"restores" poems
Respect for everyone on here who acts so sweet,
Little acts of kindness everywhere,
Intelligent poetry and clever comments,
Supportive people and sometimes a kind private message.
Being on here restores my faith in humanity.
The people on here are beautiful, all in their own way.
Never I will say without flaws, we are all humans here.
No, we aren't without flaws, that us the best part, we accept each others flaws.
Respect for everyone here who votes on my poetry.
I am happy with people like you.
And the nice comments on here, on my works and on the works of others, I am proud to be part of this community.
And to anyone who send me kind private messages, you are the best.
Respect for everyone on here, first of all for being human beings.
Secondly because you being so wonderful.
Respect and thank you
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
But can you love me in the deep? In the dark? In the thick of it?
Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle and slip through the crack in the floorboard?
Can you love me when I’m bigger than you, when my presence blazes like the sun does, when it hurts to look directly at me?
Can you love me then too?
Can you love me under the starry sky, shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?
Can you love me when I am howling and furry, standing on my haunches, my lower lip stained with the blood of my last ****
When I call down the lightning, when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet, can you still love me then?
What happens when I freeze the land, and cause the dirt to harden over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?
Will you trust that Spring will return?
Will you still believe me when I tell you I will become a raging river, and spill myself upon your dreams and call them to the surface of your life?
Can you trust me, even though you cannot tame me?
Can you love me, even though I am all that you fear and admire?
Will you fear my shifting shape?
Does it frighten you, when my eyes flash like your camera does?
Do you fear they will capture your soul?
Are you afraid to step into me?
The meat-eating plants and flowers armed with poisonous darts are not in my jungle to stop you from coming. Not you.
So do not worry. They belong to me, and I have invited you here.
Stay to the path revealed in the moonlight and arrive safely to the hut of Baba Yaga: the wild old wise one… she will not lead you astray if you are pure of heart.
You cannot be with the wild one if you fear the rumbling of the ground, the roar of a cascading river, the startling clap of thunder in the sky.
If you want to be safe, go back to your tiny room — the night sky is not for you.
If you want to be torn apart, come in. Be broken open and devoured. Be set ablaze in my fire.
I will not leave you as you have come: well dressed, in finely-threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.
I will leave you naked and biting. Leave you clawing at the sheets. Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.
So, come to me, and be healed in the unbearable lightness and darkness of all that you are.
There is nothing in you that can scare me. Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.
A wild woman is not a girlfriend. She is a relationship with nature. She is the source of all your primal desires, and she is the wild whipping wind that uproots the poisonous corn stalks on your neatly tilled farm.
She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.
She will see to it that you shall rise again.
She is the lover who restores you to your own wild nature.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
the LORD & I have been arguing for days
over four small words:
[thy will be done.]
let this be known:
never is there a bigger sacrifice
than compromising the cloth that has woven your soul,
choosing to burn its textile
rather than cling to its strong stitchings & worn-in, familiar pattern,
leaving you in nothing but incinerated rags.
I plea for maintained remains of
this combusted fallacy of joy,
whilst He responds with simply
[I am making all things new.]
please hear this:
there is truly nothing that can mend you here,
nothing that can weave you together &
save your heart from being torn
as a love letter ripped into shreds of its possibilities,
leaving you with nothing but
disintegrated
dreams.
my past is aching to become my present,
& my perceived future has begun to rewind.
my place in this world has become null&void;
without the hope I once held close.
for what happens to a princess
when her earthly prince continues to commit slow suicide?
[peace, My child.]
I can hear my bones screaming to be heard,
as songs on a broken record,
stuck on repeating the same old refrain:
*please please please please please…
[on earth as it is in Heaven.]*
night sweats--
when your mind cannot stop running even whilst you sleep.
shaking limbs—
when your heart trembles & begs to stay alive.
*[plans to prosper you, not harm you;
plans for hope & a future.]*
I’m strung out on all these things that keep me sane
while my mind feels like its going through
withdrawals of the Holy Spirit—
WHERE ARE YOU, GOD
& WHY IS THIS YOUR PLAN?
YOU DO NOT LOVE ME AS YOU ONCE DID.
[those who hope in the LORD renew their strength.]
laying on my bedroom floor
with hymns pouring from my mouth
like tongues of fire & bile
I feel farther from glory
than I ever have.
[He restores my soul.]
LORD
as Christ once begged of you
Take This Cup,
LORD
I plea
for deliverance
for reconciliation
for an exodus from this body that is
full of intoxication
& self-loathing.
[until the very end of the age.]
LET MY SPIRIT RISE FROM THE ASHES
& BE HEALED OF THIS HORROR.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
The strange and unusual feeling you get,
When you see her, you won't get upset.
She makes your heart jet set,
The smile you would never forget.
The eyes that dazzles like the night sky,
The one that makes you feel shy,
Hoping your conversation goes on all night.
Never ending with a goodbye.
The voice that keeps you sane,
Puts your heart beat on the fast lane,
Ends all the suffering and pain.
The one that makes everyday not so plain.
The one that you'd give the world for,
Just because she's someone you really adore.
Never puts you in a bore,
Helps to ensure happiness in you restores.
However
Even though how much you love that girl,
You'll only be bothersome in her world,
You would only do more harm than good,
Her feelings you would've never understood,
It felt like it was fate,
You met your soulmate.
But she didn't
That was a fact that's imprint.
What's stopping you from all this.
Is how you make her ******
You know she deserves better,
Someone to make her happier.
You know you can't fulfil that,
You're the reason's she's mad at.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
Your morning smile is precious.
It gives me happiness.
Smiling is indeed contagious.
Your smile puts me on “daily autopilot”.
You make me believe I can fly like a dove.
Is this the power of love?
Your smile is a catalyst to beauty not makeup.
To accolade your smile I trade a boffola for laughter.
Just to relax your muscle tension.
Oh yes, laughter restores the body’s natural energy.
I see the light through your crystal white teeth every morning.
It chases all nightmares like sunrise chasing the darkness.
A morning without you by my side is void.
I’m addicted to your morning smile.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
So many hopes have
been laid to rest,
snuggling tight and cozy
where all dead dreams lie.
There wasn't even time to say goodbye.
Oh, my fighting spirit is now a sleeping spirit.
It doesn't wake to sweet smell of fancy,
to the buzzing of bees and all manner of honeys,
no.
It lies dead in the gutter,
or should I say,
asleep.
The only hope I have left, is to lie of the pain.
To wish away the wash of bitter taste
and lie away the bodies of thought and waste.
I have died too many times to count the carnage
and how I massacred myself,
past, present and future,
there is no more potential,
there is now just a rein
lying slack for lack of force,
the beast was too burdened...
There is a constant whispering.
Voices from a place I dare not venture.
My hands are bent and scarred, like twisted puppets.
How can I mend these broken dreams?
I can no longer traverse the seams,
now torn
beyond are the hopes I knew.
How do I mend the horses?
Is it not the hand of God that restores life
to dead things?
Why do his hands look like mine?
If I do not believe in myself,
how might I believe in him?
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:06 PM UTC
In the land of Temperature
I met Thermostat - Thermometer
What does thermometer do anyway?
A thermometer tells you the temperature whether it’s cold or hot
But it does nothing about the situation it identifies
It only measures and whether we like it or not
What about thermostat?
Thermostats function in a way that when it senses a room is cold,
it quickly and quietly starts the machinery necessary to bring the cold room to an acceptable temperature
If a room is hot, a thermostat cues the system to cool the room
It restores the balance, it assess the situation and make a difference.
I named her Thermostat – Thermometer
‘Cause she can be a thermostat to others
When she senses there’s something wrong around her
She always does something to make it right like a thermostat does
Sadly, she can only be a thermometer to herself
She knows there’s something wrong with her
Yet she can’t do something
‘Cause she also needs a thermostat
A thermostat to make it right for her
It makes me wonder how many people out there
Acting like thermostat to others
But they can only act as thermometer to theirselves
Hoping that someday
A thermostat changes the situation where they are in
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Sometimes Smith has no idea of what’s happening
Whether the ground below is vanishing away from his feet
Or he is just levitating past the skyscrapers
Smith has a good book
There he reads about a great artist
A con artist to be precise and all his sadistic puzzles
Smith tries to wake up, thinking he is still dreaming
Because the artist’s puzzles are still at large
How is he that successful? He has vast architectural knowledge
Knowledge enough to create ever-tricky mazes
Only the divine can fix the con’s jigsaw
And sometimes those with the divine touch show flaws
The con creates a series of optical and mental illusions
Illusions great enough to make you think there’s no divine being and even make you believe there’s no con
Smith wonders why the bad escape and the good suffer
Sometimes he gets trapped in his mind, thinking of the **** luscious mermaids and geisha girls
He is able to ignore them sometimes
But barely escape them and their never ending charm, on a very lustful day
The con artist sits in his empire and literally tries to get people stuff two plugs together or merge two sockets together.
That is a sick idea!
The con keeps smith wondering in delusions
He hides under the disguise of light
When the divine light shines, it melts off Smith’s saturated delusions
And restores him to reality
With the light he can see, you can see
How the con poses monsters as **** pretty ladies, heat as comfort, graves as castles, blasphemy as thanksgiving.
How he tries to make people monopolise the power of the divine
Sweet in vanity
In the end the divine light blinds the con artist and all those gleaming eyes in the dead dark
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
I sense the touch of God
when I pray my rosary.
His presence strong in
the chanting of the words.
I know that He is here
by the peace that I feel.
Words intoned so ancient,
beautiful and serene.
Comforting me in
ways I can not explain.
Through Mary to Jesus,
my salvation ensured.
God provides solace
to those who seek Him.
In the echoes of despair
He brings me assurance
of blessings and hope
which He restores.
So many moments
lost in useless ventures.
So many times I
tried to be supreme.
Only with God do I
triumph in my dreams.
Heavenly Lord, Father,
thank you for your words.
I pray my rosary in joy,
loving every holy word.
May God, the Holy Trinity
continue to be with me.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
Follows my inhale
Embraces my exhale
Sleeps my thoughts
Restores my mind
Honours my body
Heals my heart
Balances my nature
Shines my light
Welcomes my warmth
Accepts my spirit
Cleanses my essence
Respects my soul
© Jl 2016
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
Energy radiates and traces my body with celestial tones
I am more alive than I’ve ever been
when surrendering to awe and wonder
the same way my younger self fearlessly did
something about that glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
memories still have flavors to me
mornings with a lake of flakes in my bowl
or years and years later when a fried hangover cure restores me
each month and its esculent flashbacks are a part of me
a cell in the skin
a beaten feather in the wing
something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet
the Earth is still new
and discoveries never expire:
new scenery
new explorations
new chronicles in the cinema
new kindred spirits
new waves of audio
new therapeutic solitudes
all balancing out the
new captivities
new mistakes
new mediocrity
new unhealthy solitudes
and more
until the body is a home base of homeostasis
commensalism at its finest
but something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
I outgrew shadows who doubted their expiration dates
I don’t rubricate the sky in a rage
anymore
don’t let the heartbreak pause a pulse
anymore
don’t let misanthropy obscure who I see
anymore
don’t let uncertainty’s web catch me in a paralysis
anymore
or at least I try
something tells me I’ll never “age out”
of my hunger to live fully
I know deep down you're similar
your craving will not fade into cinders
oh what a feelin!
To be trippin on nostalgia.
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 2:17 PM UTC
I desire only to comfort you, you must believe..
Truly comfort.
Like the first fire of winter,
when you come in from the frigid night,
And collapse in the cloud soft chair
As the warmth of the hearth, restores your humanity.
Until, in every cell in your body, you feel renewed.
I know how to close the wounds of your spirit,
These scars you see, upon my soul
Were once gaping gashes, that oozed agony,
But they have healed,
Let me do the same for you.
I will take my time, releasing the pent up tension,
That has wrapped your tense muscles,
In gnarly braids, of stress, with my restorative touch.
I have several bandages, the bleeding can be stemmed,
And arrested for good.
I will kiss every bruise, and cut,
Until nothing hurts anymore.
I shall lift you to your feet if you fall,
And soothe, mend, and repair you as a whole.
Anyone could see you have been hurt before.
But has anyone ever came forward,
And acknowledged your pain?
These cuts, and scars you bear
That you believe
have made you the strong woman you are today,
Are holding you back,
From the pleasures you deserve.
As the pendulum swings
Your mood rises and falls,
And it pains me to witness your suffering
My beloved one.
You who bring such joy
Should not suffer so much.
Your past is marked and marred.
Let me be your future,
One filled with the full measure of pleasure you deserve.
I can not guarantee that harm will not befall you again,
But when it does,
I will be there to caress it away...
Because I am your healer.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
I come before you Yehoshua
with my hands lifted up in holiness.
All I ever have is my faith in you.
You know my heart,
and my emptiness you know.
You understand my feelings,
and my follies you forgive.
I am renewed and recreated daily,
transmogrified into a new creation
like I've never existed before
because of you Yehoshua.
My weakness are before you,
my past you erased and forget.
I am nothing without you because
you are my strength Yehoshua.
Your presence is comforting
and reassuring for you are
my glory and my salvation.
All power belongs to you.
Everything fails when you
are not with me.
You are the breathe within breathe
for your Spirit dwells in me.
There's no joy within without
your presence.
Your touch restores all things,
and cause everything to heal.
We cannot fully worship you
when health fails,
restore our brokenness Yehoshua.
Your supremacy confounds the heart
of man for no one can challenge you.
You reign as King in the castle of
my heart where you dwell in Majesty.
The glorious beauty of your existence
transcend and pervades all things.
You transmute the gross material
from nothing into gold.
Every created things ever made
resonates to you.
All creatures above the earth,
in the earth and,
beneath the earth adores you
and sing of your glory.
Your awesomeness is a wonderful wonder.
Thank you for everything that you do.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC
---
when every last vestige of
your humanity seems to be
a jigsaw puzzle game
strewn across the universe
with no possibility of
retrieval
of all pieces
KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD
when rage accosts the
very center of your heart
like a home invasion
taking with it
all the
milk of human kindness
KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD
when your flowers die
in a blight of ice
the very roots
frozen in the tundra
and spring becomes winter
in the space of an hour
KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD
when worry wrings your brain
like a fishwife with a towel
doubt lays a crooked wall
using your bones as a trowel
fear is a raven which
travels with the owl
KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD
when evil wells out
of every pore of your existence
like sludge drained from
the bottom of a
juggernaut
TANK
KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD!
for Jesus Christ is the
puzzle piece
which restores
the entire game
---
He's the peace which
passes all understanding
the joy which is our strength
---
He is the
Rose of Sharon
which has no time nor season
but blooms eternally
---
He is the mechanic
who made all destruction
and will
DESTROY THE WORKS OF DARKNESS
**KEEP
YOUR
MIND
UPON
♡ JESUS CHRIST ♡**
THE AUTHOR AND FINISHER
OF OUR
~~~< F • A • I • T • H >~~~
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/16/2016
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Kylie
A song bird with a broken wing the cancer like the archer’s arrow pierced the breast the spirit widens
Under storm laden skies from inward hush and silence an opening umbrella of prayer provides a shield
The buffeted retreats to sheltering rocks and finds the hidden stream within depths blessed bindings
In warmest recesses your steps guided by the unseen over and through this dark passing new findings
With down cast eyes you continue the dark streets the home of the sick and the broken pain unspoken
You came upon these deep downward steeps from the flood lights and euphoric accolades of fame
Before your lyrical melodies were joyful expressive now will carry weighty and knowing sterling acclaim
Mined from troubles hard unrelenting walls finally the richest golden ore through your feelings pour
A little ease by the mystical dreams when sleep restores still withdrawn faces in the moonlight so pale
For a time at heaven you rail to costly you barter all that is thine to own backed by a great pink brigade
You fight with unstoppable courage you lead the march you find ground unvisited you go on without fail
Beaconing to legions behind encouraging you carry the burning torch showing the way through the dark
This my only desire I stand in this human body frail knowing my limitations but from the fight I call you
Don’t be afraid and never say give up to many are depending your touch glorious women you defend
Say in song the mystery you found in a city all alone you met sisters not age defined all filled with youth
In your face I see the unexplainable the untraceable a strength born from conflict a secret knowing
This is dedicated to Kylie Minouge Melissa Eatheridge and all breast cancer survivors
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 9:13 AM UTC
Behold merrily dancing eyes! moonrise-hued that delight in surprise,
Waterfall-cascading hair, sleepily stirring from a golden lair,
Heaven-glimpsed in leafy disguise, powerless to resist I surmise,
Elven locks frame an Eden-parterre, a majestic Springtime fayre!
Banished Winter’s-strife, unveiled a collective bursting into life,
Love, laugher and blossom hold sway, a dress-parade in full panoply,
Nimble Elven hands serve as nature’s midwife, their deliveries run rife!
This is no chaotic affray, but the Almighty order we never gainsay.
Their unbridled gaiety I watch in wonder, but I feel such an intruder,
Stiff limbed I shake off love’s-hibernation, a lifelong affliction,
Shall I be welcome I ponder, or will they flee in panic and anger?
Their joyous souls offer salvation, unleashed a grim determination!
A rapturous-smiled greeting! handshakes and hugs - our first meeting!
Blinkers-away restores my sight, from this embrace I must not take flight,
Alas! this is mere wish-dreaming, awake my face is aglow and gleaming!
This kinship-reverie serves to ignite, a joy and happiness so eager to excite.
Gone are doubt-swirling mists, hopeful lips plead to be kissed,
This alluring Elven-dream, lures me into passion’s fragrant-stream,
No more envy-bound wrists, as I fiercely battle loves-duellists,
Folly pursuit of Crusading esteem? no courage with a steely gleam!
My brow burns with the fierce rays of Summer,
My soul plunges into despair, with the decline and fall of Autumn,
My feet are mired in the cloying-clay of a sodden Winter,
But heart-contentment sings aloud with the uplifting beat of Spring!
© Robert Porteus
Jun 20, 2021
Jun 20, 2021 at 7:00 AM UTC
To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.
The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.
The only cure for vanity is laughter, and the only fault that is laughable is vanity.
The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.
Religion is to mysticism what popularization is to science.
Spirit borrows from matter the perceptions on which it feeds and restores them to matter in the form of movements which it has stamped with its own freedom.
There is no greater joy than that of feeling oneself a creator. The triumph of life is expressed by creation.
Laughter is the corrective force which prevents us from becoming cranks.
Intelligence is the faculty of making artificial objects, especially tools to make tools.
**** sapiens, the only creature endowed with reason, is also the only creature to pin its existence on things unreasonable.
The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.
It seems that laughter needs an echo.
To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.
When we make the cerebral state the beginning of an action, and in no sense the condition of a perception, we place the perceived images of things outside the image of our body, and thus replace perception within the things themselves.
The motive power of democracy is love.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/henri_bergson
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
In thee, I fondly hop’d to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach’d thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forc’d thee from my breast,
Yet, in my heart, thou keep’st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I’ll lay my head—
Without thee! where would be my Heaven?
1.5k
Our Dog Howling at Sunset
At sunset, the dog howls at sirens in town.
If he were snowbound in Talkeetna,
A hundred miles from nowhere,
What would he howl at instead?
I saw my husband trudging through the frost,
His blue jacket half-tinted orange and red,
“I don’t like the way you sound,” he said
As he left, deserting one who was already lost.
If I were a thousand miles from him now,
Listening to the wolves’ mournful cries,
And my beloved shunning me as he does now,
Would I pretend to believe my lover’s lies?
Or, instead, would it be enough to exist
Where the short summer dies on winter’s grist,
And true love’s a dream born on a dreamer’s mist,
And the one to stay with is the one you’ve just kissed?
If I lived in a land so cruel and hard,
Would I be bargaining with my soul?
If love’s short date were but a moon’s silver shard,
Would he be a passing thought, and my son the whole
Of any future we had scattered out on the snow,
Or caught in the rime-bound trees?
Would I see then what I already know—
That his future lies with himself and not me?
As our wolf howls a timeless wail to the air
I can listen and guess at its season.
I can comfort myself it will always be there,
Beyond human hopes, beyond reason.
Far wiser, the black-furred hound, than I,
To sing out his ancient song.
Waiting, watching, as we struggle and die,
Only to pass his wisdom along.
Waiting, hoping as he does for a touch,
He is made to think that he asks too much--
Waiting for a kind word or loving hand--
Wild and alone, in humanity’s bleak land.
A southern writer once lamented the lack
Of courage in humankind,
And suggested we borrow the strength we see
In the branches of an olive tree.
Yet there’s more courage in the dog-wolf’s cry,
Penned out on our city-cropped lawn,
As if he knows the grief of my son and I
When the man we both love is gone.
“Could we not as well” take a lesson from him,
Our wild and loyal friend?
To howl out our sorrow and loneliness,
Though the pain might never end?
Now, in the twilight I hear my lover return,
With no greeting to me, and I burn
For the summer’s newborn passion I recall.
The twilight wolf’s mourning tells it all:
That we never will have what we had before
That love can die just as well as it’s born,
That a child is the only one who restores
What is lost to the lonesome, the wolves, the forlorn.
July 6, 2001
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
A song bird with a broken wing the cancer like the archer’s arrow pierced the breast the spirit widens
Under storm laden skies from inward hush and silence an opening umbrella of prayer provides a shield
The buffeted retreats to sheltering rocks and finds the hidden stream within depths blessed bindings
In warmest recesses your steps guided by the unseen over and through this dark passing new findings
With down cast eyes you continue the dark streets the home of the sick and the broken pain unspoken
You came upon these deep downward steeps from the flood lights and euphoric accolades of fame
Before your lyrical melodies were joyful expressive now will carry weighty and knowing sterling acclaim
Mined from troubles hard unrelenting walls finally the richest golden ore through your feelings pour
A little ease by the mystical dreams when sleep restores still withdrawn faces in the moonlight so pale
For a time at heaven you rail to costly you barter all that is thine to own backed by a great pink brigade
You fight with unstoppable courage you lead the march you find ground unvisited you go on without fail
Beaconing to legions behind encouraging you carry the burning torch showing the way through the dark
This my only desire I stand in this human body frail knowing my limitations but from the fight I call you
Don’t be afraid and never say give up to many are depending your touch glorious women you defend
Say in song the mystery you found in a city all alone you met sisters not age defined all filled with youth
In your face I see the unexplainable the untraceable a strength born from conflict a secret knowing
This is dedicated to Kylie Minouge Melissa Eatheridge and all breast cancer survivors
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
This love burns and drips
an unclean **** knot
******* and *******
at tailgate parties in basements
where everybody is satisfied
except for one...
The sky is painted static:
I can't find the channel.
A frail cherub descends
gossamer threads of maize splay out about its head
brings the sky back with it
and in hues of pink and life,
restores me.
Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 5:16 AM UTC
Time has put a vagrancy on my mind
Subdues conformity and material worship
With scalding epileptic convulsions of imagination
My mouth blood-stained, shrieking like a pianting
A painting by Munch gives way, yields, yes yields
To an unrelenting detonation of the unconscious
An existential filter of real or imagined transformations
Which by miraculous tongue restores a belief
To wonder and levies no compass on perception
Yet reveals a tormenting estrangement
That does mount a strenuous and contemptuous protest
Against familiarity with agonized shrieks of obdurate tenacity
Where the phantoms of my imagination enact their mysterious mysteries
And produce a poetic alchemy of violated imagination
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
an intrepid image of consistency to living painlessly
floats aimlessly through an adjacent sea of complacency
that finds way to drift further from shore.
worries of capsizing and baptizing
in this ocean of social chastising
leaves me coming back for more.
descending the sail paints
images of pale
skys clouding progression,
shadowing the sun’s oppression
to shining through the cracks,
dreams reflect the water
of sailing to shore and
never coming back,
the table in cabin
covered with cigarettes butts
and empty bottles,
leaving stains of black
on the whispering floorboards
that sways with the current
that restores more
contentedness to being
lost at sea.
but, I wake up to reality
sea sick
MJB
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
Sine arte
A satire against modernity in the arts
O modern beast our captive arts release,
The laws of Nature wished your reign to cease.
What beauties does this modern art restores
By turning vestals young to Russian ******
How strange the painter draws his new reforms 5
Reducing Nature’s shapes to foggy forms.
All, I may add, by rambling thoughts conceived
If Nature’s order’s razed the goal’s achieved.
‘‘What then?’’ A tasteless judge if dared to ask,
To which the answer wears pretentious mask: 10
‘‘Dear Sir! ’Tis art, all ***** mere symbols made,
And ***** though crude, denotes the father’s shade’’
Go Man admire the fruits of twisted state,
Interpret ***** as something deeply great.
Let ***** Cupid stab his precious heart 15
To make our poesy more interesting art.
Let Cyrus wreck the might of Shakespeare’s throne,
And use her tongue to lick his hallowed stone.
Thus, give the verses blank to frenzied beasts,
Or let Rihanna burn Miltonic seats. 20
A simple critic might her craft enjoy,
But witty minds oft do their gift employ.
New Cornus comes with broken tools to teach
Yet none can bear to hear postmoderns preach.
They mumble days upon the wage and race 25
For them the world’s a strife, that is the case.
Dec 9, 2020
Dec 9, 2020 at 4:52 PM UTC