"repentant" poems
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death
on the breath of Spring.
I imagined it being tossed out a truck window
by underage teens fancying themselves clever
and mature and immortal
as if the earth had willed upon them
that her stolen treasure, Aluminum,
be returned or she’d cause their truck keys
disappear for all eternity.
I picked up the blue bottle
tried to feel resurrection
in a recycling sort of way
felt instead only the hollow emptiness
of mindless eternal reincarnation.
Winter had been long this year and lately
I fantasized resurrection more than usual
at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle.
Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot.
At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more,
then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head,
in self-inflicted baptism
for my own blue bottle sins,
opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments,
pulled out of the water
gasping the holy Spring air
for dear life
and thereafter walked each step
in the garden of resurrection.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
I definitely won’t make any apologies for saying this
and if anyone isn't careful she’ll leave them in a ditch.
But don't get me wrong, I am not referring to any woman by that name
only to the powers of deception that are played within the devil's game.
When you consider how much trouble she has caused;
without a moment’s lapse or of one repentant paused,
in human affairs over the years since the advent of man;
it’s a wonder that she hasn’t yet been flushed in the pan.
In case you might just be wondering what I’m talking about
Maya is the female equivalent of Satan who is a **** lout,
and who plays around deceiving anyone that ignores the Truth
which has been ingrained in our mind and heart since our youth.
In fact anything that is Divine, noble, good and of inestimable worth
Maya will try to turn it around into a thing seeming of much less birth.
She thus plays around with our emotions causing one to doubt and fear
where the reality of a situation would be to have faith and some cheer.
Her main battle is waged within a vulnerable human heart and mind
especially when an individual is undergoing difficulties of any kind.
She is also the one who arouses anger, jealousy, lust, greed and pride,
being full of all those traits herself and more she projects them outside.
We must try and be aware of the extent of her subtle delusion
and escape any entanglement in the net of her worldly illusion;
that so many people are now caught up in without their real knowing
not realising that Love and Truth are the things most worth showing.
______________________________
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
The cult moves in
circle. Stargazing
starts. You lie buried in
wet retreat. Eyes protruding
The veil sends a sweet death.
The death. Only you would
know, what was the conversation
between the repentant
and priest.
Superfluous. To beautify
the grimace. The lips―
always cheat.
A black cloud devours the moon.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Unburden me my wiley friend from all my mundane woes
Release the threads that bind me here, submit me to your throes
Happily you blur the lines and change the days perspective
Mollify me with your lies and kindly dope objective.
It’s pleasant here, I have no care to change this altered state
Inhibitions lose their power to taunt me and berate
I perform well, I entertain, I please so easily
Popular I find myself within your potency
But soon I find the last drops have now dried up in the glass
Your soothing draft has poured its fill, your best has come to pass
And in its wake you leave for me a tender raw emotion
That carries me upon a wave of heady dissolution
The tears they stream, I am a mess, back down to earth I plummet
All former worries amplify now you have reached your summit
I was misled, you’re not my friend, a pariah in disguise
You sought to trick and confuse me put beer goggles on my eyes
So now into my bed I crawl to rest with bland submission
The toilet has already shared with me your vile emissions
I close my eyes I pray for sleep, my head already throbbing
I enter sleep in throes of self-absorbed, repentant sobbing
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.
my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
fibonacci
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying....
....ad infinitum...
another spoon,
to my mouth.
stop....
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....
and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
numbers,
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
maze.
they play and add and hop and
grow,
in an unending trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.
at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic
trifle....
if i am honest with myself
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,
believed abstractions:
one;
after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my all time favourite)
two;
fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)
and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable
connsumption.
i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
see....
what it is to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.
(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they..
...no rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
He sat, completely repentant
He had hurt her before, he knew
There was defeat in his shoulders
"I would like to pray about this," he said, searching for change in a greater aspect.
Beratement
Scolding
She needs a husband who's going to be around
Better around beating than away?
He had put that past behind him
She felt reason to bring it up
Over
And
Over
She needs a husband
He's there, but apparently,
Not enough
Miscommunication
Frustration
Defeat in his being
She keeps talking and talking
Saying the same things over and over
Beating him with the same verbal stick
He feels awful
He knows his wrongs
He lacks self forgiveness
He fears himself
He fears losing her due to his own actions
He desires to pray
He wants, and is seeking change
She's stuck
Stick in hand
Ready,
On the attack
Prayer
She's stuck in a
Loop
No forgiveness in the
Hardened heart
He's defeated,
Wanting so badly for change
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Naked and fierce,
Burning with anger,
Stands the Goddess,
Great is her hunger.
Machete in her hands,
Slashing at her will,
She knows no bounds,
And runs around to ****
She can't recognise,
Sinner or saint,
In her mission to **** the evils,
She has lost her restraint.
And then she steps on something,
What is it? She looks below,
To her horror she finds her Lord,
Supine, lying beneath her toe.
Great is her shame at what she sees,
In her great fury she had spared none,
It needed Lord Shiva to stop her rage,
She bites her tongue at what she has done.
And thus we know the great Maa Kali,
Ashamed, repentant for being blindly furious
She stands for the two sides in ourselves,
With the good trying to rule the evil in us.
So every year we worship her,
Each year we pay her our homages,
And this is how "Kali Puja",
Goes on and on for ages.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
The cows graze in their pasture
Subservient to their master
Who doesn’t move faster
To help avoid disaster
So the cows are on their own
To deal with snow
Those all alone
Completely froze
Yet those who know
To use the warm glow
Of company that showed
Survive temperature lows
The cows used to solitary grazing
Now begin embracing
To fight cold air they’re facing
That is life erasing
While frost is lacing
The grass once worth tasting
The winter refuses to yield
As snow builds in the fields
The cows’ cohesion is revealed
As they protect their veal
And forget to steal
To connect and heal
During this ordeal
In times of inclement weather
The cows huddle together
Like someone pulled a lever
That won’t stay locked forever
So eventually ties are severed
As summer comes
The dumber numb
Thinking they won
Soaking up sun
Knowing winter is done
They divide into ones
A flow line
Of the bovine
Slow grind
Shows flies
Grow wise
With no size
They devise
To go for eyes
Cows go blind
In their mind
And cannot find
Their herd in time
Pretty soon the irritating fleas
Give them mad cow disease
As they don’t look to please
But put the good on their knees
While they’re hiding in trees
And biting with absolute ease
Seeing the absence of immunities
From their lack of community
The lost independent
Weather defendants
Become repentant
When they hear encroaching
Thunder clouds approaching
The cows become hectic
From a storm electric
Their formation eclectic
So they feel unprotected
But a fence was erected
So they can’t join the dejected
And this lonely life they elected
Is sadly reflected
The lasso angler
Hassling wranglers
Unmasked as stranglers
Bring the herd together
As they pull a lever
That’ll stay locked forever
As the cows’ heads are severed
And the horns in their head
Stick around once they’re dead
As we eat what they were fed
While they made their own bed
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
oh.have.the.heart.to.welcome.a.stranded.soul
1.
If you’re given the jolly gift of a green ribbon
Would you use it as a link to answers
Or to hang your pretty neck?
2.
If a tree has been yearning to the sky for more than sixty years
Would you now stub out your ciggie in its folds
Or embrace its giving energy?
3.
If such books have been written many millennia ago – saying a multitude
Would you shut your ears to debate and follow blindly
Or respectfully ask bold questions?
4.
If a man kneels repentant in the dust to wipe your shoes
Would you offer a hand up
Or trample on his fingers and spit on his bent head?
5.
If the insipid cashier annoys your sensibilities
Do you leave it unattended
And later sickeningly vent and shout at the wrong one at home?
6.
If a once-beautiful cat lies dead in the road
Would you let your rapid wheels contribute to its messy mince
Or do the ***** job of humanely scooping away its remains?
7.
If a powerful dream comes mayhap to honour you
Would you ignore its seemingly-confusing message
Or follow its signals (in a maze) to certain life-enhancing enrichment?
8.
If constant calamity touches your being on stretched resources
Would you keep popping those three sublinguals with alarming ease
Or try to surrender and accept the pain under arborescent canopies?
9.
If an old woman suffers a stroke in the heart of festivity
Would you refrain from visits while sending easy bouquets and fruit-baskets
Or take the time to help her struggling steps to the toilet?
10.
If the moon shines tonight on your wretched suffering
Would you hurl silent abuse and curse its half-light
Or glance up to catch perchance the echo of your deepest wishes in the air around ...?
*you.can’t.honestly.say.that.it.matters.not
for.it.touches.you.too*
S T, 16 July 2013
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
In my first life, I died
The year I turned 25,
And now that I’m in the hours before I taste my second,
I want to make it all the way to
28.27 years
cause when you divide that by 9,
You’re left with pi.
And because the universe isn’t just a
Straight line, you’ve got to use a formula to get around,
Get all up on that pi d because piety just
isn't logic enough for me, where even the repentant
Are told they’re going to burn in purgatory, sweetheart, please.
Being alive and feeling was
sometimes hell enough for me.
In just a few hours before I’m sent through that
Tight tunnel,
I want to be judged by the god of
3.14159, the baker that made me
Mr. Blueberry Buddah
Master in the art of reincarnation.
I want to be birthed **** with just a dab of pure whipped
cream for a soul,
Drizzled sweet with the blood I never watched my
mother bleed for me
on the morning of my second birth.
But I gotta say, this bardo shit's pretty odd,
Here the sky ranges in color gradients too specific like
“violent salmon” all the way to “lukewarm smoothie”
But once I get out, I know things will be strange,
owning a life that’s not quite mine to lose.
And even though I’ll have no answer to give, I desperately
Want someone to ask,
Stranger, tell me, how did it feel?
Theoretically, I’ll respond,
Well, I was kicked back into some ancestral dream
To meet everyone I will ever be, everyone
I have ever been and
Once I’ve met all of them,
Everyone I will never meet again.
And they'll ask,
Friend, is that why babies take so long to be born?
Yes, its because they’re shaking hands with the universe
On the way out of the womb.
At least, the one who will reach nirvana
After this life cycle circles through.
Lover, if I were to meet you again, will you remember?
Does your soul still have my story
Etched on it somewhere,
Or will you be washed clean of me,
The tabula rasa upon which Locke never wrote?
I won’t remember you, but
I have faith that you’ll find me,
Even lifetimes grow apart after too long.
It’s all about the company you keep because
They never stay.
And if that should happen, well,
We just met each other in an inconvenient life.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Your space is in the sky where there is no ground, angel.
You are the reason why earth revolves around sun.
You are the reason why all stars flicker delicately.
You are the reason why magnolia blooms.
You are the reason why my heart opens up like confessing man.
You are the reason why I'm standing repentant before God.
You are the reason why I paint reality with celestial watercolours.
You are the reason why breath makes port in my mouth.
You are the reason why vision of love is alive in my heart.
You are the reason why I open curious eyes in the morning.
You are the reason why flowers near extinction are worth saving.
You are the reason why my thoughts become crystalline.
You are the reason why torrential rain falls after airless weather.
You are the reason why I hear quietly sneaking answers to nagging questions.
You are the reason why opus of birth of love plays in my head.
Your sinister indifference cauterizes sore wounds in my heart.
I would give you my soul with everything I possess.
I have never even touched your fragile hands, your impatient lips.
Will you open like rose petals together with sun wandering horizon?
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
I cannot fit in these circles they build me
I cannot be bullied outside my reality
I cannot be dragged in their dark tunnels
I cannot be drugged inside their quarries
FOR
When all fades away the 'self' has to be whole
When all shades the 'self' within has to reconnect
The 'self' has it's own shell that crowns it's life
The 'self' is an open field shielded from the storm
My 'self' will not indulge in the mediocre cranes
My 'self' will not be spotlighted for egoistical tunes
My 'self' redeems as it condenses in the mist of the dew
My 'self' is my ultimate repentant, a repellant from the norm
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
There comes the golden trumpet
With its boorish tune.
It claims that brimstone is falling
From the heavens, threatening
To mar all that is pure and white.
All are spellbound by his naked words
Stripped from the usual ethereal facade.
Promise of prosperity rings in their ears,
Since the land of milk and honey has run dry.
But wait…
Look at the hunger in his eyes,
A fervent lust for power and glory.
Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered,
Burning like coal in a blazing furnace.
Look at the cohort he assembled,
Corpulent swine from the swamp.
Surely, he has the mob in mind.
Throw chocolate to keep them quiet.
Put on a show to divert attention.
For the truth is glaringly clear,
We have been played for fools.
When the smoke subsides…
A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
Heavy drops of tears,
Now crawl sidewards,
Towards her ailing ears,
Descending downwards,
As that ailing elderly mother,
Tries her very best to sleep,
Contained the tears she tries to keep,
To prevent those tears from leaking,
Remembering who they were,
Her own children them both,
Sent away to war in a land very far,
Two coffins with no more than a humble note of regret & praise for the two dead soldiers had come back.
The father had fainted after listening to this news,
After few months spent wasted in tears,
Truer could not have been his fears,
He could neither let the pain ease,
Nor could he make the repentance cease,
Of letting both the brothers follow their hearts,
He tried to make any sense if there was in war,
And pondering only over the same he died,
A repentant father he wrongly blamed himself,
But the boys' mother lives on with the memories,
Alone and lonely in her lonesome life,
Her senile smile sits under her now-crooked nose,
As she looks at old family albums through her glasses,
Tears drip down her aging lonely chin onto the happy family photograph.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Only several days before we met, I had killed myself several times
Each one for a sin on my soul, repentant death of the ego
And the trees on my grave were hung in joyous apathy
You were neither man nor woman, yet a person all the same
and your hair was smiling
The objective Slavic King was foreboding but intrigued
and you pained to be affectionate
I feigned the aptitude to appease the master
While you danced around the wizard in robes
but the children had no faces
The spectrum gave way to the memories of childhood despair
The dying chair and the wooden man that beat against dun windows
Mossy branches were groping hands that felt the insecurities
and I lay bare in mourning winter air
Still those whistles sing for fallen queens that litter stray beds
The misguided steed in the blacksmith's den, asking for another fix
and the inanimate table that miraculously walked away
They were all there in my vivid nightmare
But you were safe in the rubber box built by nimble giants
and your mother cried alkaline tears
It was cursed pain that you felt
But the horses of your marriage fled for the fields
and you were left there in Novosibirsk
With a silver coin pressed to your chest
And I, lay lonesome in Saratov
'neath the blackening skies
On a wall in Kryty Square
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
The road towards my house is getting more shaky.
My action becomes like in a slow motive room.
Get me out from this place, efface everything out from this mind.
I know in my heart that You can do everything that is grand and awesome.
At first im so enjoy with this, i let her eat whatever she likes
Many times, i marinated her to become more sweeter than before.
And everything was pleasant in my sight like driving in a smooth highway.
Now, i tell you that i cant draw my own face as i stared the mirror.
The sound of happiness seems walking away from my ears.
The light of every houses is now dimming towards darkness.
I dont know what to do and what am i suppose to say.
Im tired of saying sorry, I need a heart of repentant.
Here i am gazing up the sky claiming that there will be restoration.
In this open air, feelings will be entitled as a legend or a myth.
My intention was to make it clear in my side that this is wrong.
And nothing was ever good will be perform in a vast of man.
Memories were made to see what is the best for the future.
O Morning Star, train my feet to stand in every adversity
Made by whether myself or by the enemy, let it strike die down.
And its move bring forth strong knees and brand new level of faith.
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
Billy (Bowb) joe
There ain't nothin new in hell tonight
cept the soul o' billy joe,
who killed a man in an unfair fight
so gabe sent him below,
he used a blade on an unarmed guy;
and a stand up guy to boot,
now his *** will fry he's said g'bye
coz to hell he is en route,
now beelzebub has got an itch
so bad that it needs scratchin
he takes billy joe as his new *****
n disease he is a catchin,
bill's boiled in oil n flash fried with rice
n he’s marinade in gin,
coz beelzebub well he ain't that nice
he’s gonna Chew on liddle him,
but Billy joe’s a repentant soul
feelin mighty fine n righteous,
bill has gotta goal gonna take his toll
n give nick gastroenteritis
alan nettleton.
May 26, 2011
May 26, 2011 at 7:33 AM UTC
There’s a hermit in me
and a flying god too.
And a dancer, who dances on the bones
of his lovers…
gently dancing life into them.
There’s a liar in me
and a repentant thief too.
Who tried to stuff precious moments
into his pockets…
There’s a handsome man in me,
bold, strong, and true.
There’s a woman in me too…
delicately twisting in her sleep.
And somewhere, there’s still a small boy
who can’t find the right size shoes.
There are rules in me that have no purpose…
small print in search of a home.
And there’s a warrior in me
who plays the harp before battle,
then rushes late into the fray.
There are tapestried walls in me
and marble halls,
formal gardens,
and servant’s chambers.
And there’s a simple cottage
I can’t quite find.
There’s a psychic in me
who reads the future
but is sometimes unable
to turn the page.
And there’s a mysterious poet in me
who finds words only at night.
And there’s a seeker of truth
who gets
lost
in
the
snow.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
The makeshift congregation packed into the church.
Hands clasped in broken hallelujahs.
Consecration of this community.
Guidelines for the faithful, faithful for tonight.
At least for now we can be one.
Trascendental divinity, like a silent wind flowing through
Public servants to ourselves.
We are the Church.
Sewn in the fields of the faithful.
Strewn through life like an empty chalice.
Filled with Merlot.
Hear us Father for we have sinned.
Glory to you.
Buffet Catholics asking for salvation.
Forgiveness sandwiched between the bread and pasta salad.
Repentant.
Offering up prayers for the ******
Quick to judgment.
With the ferocity of Charlemagne.
Partial acceptance into our open hands,
You made a valiant effort.
Sign of the cross with water blessed.
Genuflect.
Kneeling on the pews, praying for peace.
External.
Internal.
Oh! My children! God will have mercy.
Part of the flock for once
Maybe twice
A year.
Not even staying for the full length.
The faint smell of frankincense.
We offer you this gift.
Ceremonies steeped in tradition.
Rosebeads hung from the wrist of regulars.
This mass is being said in memory of…
We offer up these prayers for…
The meek will inherit the Earth.
If we leave anything.
Cynics questioning.
We’ve found hope in a paperback on a bookshelf.
Who is our shepherd?
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
Deep connections are made
Labels cut them like a blade
They say I have abandonment issues
Is it so wrong to miss you?
They say I'm co-dependent
And I should be mo' repentant
But I am the moon
And you are the Earth
And our love is the sun
Unfortunately
Here in the logical place
Everything revolves around the revolver
A religion of hate
Enforced by the state
We live in a world that makes us love to feel ashamed
And ashamed to feel love
Then the name of the game
Becomes watching the shame light a flame
In the fires of passion
Our love burns
Like a matchstick
But then the fire runs out
Our love sputters from the spout
And I'm stuck cleaning your extinguished rubble
The steam rises from my heart
Like the smoke from a revolver
I never meant to involve you
In the maze of my desires
One path led to you
The other was where I retired
To contemplate my life
And those that hate me
They are the sun
And I am the Earth
Their hatred is my moon and it revolves around me constantly
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
Beaches get jealous
But I'm not repentant
She brought her bikini
And changed where she
Thought no one could see
Heaven knows at sixteen
I was full curious
I saw the goods
Lost my equilibrium
And fell down the embankment
To this day
I may have selective memory
About events
I do, however
Remember the reach
And the bend
And how I swear
Her belly button winked
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 7:58 AM UTC
The weakness that defines me
Confines me to my own skin
Binds my limbs tightly
Won’t let the light in
I breathe toxicity
With every indulgent fear
I beg to summon bravery
I pray to feel You here
I am an infant
New in everything
I am repentant
More new than anything
I meditate in this new place
On a face I don’t understand
I ***** through inward space
Feebly trying to stand
I have been lost for so long
Frozen in the grip of ice
My shepherd has gone
This cold heart must suffice
I am an infant
New in everything
I am repentant
More new than anything
Remove my swaddling
Unfold new grace
I hear the heavens calling
Let light kiss this face
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 11:58 AM UTC
As John put it
The incarnated word,
Saint Mary was entitled
To feed Her *******
And Hold, but whom
Juda the culprit
For 30 birr sold
Is almighty God.(John 1:1John 1:12.John 8:58)
Here it should pop up
To your attention
"God is with you!"
Saint Gabriel's to
The Immaculate felicitation.
So God,
Christ is a presiding judge
An inch do not budge
Hearing shallow teachings
Quite strange
Christ killers-turned
-Christ-peddlers on many
A religious forum stage.
As Canaan, awaits
Them a curse
For trying to belittle Christ
Intent to line up their purse.
On the cross
It was the incarnated word
That allowed the repentant
Shieftan on his right
The first greenlight
To heaven of course.
Witnessing
His sons'
Polar opposite deeds
Noah better felt
The visitation of God
In Shem's tent.(Genesis 9:18-27)
Hence God's incarnation
That still reflect
Are entitled
Membership to the tent,
Which personifies
Saint Mary
The immaculate.
Thus, as the
Chosen generation
True to
Saint Mary's prophesy
Let us echo "The Graceful
And the immaculate!"
Evading Satan's
Yet another bait.
Jun 13, 2020
Jun 13, 2020 at 8:27 AM UTC