"prospered" poems
I picked a flower in May just to watch her blossom all for myself
Beautiful and brilliant I sat her in a glass on a shelf
I added water so she wouldn't go dry
Magnificence such as hers I couldn't let die
I watched as she grew
Time flew and flew
Her petals orange and blue like a vanilla sky
As she prospered and danced I noticed a change
Something very strange that caught my eye
Her stems became vines intertwined simultaneously with my poetry and life
In place of green,
She overflowed out of the glass in white sheets of paper
And it was there she made her illustration so divine
A perfect drawing of a heart
That turned out to be mine
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.
From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.
The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.
The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.
And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.
I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.
One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
4.2k
her field prospered
under his attentive stewardship
he tendered her every inch of soil
with loving devotion
e'en at night
he'd sprinkle
her field in touches galore
she repaid him a thousand fold
she allowed him to sup of her gold
her flourishing soil
his to always hold
his true hands
upon her fecund soil
harvested him much pleasure
for his hours of toil
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,
Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask’d, if Peace were there,
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:
Go seek elsewhere.
I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,
This is the lace of Peace’s coat:
I will search out the matter.
But while I looked the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.
Then went I to a garden and did spy
A gallant flower,
The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
Peace at the root must dwell.
But when I digged, I saw a worm devour
What showed so well.
At length I met a rev’rend good old man;
Whom when for Peace
I did demand, he thus began:
There was a Prince of old
At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
Of flock and fold.
He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save
His life from foes.
But after death out of his grave
There sprang twelve stalks of wheat;
Which many wond’ring at, got some of those
To plant and set.
It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse
Through all the earth:
For they that taste it do rehearse
That virtue lies therein;
A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth
By flight of sin.
Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,
And grows for you;
Make bread of it: and that repose
And peace, which ev’ry where
With so much earnestness you do pursue,
Is only there.
3.1k
When the sun goes down
I have my first drink
standing in the yard,
talking to my neighbor
about the alder tree
rising between our houses,
a lowly tree that prospered
from our steady inattention
and shot up quick as a ****
to tower over our rooftops,
where it now brandishes
a rich, luxuriant crown.
Should we cut it down?
Neither of us wants to --
we agree that we like
the flourishing branches,
shade like thick woods.
We don't say it,
studying our tree in silence,
but we know that if the roots
get into the foundations
we've got real trouble.
John goes back inside.
Nothing to be done in summer --
not to those heavy branches.
I balance my empty glass
on top of a fence post.
In the quiet early dark,
those peaceful minutes
before dinner, I bend down
to the flower beds I love
and pull a few weeds --
something I've meant to do
all day.
2.4k
My chest feels heavy,
my breathing is so tight
that I am almost running out of oxygen
leading me to a hypoxic state.
I’ve been punching
this pulsing sensation inside.
Cursing it to stop beating,
for all it ever pounds
is the most excruciating pain
I have ever felt my whole life.
Running deeply from my skin,
to every nerve and to every tiny
fiber of my being.
I wanted to scream
from the peak of Mount Thor,
from there I’ll jump
only to submerge myself
in the Mariana Trench
to slough every tear,
repel every hatred, and
to relinquish every throe
that there is inside me.
Where no one would have
to witness me at my weakest,
where nothing would hear me
as inconsolable,
somewhere I know I will not see you.
How could you?
You grabbed my heart,
petted it, then throw it away
and have it smashed
to the ground.
How could I?
Prospered by your sole existence,
and dreaded by
the wrath of tomorrow, by
the pang of longing, and
by the ache of defeat.
Bizarre, that’s what my faith is now.
As for my prayers, they’re perfidious.
I am finally unarmed.
Am no longer the warrior
I once used to be.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
**Unload your vetted earnings
in the collection baskets,
small price to pay
for holy water's kickback,
God thundered an indignant snort
'pon gold filled prospered coffers
within corporate excesses
of enriched gaudy churches
wondering when HIS word
had begotten misconstrued
in clergy's interpretations
of powers' self-aggrandizement
and pontificating gratification;
whilst the huddled masses
were starving midst the pews**
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
An Angel and a Demon, above the world, filled with chaos and destruction. Debating over saving humanity or letting it fall into devastation.....
*This world is worth saving,
You see the good ones down there,
Praying and helping?
Good beats evil, every time.
Letting things fall apart would be a crime.*
**My angelic friend, you're too high in the sky,
Grace us; come down from that ivory perch.
It won't take much to see through the lies,
Not much at all, to see what they're worth.**
*Dear demonic soul, don't you know?
Their worth is not in question.
Their value is more than our weight in gold,
Have some more appreciation!*
**Right--between war, the crucifixion and ****
These humans are just such lovely things.
They aren't filled with a single ounce of hate,
Oh, come now! See the atrocities they bring!**
*The things you say may be true,
But there's so much good down there.
Remember Noah and the Renaissance?
The missionaries and volunteers, they still care!*
**Oh, goodness! Yes, how could I forget?
********* Priests with their souls to sell?
Rich lead the depraved farther into debt?
Your precious world is going straight to Hell!**
*No, you monster! How dare you talk like that!
These are human beings, not toy things.
They'll prove you wrong, peace is coming.
Go tell your puppet master to cut his strings!*
**Don't PREACH to me of puppetry, fairy!
Whatever happened to your God's free will?
Compared to Earth, Hell isn't that scary!
**** rat race! *** money, egos, and thrills!**
*I'll preach what I have to, to save these humans souls,
Spineless creature.. You're wrong on so many levels!
I can't wait to dance with glee, while you unravel,
Dragging your worthless shell back home to the Devil!*
**I guess the horrors before you aren't enough,
You must want your sandbox to turn to doom.
These aren't falsehoods--this isn't a bluff,
Say what you will; Hell's running out of room!**
.... And there Angel and Demon bickered, for what seemed an eternity. Purity prospered in parts, where death and deprivation brought others into declension. At odds and ends, they both returned home, leaving Earth to fend for its own.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
The story of an actual Retired Greyhound Bus Driver
Mr. Hufford who died being 100 years old
It’s his amazement in behold
Mr. Hufford was the Go Greyhound showed with pride
His driving experience being his commitment in stride
Mr. Hufford saw an opportunity and didn’t try to hide
The 100 year Greyhound Bus Veteran logged in many road miles
His own public address announcement being his own style
At this driving for Greyhound in while
Mr. Hufford weathered many storms
He gave the passengers don’t worry I will keep you from harm
But he had a personal connection with all his passengers
Now Mr. Hufford was part of Greyhound’s own milestone of 100 years
He was the inspiration to other Greyhound Bus Drivers in continuing to preserver
Throughout his years in the Greyhound bus drove, you would often find his uniform always prepared to perform and shoes shined for passenger inspection
Mr. Hufford wasn’t a speculation, but was simply being the indication
He prospered in his years here on earth
He brings new life to people and Greyhound as a new birth
But the Lord called him home being the chosen Greyhound example
Mr. Hufford’s name was written in the clouds being ample
He was a humble old soul
Mr. Hufford’s was given new heights and not being a plight
This was a God’s promise being allowed
A spirit driving a Greyhound Bus around Heaven
All Aboard, Thank you Lord and just applaud.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
You were like a drug that I swallowed and let drown my arteries in while you twirled and twisted around making me feel like I was on top of the world and I was so unaware that you were so bad for me, you were killing me softly and had every intention to make me feel like I needed you to be happy, but the truth is I don't need you at all in fact my life has prospered since I stopped overdosing on you and although the temptation may linger every now and then to return to that weak, broken girl in need of your euphoria to keep me on track, I don't need you and I never did.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 9:32 AM UTC
Black holes and nebulae
Planets and stars
Phasers on stun
So no one was harmed
Black and white
Then colour and films
You were a kids hero
The stuff of dreams
Enterprise went to the stars and beyond
Tackled apartheid and other taboos
Never faltered and because of you
So Mr Spock we say Farwell
You were a hero to many a child
Go now on your journey
One to beam up
You lived long and we prospered
From knowing you
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
*poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC
The look in his eyes,
it foreshadows a fate,
his fate.
He grew under the shadow of her love,
only to be crushed when the shadow left,
and the sun crushed his pathetic soul,
ripping him up by the roots.
Was his prosperity short lived?
Some would say yes,
others no.
I, on the other hand,
believe he never prospered.
He suffered under the wing of the girl of his dreams.
Sheltered from the harsh truth,
that love *****
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
All too often I find that I keep you
Here.
I am the shackle of the revolutionary soul
The selfish platonic bond
An unhealthy chemical mixing always
with your chromosomes
You are the flower that
I picked up
And adored who became the object of my affection
In doing so
Elegantly ripped from the earth in which you prospered righteously
I killed you
I killed you so unknowingly
And if I could bring you back to life
The death of me; myself
That might bring you back to life
What will bring you back to life
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
Time of misery ends
one day , some day
but may be not today
Even summer heat ends
and rain takes its place
which too ends after some days
Smile comes , Smile goes
every minute changing emotion
as life picks its motion
The things in my room changes
as time ages everything
and I get new things
Even the girl I was five years ago
didn't remain the same
I am no longer that vain
The relationship with everyone
which I had , have changed dynamics
Some prospered , some turned tragic
All the little and big things in life is temporary
the things we treasure , and things we don't
Nothing in existence stays permanent
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
the old tale forgotten, whispers
I imagine.
Slow slow
Cali-ing an imp's pulse, a life's response to my
spondaic plea
Hear me.
Fret not, the game is afoot. Real life
has ridden the wind
to catch us up
we win again
and set us round this flame to teach us
past the games
past the practice
craft has prospered in wisdom's embrace.
taste, and see.
The story on one tongue tastes bitter, while
I always find it sweet.
The blind leader has an old horse
who always makes it
home, I have a promise I follow and
the horse is far behind, keeping pace
with the game afoot,
far behind.
When this tale is told,
may you be the first to tell it true.
--- each line I think ends the trail
--- but I think wrong
the tale and the trail are seeming symish,
here we be in this book of life, whence, if we find our name,
we remain forever.
Can you imagine? In a word realm, we may remain.
The secret is we live. That's the tale I tell.
===
it's all ish or isha, isn't it It, the nameless
missing wished for thing,
the
exact which one,
we all feel we lack.
A touch never felt, but hoped for
through the pain,
oh, the shame.
Yours, the blame.
---- old man not so old
---- all the lies that you were told
---- were told to all since Cain, these are the common chains.
The mission, the quest to bher the blame away in phors o'shame,
while holding all the truth
a word may logically hold ina reasonable realm,
a word realm
whence, in the be
gin or gen ing (on going ing ing ing)
Genius ginning seed from fibers fit t'make threads
fine as spider webs,
watch, chile, watch this bobbin spin and spin and spin
soon be baby sleep in full-on gamma state,
while gran'ma spin the cotton wit' no thought of a wheel.
By and by, we see things beginnin' better, from seed up.
Sgt. Why-kill calls me, from the VA hospital, in MIami,
why you interupptin me , Why-kill? He say
stroke-slow, y'know
I -- a whole next word duration twixt each tongue-lip config
and some repeats due to ram slips
He got it out, said he had to tell you (me) to remember,
All things work together.
Incredulous me, I ask, really, you called to tell me that?
No,
he said
you said you would call, from time to time,
so I figured you forgot. The mission is to live true.
No lie, I replied.
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
PART ONE OF THREE
"I know your works; you are
neither cold nor hot, I am about to
spit you out of my mouth.
For you say, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing."
You do not realize that you are
wretched, pitiable, poor, blind,
and naked. Therefore I council you
to buy from me gold refined by fire
so that you may be rich; and white
robes to clothe you to keep the shame of your nakedness from being seen; and salve to annoint your eyes that you may see. I reprove and discipline those whom I love. Be earnest, therefore, and repent."
Revelation 3:14-19
NRSV
Most of what I hear preached from the pulpit today in the US (and indeed around the world) is this,
"When the tribulation comes, the church ("saved") will be raptured out and the lost will be "Left Behind" to endure God's wrath. So don't worry church! The "saints" will go into the clouds to be with Jesus!"
***Bleeeeeep! Wrong answer!!!
Lies!*** From the PULPIT!!!
That's not what JESUS CHRIST said above. Those who are not fit for the Kingdom will have to endure Satan's wrath! God's wrath comes later! To punish the wicked.
And, yep. There is JUDGEMENT.
*R E P R O O F
C H A S T I Z E M E N T
P U N I S H M E N T*
Where in the Bible does it say God is a softie? That HE can be MOCKED?
That He's a Santa Claus in the sky come to give lotto winnings to his "good" little kids?
I'm talking to the CHURCH.
We are preaching
FALSE DOCTIRINE. PERIOD,
IF THE CHURCH DOESN'T
R E P E N T
in sackcloth and ASHES
FAST and PRAY
like there's no
TOMORROW
(which there literally isn't)
they will take the brunt of
SATAN'S WRATH
For those who are found worthy there will be PROTECTION.
Read Psalm 91.
Thank you for reading all of this.
There will be three parts to this sermon. Please read them ALL.
THANK YOU!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Like roots we grew together
And through light we prospered
And with the love of nature we bloomed into a plentiful tree
But then we grew separate
Our limbs parting in opposite directions
And even though we were close enough to feel the presence of one another
We would never meet again
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Money determine many people success.
Except I wealthy enough without it.
My success lies within your love.
A mansion I might not have.
Or servants at my beckon call.
But I do have you.
I'm wealthy enough to earn your love.
In truth.
I have prospered with you by my side.
I have an abundance of riches, I can't even mention.
You're my substance.
You're my love.
And I'm wealthy enough having you to love.
Our love has a value.
That only we understand.
An affluence that others wants to explore.
So money I might not have.
I can say this about us.
I'm wealthy enough just having your love.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
Wait is the word
heard,
sensed, is, perhaps, the better way to say
wait is the thought
the sign, signal initial init,
to wit,
you, you wit this by your wittiness, as you
wish
you could crawl from the cave
Imagine it were you, bred and fed in dark,
flicker lit shadows on the rocks
name them, name these things you see in
flicker lit shadows on the rocks
Send the hunters now to find them, gift them
fire to see their way,
good light,
gluck, gut gluck
Between the rivers of Babylon, we wept
not for the city, but
for the peace.
Words with out, out with words,
mean meant words, anger, hate
what thought is this in this word hate,
evil, in a word.
taste and see, sweet. Venge again,
love it, love it love it
oops.
Dopamagic
rewarded
safe, senseless, sleep. Wait.
Waiting is, suffer it to be so.
waiting brings no pain,
waiting is watching
Time is spent
perceiving
receiving
conceiving
conceit
deceipitic deception revere
the be guiled named the beguiler
hell is imagined
Satan, the Great Shatan, the deceiver,
the poets who prospered
while lying
and adding lies to the canon included
in the fruit of the tree of knowledge
The unconscienced demi-urge, oh Jah,
in a word
hmmmm in Polynesian POV
Imaginary hells work, why then,
should no trials imagining
heaven work as well?
The old man at the back, raises one digit,
he bids us wait, and
slowly rises
full height, he is not bent with care,
flicted with spotty doubt nor
wavering aim.
You, also know,
Christ had no mythology.
you know that. You know that.
you know
absolute knowledge
you trust that's known, right.
you trust that's known right.
No, you don't.
I do.
You must wait to prove me wrong.
Meanwhile,
watch and see.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
Took root on stony ground,
Prospered on infertile soil
And sheltered under nature's canopy.
Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And he lived and thrived there
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.
Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Back to the same old me, the very being to splinter. Had I seen it coming I could have stocked up on happy feelings for my emotional winter. That single glimmer of my true north all behind me the irony too much to tackle straight on. I ranted on and on and on, feelings clinging to me expecting release and finding the very bottles they were meant to be stored. Nothing more of me to give, I wept silently. Holding shame, accepting blame, all thought within my brain had managed to shoot from my head. A chain had broken, All hope was dead. Slugging now through halted gears and slowed micro-thoughts. breaking apart every mistake as if looking for a cure. Nothing prospered, mark the end.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC