates, recalibrates,
Connecting to an All that’s spirit: All in all.
Practices to help along:
Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song:
The mystical both caused or opened.
That said, non- theistic preference
Needs to be demystified, a road for genius, dunce.
Not piety, religion, magic, paganism, or god-based,
Not theological nor physical,
But meta-, deeply meaningful,
Yes mystical!
The core of all.
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017
To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
A voice tremors in the dark of night
The stillness catches every jostle
Of the jawline, wavering with excitement
As he professes his love
The deepest emotions found in his heart
And there is no one to hear it
No ear to receive the devoted words
And the moon cries tonight
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
it's been lifetimes since i've allowed light to shine through these windows.
-
i've never let anyone in; nothing like the way i'm willing to let you fall into me, to hold you so close that my tears become an ocean you refuse to dive into and your eyes become my refuge. (yes, never is such a long time)
i've never let anyone touch me the way i let you, because all that anyone has ever done is rip me apart while building their own castles and collecting their cheap crowns. but you, you hold me like i'm a butterfly, with delicate wings that have become tired, all in its pathetic attempt to be beautiful. you hold me like i'm all you ever need in this dying world
and everything else that exists is just a repetitive love song.
i've never loved anyone's voice as much as i do yours. how you speak prose that sound like eulogies, solemn but necessary; with patience, kindness, and everything that love bleeds, everything it professes, everything i need.
(you're amazing and it's killing me)
-
*the sunlight is creeping in through the curtains, windows no longer shut. i feel my heart beating again and i'm no longer listening to the solemn lullaby that put me here in the first place.
you've woken me up
and now, i'm finally free
(to love you endlessly)*
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:21 AM UTC
The tree's
Nature is to
Nurture
Red robin's egg.
Robin's
Song, caresses
It's leaves.
Sky professes blue.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
The tale begins with a mother
And daughter quietly conversing
About this topic and that.
A peculiar interruption stops
The pair’s flow of words.
“Look Mom, I’m a mermaid!”
My eldest sister announced while
Shaking her rotund rear in proximity
To my mother’s face.
She immediately scampers off
To the kitchen while we look at
Each other with astonishment,
Neither knowing what just took place.
Laugher, of course, ensues.
The self-proclaimed mermaid wanders
Back to the giggling pair. I mention
Her new status and a look of
Puzzlement appears on her face.
She professes ignorance, denying
Such a thing ever happened. There
Was no convincing her of the truth.
Even now, she believes we made
Up the whole tale. But I know
She cannot renounce her actions that
Day. For she will always be thought
Of as a mermaid to me.
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 5:56 AM UTC
For one moment
And then I’ll explain
But it’s the moment
I refrain
That produces
The most rain,
More than a shaman
And more
Than a
Hurricane
But still she came
To sit on couches
And play the game
Of hands as
Mouses
But eventually
The same boils
Down the same
If you know
Wumsayin
It’s the moment
When laying
Becomes praying
For leisure
To a heavenly teacher
That isn’t certain
If such a creature
Can even see her
But she thinks she can
Of course the man
Professes nurture
But nature nurtures
Deluded pictures
Of what Is really going on.
It isn’t the draw
Of the unopened straw
It’s the way the jaw
Drops and drools
And the fact that
A car
Takes so long to
Arrive
It’s better to
Let oneself be one
Of the hive
Than to try to be cool
And take a nosedive
Directly into
The feeling in your stomach
On the carnival ride
When the ship drops
And gravity stops your heart.
To feel,
From the ground,
Another person,
On the ride,
Falling,
Is the lure.
The attraction of flame
And fuel
And broken engines.
How could the feeling
Of waking up
In the same bed
in the same room
In the same house
In the same town
Again
And
Again
Compare?
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 11:43 AM UTC
I'm a professor who professes to teach beyond the textbook lessons. To approach the very essence of the creative self-expression,
Known as man and known as woman. Call you to a higher ed concessions, to appoint the very purpose of this presupposed oppression,
Of your eyes, and of your mind, I wish you to the other side, of the unguided and unknowing creative self which lies inside.
Cause what is life without perspective, and what are trials if you do not try, and strive beyond your own horizons, and slide down the back of the other side?
Will there be shadows on the road, yes, will you trip and stumble, a couple of times, but never let yourself be doubtful of the potential you hold inside,
To create the future, sculpt the present, and tread the clay where it resides. Because in class is where I see you, but in this life you use your eyes,
To see the self-inside of others, to recreate what's on your mind. To be the difference and the vision, you have the tools to go and try,
And share your view of the horizon, survive the frustration in stride. Become creative in your endeavors, and you’ll bring joy to me and my eyes.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
I reluctantly gave my heart
To an island boy who treats people like toys
With wavy raven hair and deep emerald eyes
Who longs to learn and is good with lies
And no matter how hard I push
He'll push right back
Countering my pessimistic logic
With his own brand of truthful facts
Opposites are we
In time and space
In maturity, in race
In love, in grace
And yet here we are
Inconveniently in love
Me, the old cynic
He, the young optimistic critic
Yes, I know that my disconnect frustrates him so
His mood swings like a pendulum as the wind blows
He strives terribly; eager to please
Which makes me wonder am I difficult to appease?
Daily I question his unyielding affection
And daily he replies despite my perplexion:
"I love you, it's all I can do
Whether you believe me is all up to you"
And to myself quietly I say
"I guess it's ok; come what may"
With that he professes his love for me every single day
As his days grow longer, mine grow shorter
Mine grow colder, and his even warmer
You see, he and I are as paradoxical as they come
I am the night, he is the sun
No matter how much I wish to flee
He's always there pulling at me
I imagine one day we'd live happily
Desires of his love plague me so inconveniently
Dear sweet island boy who brings me much joy
I pray you aren't playing with me like a toy
Because my heart is quick to build walls and slow to heal
After this I doubt I'll be able to feel
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
Your wish has came true.
God the Lord of creation.
Has selected you to be God for a day.
Since you level upon him all your complaints.
Now you're standing in for him.
And has all his absolute power.
So what things would you change?
Oh, you don't like death.
So you granted people power to live forever.
But what inner strength will enhance us?
If we never learn the reason to mourn.
Oh, you don't like weather that hot.
So, we forever will be stuck within the cold.
You don't even wants the world to see rain.
I guess all your greenery will fade way.
Essentially, somewhere you will get blame.
The real God planned his structure a certain way.
Each of his created ideas upon earth has a place.
Which you usually learn.
When you are seated in his place.
You don't like the satan and his evil ways.
Just notice to some that good people faces headaches.
And
You professes you can do things a better way.
Think before you take his place.
God knows the things that we can't comprehend
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC
My Dog is loyal.
The unabashedly
noisy love it professes,
I'm embarrased to admit,
Is not reciprocated with
The same hallowed and pure innocence
Conveyed.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC