"redemptions" poems
Ignorances innate wove curtain of veils
Cut usunder heretofore obscuring
Bodhicittas valedictory wintry gloom torn
Of enlightenments will factioning the
Silenced mammonish city kingdom truced
As the wings of Azrael clinch
Earthly thistles; monolithic raiments
Deposed Hull, Hell and Halifax parcae
The willowing of light unfettering Fenrirs
Durance, howling aconite psalms suspiring
Suffrage relict paving with mewed stars
Redemptions tithed talents bequeathed
Of Heavens sinister prayer burning
Acinta dusts thine ashes threading
The wilful sword of Gods destruction.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
she hovers over the handwritten letter
with maniacal grin gripping her face
as she devours his texted words
with weeping eyes
and she sings in unnatural tones a child's lullaby in some
forgotten french dialect
delightful reflections in song of the garden gate
leaning broken onto the rough hewn path
where the soulless cherubs cherish their seed
in haphazard rows cherub faces sling silent tears
and labour at the desires never felt and
the dark soils never fertile
seeking redemptions in the rebirth of the harvest moon
which decorates the far wall of the tomb
the cherubs brief delighted laughters
soon sputter and fail
as in the dying light of day
reveals that they must labour yet another day
to no useful end
she lives in this place
a cottage of straw with dark windows
and a wood stained door
she sits on its porch with knitting in hand
weaving futures for her beloved cherubs
weaving pasts for her own
she devoured him like she did his words
and came home to roost
like her innocent faced dragoons
she will someday march forth with this army of doom
but today she is content to be contrite
knitting porridge and whey wall hangings
from the tables of the
steampunk princess
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
i detoxed myself under this pale sun
(you stood by and watched the
unfolding saga all the while
questioning the meaning of zen)
the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
(can you recover your own fumbles?)
every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
(my love for this is a game of solitaire)
i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.
i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
(i have seen you ignoring me)
in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
(you will know me by the number of the dead)
i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.
i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.
i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.
Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
(aren't you proud?)
(isn't he cute?)
i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
(what do you know about pain?)
i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe
my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....
i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...
i have run out of things to sacrifice
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
The Tingling
Pulsing
Throbbing sensation.
The thought
Of your sweet slow
***********
The approval to claim your
Deepest Redemptions
Your Temptations
Delivering me
Blissful Salvation.
Belly button deep
Seeking for keeps
Your palms grip my hips,
My hips switch
Like a gypsy.
You bewitch me.
Twitching
Writhing
Spell-bound beneath me.
You beseech me.
Eyeballs rolling back into their rightful sockets
If you can pry the clasps open ill give you the key to the locket
Like Future said,
Ill put your heart in my pocket.
Soaring inside me to destinations reached only by rockets.
Fingers tantalizing hard *******
Love fluid gushing with rip tide strength ripples.
Mary Jane modeling between my fingers,
Idoling bliss towards the tips,
My fingers seek a settling seat upon the floor of your luscious lips
-Lust at your own risk
Inhale the kush
Push me to the depths of my mattress
Submerge me beyond the sheets,
Beyond the springs underneath,
Beyond the heights of my wildest dreams
Make me shy, make me fly
Provide me your name so I can surrender and scream.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
A word gathering dust on my internal junk shelf,
Inseparable, it would seem, from my ego.
Assuredly it seems just a threat to my health;
It's a surefire harm to my heart, this I know.
But once given the chance to examine my state,
As impossible as it seemed to let go,
I saw glimpses of wisdom, redemptions of fate,
Which swore to this word’s worth, its quo.
For when read alone, on a page in my mind,
The “him” was the syllabic gong that rang twelfth.
But I took a fresh gaze, and upon my collate
Saw its syllabic partner alone; saw the “self.”
My “self,” I then saw, was discovered through “him;”
Made naked, and shivering, and new.
He’d unveiled hottest passions, and fears, with great stealth.
So “him” I can thank, now the word’s split in two.
Driven apart by an unlikely shim,
I have his remains, but see more clearly my “self.”
The dust I will likely now brush off my shelf,
For uttering the loveliest elision since “him.”
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
You sit on the holy hollow thrown in my body.
Calling for salvation, claiming camaraderie
The internal tick I tend to mend,
sits on my chest, sinks into my irises.
A sip, a snort, a huff whisper safe promises.
You are the thumb I **** singing lullabies to sleeping peace,
the knife I carry down dark streets.
You are the doctor I call when I break my arm,
the scarf I wear in winter storms.
But too,
You are the *** hole in main streets,
and a broken belt in the drivers seat,
the sour milk in my fridge when I make English tea.
You've put salt in my sugar.
You are the feet that fall asleep in a moment of danger.
You are a beautiful thought waiting to unfold on black paper.
You sit on the holy hollow thrown in my body.
Commanding toxic tensions, comforting ill redemptions.
But
The kingdom we live in is drinking resilience,
mind stepping back into its brilliance.
You still sit on the holy thrown in my body.
But I too fight for survival
and you still dable with devils.
But the battles I face are no longer hollow,
and sometimes I miss the comfort of denial.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Whispers questioning foreigners
Building tension from table across
Take a knife and dissect differences
The eyes light, oestrogen unequalises
Taunting demons flirting and damning
Why do you need to case in boxes?
Daunted, a downwards destruction
Demolitions makes the peace go away
Maps are just a physical division of space
A worth that float and boasts territories
How can we ever make this go away?
Barbaric conceptions, traumatic redemptions
The discernment pleading patriotism
Humanity claiming one consciouness
Nationality embodied in bordered lines
A contradictory label leading to disunion
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
flight
flowing
elderberries
and the
syrup of rebellion
see
sails
snail-pace
along the highway
man's
view
finder
and pointing
shouting
the breath of the ever present
nature
fumed
scent
age appropriate
apocalypses
redemptions
conclusions
painted vividly stroked
it's late!
too late!
foe fry
fun
and i sailed
in the view finder
in the fumed
scent
in the anxious awaiting
calls
not sure whether to find you
hello.
i wish.
i wonder.
are you really that surprised?
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
he don't talk much now that his spirit been broke
a man of few words that lost the joy a smile evokes
he don't speak of the good times anymore
feeling all the money in his pockets has left him poor
he don't raise his head much when he writes
ignoring the lovers and families around him tonight
he just pushes that pen looking for solutions and answers
scared of every lonely day coming like a slow cancer
he hates the eyes staring back in the mirror's glare
he hates the ways he sees that they use to care
and prayer don't work 'cause no one ever whispers back
he's a slow, trudging train on the endless track
of regret pushing and shoving for redemptions
feeling love all around him and his own lowly exemption
and he'll chat with you if you ask
but the words and stories you'll hear are just a mask
secretly he holds hands with a little boy
who's not coming back to be his favorite dandy toy
he's still holding his hand and only looking back
surviving each of his heart's attacks
with the bottle, with a guise, using memories to patch the cracks
and peace is all he asks
how I pray for him to find a healing, completely
dear God, how I wish he wasn't me
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
There are ridiculously fragile moments
in the midst of the night
Where the ridicules and redemptions
of a previous life
Replay and reset
But they left their manners at home
and refuse to forgive or forget
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Carboned over this mythical troll
petrified nails clutch
a tattered scroll
the paper cracks beneath his grip
a wince a glance
a careful snip
featured in this ancient scroll
a script? a poem?
a captured soul?
hearts then mourned with shoulders dipped
his thoughts, his truths
his words once lipped
satans feathers' on his
buried blades
his words, his redemptions,
still...
escapades!
carboned over this mythical troll
with petrified nails... with tattered scroll
a glance, a grip
of ancient blight
prose in hand
is the writers might
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
There are evident walls of invisible matter which maintain the appearance of enviable rectitude, even though the blatancy of our traits confront the myriad of personal dishonesties over timeless planetary separations of union.
So delicate are those seemingly subconscious mechanisms which are subject to our explanatory naïveté and unfathomable presumption.
In this case of psychological avalanche, every metaphorical snowflake within our lives has offered a “not guilty” plea.
Oh, jurors of celestial cities, our mantras have subsided down slopes of exploratory fumbling where excitatory satin slips from the shoulders of a wanton seductress of socio-political exploitation.
Let us ***** an altar, and present an offering to the universe, which surpasses the veneer of familiarity and self-righteous redemptions.
After all, our fantasies are a reality, don’t you think?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
some say they are and some say they are not
some say they are not sure
life must mean something
for all our troubles,trials, restitutions and redemptions
what can all these tests possibly mean
they surely can't be all for nothing
at the end of our time
we account for something
or what is the use of it all
i say i am always wanting to do better and be better
building my steadfast foundation
not sand castles enveloped in quick sand.
my character is fired from a piece of coal
to a brilliant diamond
pristine diamond striving to be flawless
as a white innocent lamb
with not a blemish nor a black spot on my soul
my soul rests in peace.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
.
*Angels cleansing earth
Robins sun after short rains
Pulling out the worms*
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
California dreaming
In the naked cold
Frozen all around me
Lay the deadened odes
Songs of past redemptions
I may never see
Bring me to the ocean
Bring me to the sea
Somewhere far from darkness
Rests the peaceful heart
Find the yearning slumber
To pull you far apart.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
LOSS
The violent waters hitting against my fragile face become bullets that punch holes through me.
I struggle to breath; as gravity deserts me because weakness left me hanging.
I look up to the heavens, I ask this god! I question the universe…..
Why me? In this center stage I cry out! I scream! Can you hear me, Loss?
The echoes of my own voice paralyze me, left unanswered like so many of my silent yet loud prayers.
I dream of a dream where I stare down death everyday yet never befriend it.
I am a man who is running against time, hoping and wishing for the impossible. Am I sane?
I knocked on redemptions door as the heavens renounced my own mere existence.
Pain dug itself a grave and held a funeral for itself after it met “my pain”
It was a day to remember as I saw on death’s face a feeling of remorse.
Death felt pity for me; he did regret his selfless decisions of taking those I love.
Yet again I dare to use this word that I know nothing of! “LOVE”
I yearn to see a friendly face in the empty crowd; I wish to see the invisible.
I try to mirror my own horrid voice and compulsive acts
My own tears are no longer a defense against my own defense
Life slips through my fingers swiftly though as if it was water passing through
I look down on this grave and I see, I witness what life robbed me of!
All these people talk about is a land of milk and honey; does it exist?
If it does, could I departure any sooner?
I try to see the rainbow beyond this darkness… I try to witness hope.
Loss has me tied down; in its deathly grip I wriggle under death itself.
Loss has given me deathly blows that the devil never gave me.
Loss is a fiend , a master of pain beyond pain
Loss I beseech thee, keep away from my circle
Loss, in this deathly platform, I forgo myself for the “others”
Loss in this dais I am a loss to you.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
people used to be at home officially,
provide invitations, wait for teas,
the convenient cake.
in another world, i am at home,
invitation revoked,
no need for refreshment. then.
yet the friends shall come, needing no formal,
notifications or redemptions.
it will be a pleasant day, as the hills
go down, many tremblous things
abound.
while all the while you stay quiet,
boxed, fading into your own silence.
i left the note by the clock, the calling card.
sbm.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
she gives nothing to the night
just waits quiet for its passing
here by the light of her candle
she waits as nights heavy feet slowly tread their intended path
as its myriad of small creatures
with their fanfares of babylon thunder and roll
their thousands voices wailing bitter and ceaseless
their thousands sharp claws rending the dreams from the dreamers
here in the prayers of her soulful reflections
she hears nights dark hand tapping at her door
hoping in vain to unleash her upon the free winds
hoping to strip away her adornments like a tissue of lies
so that she would stand as innocence in moonlight
with her perfections and beauties to be loved by the sea
until she was empty
here in the cradle of her hour
she awaits the fairer face of dawn
whom with lighted step and naught but the
chimes of birdsong shall usher away the
last of nights rabble sweeping them gently aside
with dawns ever sweet natures
to find and comfort all thouse
waiting for the redemptions that the light of day
sheds upon all thouse who fear they have been slandered by nights hand
she timidly opens her haven
as dawn moves past
and with childlike smiles she steps to the path of her ventures
till night come speeding down the dusty road once again seeking the hand of fairest maidens once again when day flees
to her wearied bed in the west
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
*In the traffic of God's ocean
Commanded by the undertow
Enveloped in colors previously unknown
Working the bottom as if tethered to land ,
awaiting redemptions sure hand* .....
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
Midnight,
An hour for evil to be smite.
The fallen angel said: let there be night!
And God said: let there be light!
Tis’ the hour of His birth,
And the time of our rebirth.
Oh, believers of the heavens,
Tis’ the hour of your redemptions!
To within our souls,
God has sloped his hands over Heaven’s grassy knolls
To cleanse the ink of sin
That too many of our free-wills are stained within.
On the eve of His birth
And the time of our prayer for rebirth,
All the peoples of the Faith dance in spirit,
So, tis’ the night our Lord shall save it!
Oh, sinners of the of the earth themselves
Best pray for their holy escape,
Redeem yourselves! Release yourselves
from Lucifer’s black cape!
The light of our Faith skewers any darkness with a holy sword,
For the newborn babe of this hour of our Lord.
As brilliant, and mighty as he will one day stoutly stand;
Leading us of the true Faith through every land!
Within a humble manger,
Over a now sanctified bed of hay,
Far from sinful danger,
The King of Kings lay.
Our Faith and Pride follow!
For those filled with sorrow.
Open your arms for the redeemer!
For a true child of God finds this not as a dreamer!
Breaking every bind between Faith and sin,
The Lord has freed the believers in the world they abode in.
We now on this night see a sinner; a slave,
But by the grace of holy-love, we now see a brother that unto us fate gave.
And for this, we are forever grateful to Him
And we shall on Christmas Eve sing his hymn.
From His birth, to His suffering, to His rebirth.
So, now tis’ the hour of His birth.
Believers die to rise,
Sinners die to have a fall so grim.
In death we rise.
In death we rise with Him!
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
“Two strange souls cradled by the same fate just meet in a voyage of lifetime. first the eyes ,then the lips the arms & then the body embraces with one another. Meanwhile, a promise is weaved ..a promise not to let each other go whatever happens.. not just a tryst between two beings but two soul chosen by the fate to love each other..Cursing along the somber their eternal journey …little do they know on this Ocean of tranquility , a storm awaits that would delineate a new destiny in their lives. The moon which is always Luminescent has made ties with the fire of hell today…has turned red perhaps damming the ravage that will be flood soon..but they are Oblivious to this Omen .busy as ever to invigorate the other significant..For them its still a bright day, their eyes gazing the azure of the blanket in which the whole Atlantic is draped…
At far north the ominous forces are opening the gates of hell..the ship has finally entered the Spider’s web…Meanwhile the two divine souls still holding each others arms are walking together, standing together, for they know it has to be this way..Soon the time has its own way..the ground underneath them started to vanish in the avarice of water..Screams of innocent souls can be heard nearby..chaos, panic has flooded the whole ambience..Perhaps the time is laughing at them and them.”
Amidst somewhere in this vortex of annihilation.. the couple is holding tight let this wreckage be their haven. the warmth of love is perhaps mauled by the cold fear of uncertainty. their voices shaking as their future…”FOR THIS DAY I NEED YOU THE MOST,FOR THIS DAY THE FATE HAS BROUGHT US TOGETHER,FOR THIS DAY WE SHaLL STAND….FOR THIS DAY WE HOLD TOGETHER..FOR THIS PROMISE SHALL NEVER BE BROKEN”………..REMEMBER THIS MY QUEEN..AND PROMISE ME YOU ARE THEre WITH ME IN THIS …o..or… even I die..You never leave me…”..NOW ITS TIME FOR ME TO GO…YOU WILL FIND ME IN THE STARS.KEEP LOOKING ABOVE ……………….
… a hymn that shall echo in SERENE Atlantic..for every soul that crosses over ,it’s the hymn that earmarks for Optimism .faith and love……
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
"Pass me to the light of day, Son."
In last moments of this life, with all farewells, salutations and redemptions resolved...
I would tell my son, look for me in dawn... I have told god, let me live the next lifetime as dawn, 24 hours... I want to see and touch it all...
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
Oh redemption for redemptions sake
In every fold and every ache
Come to aspire and set my dreams a fire
In every redemption, therein a liar
From that soft and shallow plain
The effervescent storm still remains
Where stars are etched on my shore
It is only your name, and nothing more
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
It seems like I had just woke up from a yond
Then remembering walking on a spring day captivated by a pond
Yet time was steadily moving on
Several events took place during 2014
Let’s see and explore
Several Black youth that had been killed
The world is reacting still
GOP now have the house and the Senate
I hate to say but we are in it
The White House was invaded in several situations with intruder’s who had guns on the White House yard
Yet Secret Service didn’t do their job right, and however they did get far
Winter paid an early visit
Weather conditions apply
Now comes the oh my
2014 which is coming to an end
2015 will soon begin
A world is thinking perhaps and possible suppose
While others are ponding on those
Prosperous engraved like a mount
The years past that we can count
Thanks for the experience
2015 will endure endurance
But rest assured
We continued to have life in applause
We must think on new challenges in achieve
Looking to God’s mercy in receive
We must conquer our own redemptions
We must see the right and expel the wrong
Yet we must all remain strong
God’s grace is where we all belong
Let there be peace within our troubled hearts
Let the image be more than reflection in the mark
I pray for a world that will come together in unity
This means around world into every community
Races upon Races uniting as one
End of story and I am done.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Can you erase a face of the past
can you leave that look in the dark
will you ever put that person last
or will you always feel that special spark
someone so close and special one time
has turned into a simple poem or rhyme
was that really all that they meant to you
or can the rules of love be bent for new
are there special exemptions
or certain redemptions
i was never taught how to feel love
or how to let it go like a soaring dove
should you release what you cannot hold
before it turns so cold and old
or should you keep what you maybe can fix
try and build it up like a stack of bricks
so many different twisted situations
will your choice meet the strict expectations
or can you erase a face of the past
can you leave that look in the dark
will you ever put that person last
or will you always feel that special spark?
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC