"reckonings" poems
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
***** of echoes, the virile resonance quaking lust -
Throbbing caverns shudder to ****** inciting vestal musk
Entranced of nocturnal bedevilment - barefaced in galactic greens,
Spores ethereal yet concealed to the Queen
Sumptuous omphalos; her ecstatic womb engulfing the bloom,
Carnal reckonings devoid of Mosaic release as panting creatures swoon
Vigorous pollination morphing the nectarean sheath
Roused stamen shrivel in an animus induced retreat
Again we'll rise to salute our idol
In burning continuance:
Fertility extolled
With pleasure recompensed.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
A jaundiced adaptation
of fillers raucous threats
attempts obsolete mimicking
in a conspicuous pomposity
of disfigured reckonings
slipped us the tongue of your
ostentatious audacity
mid judgmental manifestations
Disengaged, as our eyes grew dim
' neath the masquerade
of multiplex duplicity
**who the ****** hell do you think you are?**
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
~
who knows the definition of a poet?
~
*for my friend, S.Y,
who I will embrace with both hands,
both eyes, when he hands me a signed copy of a book
that answers the question*
weighty subjects deserve your best work,
expressions of affection and introspection,
need careful reflection, a proper set up for the
tumult inevitable when delving in the unopened recesses
where the answers kept
so, of course, the writing commences well after 1:00am,
when the darkness of night clarifies the process,
for I work by day but live by night,
when summoning up my one tool no one can take away,
the joy, the relief, the spectacular exultation of
rearranging the aleph bet in new ways,
when the quietude of reflection transports me
across the continents in visions of what will be
I don't know if I know the answer, perhaps, any answers,
but when this man demands
the ebb tides of soul to depart,
to make him stand alone on the shore of endings,
forcing him to acknowledge his reckonings,
lonely, only humanity and frailties
I hear a voice gruff growling and me laughing-
"cut to the chase, make your point, get out of people’s way"
so in your honor, this simp fool who asks questions
no human has any business, the answers knowing,
will one last stanza grant and give and
yours to keep,
and commence countdown waiting for that day of welcoming
*from the underground comes a chorus of voices,
in one voice but many languages, chanting:*
***all humans are poets
who acknowledge and freely confess that the
blood and stuff, the kisses and the touches of family and friends,
parent and child,
are the ***** and the egg,
the beginning and the circulation of the never ending,
the open entrance that penetrates the berm surrounding real life,
all these are the root and the stem and the blossoming,
of poetry writ large, for they who have these in their possess,
are surely by definition certainly
humans, poets***
~
5/14/17 2:05am
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 2:37 AM UTC
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
Cars,
Like coffee pots,
Break down,
And more so,
When you least want them to.
So imprisoned,
The frigid,
And with no power-windows,
We didn’t care about the heat,
Only the smoke
That now stung our eyes –
Two-fold
Atop already open wounds,
And the cancerous,
Lying in wait, most often,
Indiscriminately.
So enters the second urge,
And it controls me,
I don’t control “it;”
“It” being a mood frosted
Amnesia, free,
Like beer’s hiss,
At the crack of a can.
And like beer,
“It” runs out
When the money does;
All too quickly to be
Replaced by the
Haunts of –
Bill collectors, war
And the knife in the drawer.
Something beckons when
We spot a diner from within
The snowbound derelict
We reside.
Scraped change and reckonings,
We can afford a few,
Drinks.
Forgotten were the coats when
We abandon ship, abandon you,
Abandon me,
And more importantly,
The haunts;
Our chariot, a remain,
A wreck on shores unknown
With bodies, perhaps,
Left for the living come spring.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
darling,
lift that fingertip away from your scars
and trace these ragged map-lines instead
here, here are better roads to take
than loneliness
so maybe your knuckle feels much too bare
but know that our fingers are not made to sit waiting
for a ring –
they are built to hold
so hold – find another set of fingers
grasping for a stronger pair of hands
there is nothing more beautiful than two small limbs
making a home in each other
or better yet, when your bones feel
too big for his too-full arms and too brittle
for the weight of your sadness
hold yourself together, never let go
when the night is too full of night
to see the stars, take a mirror and try to
search for the starstuff in you
you. the point between history and tomorrow
the most graceful of reckonings
the steady hum of more, more beneath cracking skin
you. the sum of all things soft and true
and remember: those bones were never built to
shoulder the world
they were only ever meant
to carry you
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
*Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.
Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.
The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.
We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.
Walk on our own, on our own two feet.
And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.*
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
You are like a paisley sunrise -
A tapestry of gorgeous spirit.
Your sheets radiant with laughter
Are patchouli spiced dances
In the sweltered tunings of cooling dusk.
Now Eros' altars wafting incense;
Sepia backbones stir spectral sighs.
Poised for splendid primal reckonings
Back door brains melt lucid minds
For in fluidity we thrive.
Through eyeing eternity
the prophecy is absolved
By monastic deflection I
Gained what the animals saw
Gypsy moth set your passion in plaster
Metamorphosis looms wherein
Wings strive thereafter
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
i grew up in a patch
of green
low rolling hill
tumbling sky
red maple picnics
cool earth
roses at the chain link
spring's surprise
play dates out front
shoddy wooden hideaway
to the rear
woodpile-beware!
sister scarred
angry bees collect
red-shingled horizon
white shack
rear view
laundry-line perimieter
prison yard
beware
invisible fence line
irish drunks
right side
wife shouts
captures best friend
back-rear torment
pup trapped
evil about
boys and bruised knees
cheek kisses
and sunset
bike rides
snack spot
woods of death
the sky fed me
my roots
tightly woven
spanned, undisturbed
summer mornings
on the run
heat like fire
pebbles, glass
walking on
escape, run, be wild
dreams your navigator
loose teeth
mother's hugs
father's presence
marlboroughs
motor, artistically
deconstructed
colored red
powered escape hatch
off-license
long gone
tree trunk porch presence
dead bird picnic
red-slatted bridge
fruit spider visitor
tiny rodent winter traps
screaming zia
e mamma
adniamo
basta!
communion veil
st. albans bound
pappa, look!
gum stuck hair
and
ruined sleeve
tumbled jacks
fruit loop bed
times
mas*h
glass box
from the carpeted
haven
orange-smokey
scent
beat downs behind
the woodstove
hair-dragged reckonings
begging
cries
anger passed down
mother to
mother
to
brother
pray, midnight
smoke
sleepless-haunted
hell
i grew in no-man's land
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
Sun falls, moon rising . . .
Crows splattering throught day,
. . . Two pieces of night.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Wish to be an unmoving mountain,
Snow clasped, untouched and cold.
A big lenticular cloud casting its shadow,
Over the peak, that has the view of a world.
I see myself failing to achieve this,
A curious mind is often a curse.
There's a little whisper and chatter,
Like a curious deer, I stick my antlers in
Someone has built a little dwelling,
I hear the stomp and the noise now.
As I watch, don't wish to be bothered,
But stealthily I observe now.
Curious mind , Oh! it should explode,
If I don't tend to it now, so I must know,
Just a little peek , is all I want ,
Promise to tiptoe back safely.
I speak not, of the many misadventures,
That shaped my past and my being.
Intense reckonings that are a bit distasteful,
Remind me to stay away from the drama.
A peek is all it takes, the stranger knows now,
Let's get acquainted , they say to me.
I shake my head in a 'yes' reluctantly,
Oh curiosity! you have me in your grasp again!
Little by little, it seeps into your mind,
As curiosity and desire go hand in hand,
Just a tiny bit , I should know their story,
What makes them , the way they are.
I invite them, into my own dwelling now.
Show them this minds artful creation,
Stories for stories in exchange,
From acquaintance to friends now.
Curiosity flows like the river now,
Washing away the sands of time,
Missing those cues to stop now,
Oversharing and sharing secrets.
They Talk, I talk , a little more everytime,
The never ending stories of times past.
Some more of the present now,
It seems, I put my trust in them.
I know their secrets but do I dare?
They know mine, and yes they can tell,
My failures, vulnerabilities and fears,
All's an open book for their eyes.
A book they gladly share and overshare,
Till the rim bursts and the pages swell.
All my bruises known to all,
Who else to blame and names do I call.
Alas, I have been a fool again!
Drowning to the oceans depth,
Wished I be the unmoving mountain,
Even reaching it's base is now uncertain.
You've done the deed and is yours only,
To bear the fruit of your own desire,
Distasteful, bitter and cold,
I sit undone, forlorn burning in a pyre.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 1:59 PM UTC
Shall I reckon all my reckonings?
Or shall I leave them be at best?
Are my reckoning of intellect?
Or are others' more and mine just less?
Could one differentiate what others have begun?
Or are we to remain and pretend tis' fun?
He who swears best always pertains to such a mess.
Art thou entertained by the thought of a child's game?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
Enter discreetly, and proceed to take a pew;
Artsy fartsy culture camo lines the wall
like morning dew. A raptured window
sits atop a glazing gall, enthralling all;
As fetished hook propels, sinks in and pulls you through.
Decked obsequis with dire strands of self set, alight;
Mixing murmers; Churning, gurning grunts and groans,
stoking sight. Essence blossoms
effervescently, into warbled drone;
Symphony of souls, atoned, erupting, blood accrued might.
Dark set eyes behind the counter, counts another crop;
Foppish foolery as skin set sore adored
by boorish mop; Head of hair
aligned, entwined, principle annulled but ******
Evoked Muse's invocation, released enormous slop adored.
Finally a noise devoid of touch, howls reified;
Chair despair sets into tumbled, mumbled call,
plea defied. Shoddy surgeon's hand
demands, gropes alleyway to shadowed hall,
Sits abreast infernal mechanites for deified brawl.
Creeping shadows come'a'peeping, Uncle Tom'a'weeping wonder,
blunders through the choice of sticky sheen
Resists the proper plunder. Whirring warrior
begins assault on castles primly stoked for seen;
Seams amended, blackened blood serene provoking chunder stream.
Followed Zeitgeist back to Black. Slow daunter back to blue;
Repairs conceptions of the Self within the mirror visored stew;
Anew the reckonings of where and why, Oh how freshly do they die
As left to see another in thyself, and loudly to decry:
Decry the aspects of bad health, no longer put upon the shelf
Stealthy pox and watermarks depart to leave aesthetic wealth;
Dealt in depths and crepts of cunning folk behind the trademarked lens
Obssessed with visibility, maneuvures us towards our end(s).
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
i write at night
when the world goes quiet...
the time is right
meanings, reflections
all that's been acquired
flow to words keynotes to times...
that have expired
the comings and goings of
things now a mist
soon take life's reckonings
that seem to persist
a place, a face... bumps and clicks
clocks filled with daylight and
slow-burning wicks
shuttered terraces ablaze
in the sun
closed and forgotten
march on a breathless run
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC
Ghosts flicker behind her eyelids
Like dust falling upon grass
A faint buzzing; an irritant ever persistent
In the shadowed blink of her eyes
Phantoms mist past her lips
Like Air curling in step to waltz
An echo of broken promises; reckonings foretold
In the upturned tilt of her smile
Spirits swim through her fingers
Like water sprinting rapids down mountains
A mocking tale of trickery and revenge bound
In the feverish flight of her palm.
Apparitions dance through her hair
Like fire twisting embers to the sky
A vision to escape; hope burning for freedom
In the wild tresses of her chestnut mane
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC