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Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
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.
> As published in The Watershed Journal.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Winner Editor's Choice Award, North/South Literary Canon
If wishes could be measure,
Clem would have reign in wealth,
Before he had a date with death.
Poverty battled with him with all pleasure.
In the tribulation, all his gray eyes saw was a
jubilating future.

In my clan, the death are kings,
Their testimony barely bear guilts,
Tales of that of dove and angelic.
In these imperfect world, they are made perfect and heroic.

That of clem wasn't different,
No hair suspected him of having a great for a kin,
Who in death embraced him to a golden casket, in Italian suit, shoes and a cow killed.
His burial got what he never begged for in hundred fold
Hmm! A late beggar decorated more than a groom to a royal fold.

As all gathered round his six feet for a final bye,
The in prophesied happened, Clem breath resurrected and all flee,
Even the priest, men, women and their kids.
Clem awoke into a dream,
Agitating against mankind and why array of
fortune should perish with a beggar like him,
While there are countless beings escaping death each dawn in perpetual poverty.
Griefs stricken for his old him,
He rose, undertook his golden casket, sold it and became a king.
kevin hamilton Dec 2017
captive audience listening
to the hornets pouring out of me
i was running fingers
listlessly down your face
and dreaming of acid rain
—a picture in my head
that refused to die

ever mindful
of the bedroom door
hinging on your aches
and unborn eyes
the reanimated heart
chimed
and i saw distorted visions
of what awaits us all

a rising overture
from behind the veil
warm, wet handed
in a bath of blood
n-khrennikov Aug 2018
A melancholy and a fortune charm
The tale of history I love you
Forest every conversation, eyelids closed.
The wind burns in flame to medium.
However, everything is still secretly spinning,
a guard, thorn in the heart ..
It checks the story opens the truth.
n-khrennikov ©
Makenzie Marie Nov 2018
You whisper to me
Your breath on my lips
“I love you”
Followed by a tender kiss.

My heart stops, and revives,  
With the butterflies
That rise
From their graves

Please stay.
You might think it was too early but now I know that’s on your mind and you van halfway take it back but it’ll still make me smile. I hope you’re around when I am able and ready to reciprocate.
D Awanis Jul 4
Your heart is an empty auditorium
during business hours
where everyone's too busy
to even see a play

It’s quiet, silent, and hollow,
like the cemetery at 3 a.m
and you will be frightened
by its silence

But as it heals,
the empty room will become
a hallway full of people
and it will foster

Until the emptiness turned into a parade
where broken parts march back
towards the eternal void,
and fill up the spaces
someday, you will love again
Benji James Apr 2018
As I awake from eternal slumber
I rise from the ground covered with ash
Bound in a circle of fire
You can call me Johnny Cash
Hands through the fire
They don't burn, no pain
I am immune to fire it seems
Walk right through
surrounded by lightning skies
Thunder rattles my ears
Though I don't burn
I can feel the heat
A thousand degrees
Memories flash before my eyes
Of a past life
I remember monsters and me
Locked together in purgatory

Resurrection
Need a new direction
A new chance I've been given
May have a chance to mend my ways
First I need to figure where I am
Was I resurrected by a holy man
It seems I'm not in heaven
This doesn't feel like the earth
Nothing around but Ash and Dirt
A wasteland I find myself in
Maybe this is my hell
I must have been ******
Because of the sins branded in me
Nobody around in sight
I'm on my own again this time

I've wandered these deserts for many years
No hope in sight
Not sure if in circles I have been walking
Because all the scenery I've seen
All looks the same to me
Trapped in this box
Just a Jack waiting to be set free
Wind me up so I can breathe
See the light just one more time
My mind has slowly deteriorated, insane
Not sure I'll ever be the same
This is torture, this is the pain
This burns even more than the flame
Trapped in this place
I cannot stay
I need to break free of this cell
Can't stay here trapped in hell

Resurrection
Need a new direction
A new chance I've been given
May have a chance to mend my ways
First I need to figure where I am
Was I resurrected by a holy man
It seems I'm not in heaven
This doesn't feel like the earth
Nothing around but Ash and Dirt
A wasteland I find myself in
Maybe this is my hell
I must have been ******
Because of the sins branded in me
Nobody around in sight
I'm on my own again this time

Fed myself holy water,
It burns me inside
Too late for confessing past sins
Can't be forgiven for this
Keep hearing voices taunting me
Saying I'll never be good enough
Can't save myself from the pain I've been dealt
You have failed yourself and everyone else
Them words on repeat, the laughs and the screams
Making fun of me
I'm nothing more than an empty shell
Of who I once was
Tried to be too strong on my own
Now I see it takes more to fight demons and monster alone
The mistakes that I've made
Are put on parade through my dreams
Bound and chained to never leave me

Resurrection
Need a new direction
A new chance I've been given
May have a chance to mend my ways
First I need to figure where I am
Was I resurrected by a holy man
It seems I'm not in heaven
This doesn't feel like the earth
Nothing around but Ash and Dirt
A wasteland I find myself in
Maybe this is my hell
I must have been ******
Because of the sins branded in me
Nobody around in sight
I'm on my own again this time

My soul was torn to shreds
Now just an empty vessel
Eyes pitch black
Not a light left inside
My heart was ripped from my chest
Follow your heart, Now just a distant memory
Said I wouldn't fade
Soulless and Heartless maybe I am
But I'll fight with everything I have left
Until broken in pieces upon the floor
Until I'm unable to move anymore

Resurrection
Need a new direction
A new chance I've been given
May have a chance to mend my ways
First I need to figure where I am
Was I resurrected by a holy man
It seems I'm not in heaven
This doesn't feel like the earth
Nothing around but Ash and Dirt
A wasteland I find myself in
Maybe this is my hell
I must have been ******
Because of the sins branded in me
Nobody around in sight
I'm on my own again this time

It was just monsters and me in Purgatory
Now I see I'm trapped in myself
Fighting the monsters that I had become
To my own demons, I was forced to succumb
But I won't stand for it no more
I'll do what it takes
To claim my throne
Needed a little help
Needed a little guidance
From my angels of light
Help me to reclaim my life
So I'm here praying
Drenched in tears
I need you to help me beat these fears
I need you to support me out of here
Hear my prayers and all I have to say
I need purification
Plunge me beneath these holy seas
Wash me clean, help me heal
I want the power to feel

Resurrection
Need a new direction
A new chance I've been given
May have a chance to mend my ways
Found out where it is I am
Wasn't resurrected by a holy man
It seems I'm not in heaven
But this feels like home
Nothing around but Ash and Dirt
A wasteland I once found myself in
Maybe this was hell
I may have been ******
But I found beauty in who I am
Because of the sins branded in me
They gave me the strength
to find a new way
Nobody was around in sight
There was one beyond my eyes
He filled me with eternal light
Now I've got to let it shine.

©2018 Written By Benji James
Dylan McFadden Mar 2018
Part 1: Good Friday

Unspoken words – I hear them clear
They speak above the rest
I hold them near and hide them here:
The heart inside my chest

Part 2: Saturday

Unspoken words – my Savior lay
Alone in Joseph’s tomb
Oh, heavy heart, cry not today
For Sunday’s coming soon

Part 3: Easter Sunday

Unspoken words – the Son, He rose
A new and glorious morn’
He shines on me and now I know
I’ll never feel the thorns

.
Mystic904 Oct 2017
Grand edifices, seem pretty nice
Hoarding up money, such a heist
Pockets full, everything to boast
All that luxury, all that toast

Curtains of wealth, over those eyes
Trapped in such a state of vice
Stockpiles of silver and gold
Deal, a sign, everything sold

Wealth in reality, zero a price
Counting em, this year x thrice
Pretending to be above n bold
The stiff heart you couldn't mould

Crawling over body, ants and lice
Scorpions too, it's nothing nice
Shivering with fear and cold
The pain, agony, all foretold

In the grave, horrendous mice
Game's over for the rolling dice
No one to tell, weren't you told
To that paper now grab a hold

May it be Burj khalifa, all those malls
The huge tall towers, everything falls
Sabotag shall suffer those proud walls
(Awaits!)
The vast stage, superior than all halls
Lora Lee Feb 2
in the crackling dawn
firebuds burn,
electric
spirit cells lit
in aeortic pulse
ventricles open
to a psychic doorway
stepping through,
she remembers it
that ember
of arcane ritual
divination of
intimate fires
ancient inner knowledge
sparked

Now is a time
for mourning
for celebration
for resurrection
tears streaming
like cool rivers
her palms splayed
reaching up
spilling over
her breath
as steady
as the stars
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-V4QAYUvenE&list=RD-V4QAYUvenE&start_radio=1&t=0
Michael Briefs Aug 2017
I.
The black ruin exploded
On that cold night,
A drenching rain hid a peril,
Unseen.
With lighting strikes
A thunderous white,
We drove in that hour late,
Lost and wandering.
The dark road
Stretched like a tight rope,
With twisted, wooded boughs
Cloaked around.  
We searched the thick shadows
And kept hope,
But chaos is all we found.
…Praying for safe passage,
Clutching the wheel in fear,  
Clinging to the way forward,
But the way was still unclear…
Suddenly
The elements flashed a
Dagger of jagged disaster --  
We veered violently,
With vertiginous swerve and
Swallow.
Sheer horror revealed
A visage, eviscerated –
Eyes of deep pitch
And bone, hollow.  
Broke and black marrow, portends
No tomorrow;
Shattering glass,
Splintering wood,
Shredding tires,
Spilling blood.
Both of us cast into crushing trauma.
…I faded into a murk of the mind,
Of Stygian sentience,
Slipping beyond, resigned…

II.
Emerging back from a
Wild twilight,
Where I lingered,
Drifting in a diffuse dusk
Of a subconscious
Dream…
With a flood
Of shock sensations!
I awoke to a world of
Twisted metal
And wicked pain,
Extreme.
…“This is really happening?!”
Flashed across my mind,
As I struggled to free myself from
The maw of debris.
I could not tell the time or location
Of place or friend, but there came
Flashing lights and helpful
Souls, rushing to attend.
In and out
Of temporal existence,
My eyes dreary --
Heart beat shallow,
Impressions of
People and rooms
Were bleary.
Numb in my safety,
Skating on the surface of an
Induced calm, I thought,
“I am in their care.  I can only let go and
Let someone else steer.”  
But I waver to explore
The depths of the well
In which I fell;
I can’t yet grasp what transpired,
And I recoil from the traps --
I resist,
I deny,
I withdraw,
I collapse.  

III.
The wet, dark, twisted
Walls rise,
Reaching high
And ringed around.
The sheltering shock
Subsides, and in this
Well of pain I drown…
It was only after many hours,
From the moment of
Impact,
The difficult work
Finally began.
To try to come to terms with
The meaning of this hard fact,
To wash the fear from my heart
And the blood from my hands.
With bracing clarity
I realized
How close to death
I had wandered.
All that my life stood for
And meant was crystallized,
And yet
There was so much weakness
And Fear I had not
Conquered.
…and the tears rained down,
Drenching my face…
I reeled in despair, clutching
In anguish at the reality,
My mind was white
With grief.
My short life had conceived no honor, no art,
No lasting vitality!
A legacy of wisdom and
Love was imperiled,
Nearly stolen by that
Phantasmal and cloaked thief.  

Reaching out through the tears,
Calling on my savior for help,
I cried out for a way through
The shadow, clinging to
A hope.
Through the blur
Of hot sadness came
A human face, with eyes
Sending love, healing, empathy, and care…
Her voice and presence was
As an angel from above.
Her tender heart
Struck like a thunderbolt
Of compassion.  
I was instantly drawn out
From the deathly well,
And the darkness was
Dissolved;
I was saved from Hell.  
This Motherly embrace
Came and whispered soft
Words of consolation,
As she held my soul aloft.  
I felt my hope
Returning, I saw my
Life revived.
This dawn,
I was thankful that
From black ruin
I survived.
This is auto-biographical.
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
Wrestling with the rifts within,
Fraught with an inner turmoil,
I stagger down to the sea,
Seeking to uncoil.
Standing out on the pier,
Alone with the song of the shore
And the sea around me,
The bitter questions dissipate,
The draining weight lifts free.

Waves crash and currents move
Like gravity made plain;
A watery force droning as voices
Sustained.
The sound of this presence pulls me
Into a trance of fate.  
My reverie foments, my mind drifts
And my thoughts fly
Like sea spray.

Inside, I am dancing, daring, flirting with
Danger and teasing the tides!
Soon, I feel like I am floating above
The deluge,
Yet my courage abides.

I am in that place
In the midst of a constantly flowing
Flux,
But I am steady,
Held within its reach.
I am not lashed by the elements
Nor tattered by the winds…
I feel immersed in this dynamic
Field of hydro-power
And showering sonic sheets.  

This place has become a part of me,
For my heart has joined with it
And the two become one:
Pulse and flow,
Flesh and wet,
Water and blood
Merged.
It’s the rise and fall of
Centrifugal churning
(beneath the waves and within this body),
It’s the crack of a quickening surge!

In this bracing instant, we hum
In sympathetic harmony,
Confluent,
Entwined.
At this moment, at once, I am
Vulnerable and victorious,
Pallid and empowered,
Passing and present;
All of these combined.

With the lurking land mass of my life behind
And this mysterious, epic depth before,
My soul hangs suspended
Between,
Alone
And separate from those on the ships and
Those who tread
Beyond the shore.  

Behind, in the earth, I have been fashioned
For a life like the teeming masses
I see every day.
With so many years gone by, under
The wandering sun and the
Waning moon,
I have journeyed in vain.  
With the taste of dust in my mouth,
My feet are blistered by
The fractured terrain.

I am yoked with the weight of
Bruised memories, still unresolved
Conflicts in my mind.
That earth realm leaves me weary,
In black and sullen confusion, blind.

Yet something is calling me back
To forth,
Out from and above those wasted years,
Like so many fingers
Clutched around my neck!
I sense my flight and my future are found before me.
I feel girded for the trek.

There is an overwhelming need
For a desperate DEPARTURETURN!  
To evolve…

Then, within my soul and with
The salt of my saliva,
I gasp at a realization...Yes!
This is a chance to chart my course!
To start my life anew!
To face the epic depth of
This fearful moment!

To descend and rise….to baptize.  

Suddenly,
There seems to be mercury in my
Blood stream for it swells until
My eyes swim!
There is a cataclysm in my psyche
As the crashing ricochets
within!

My soul, my fears, my hopes and my heart
Are fluxing and flying wildly, like sea spray!

There is a feeling of being drawn out,
Like a force of gravity
On a current of inevitability.
At this moment, at last, I am one.
Steve Page Apr 2018
He had His detractors - did Jesus
some aggressive,
while others were more subtle.
And these had more success:
with cute bunnies,
concealed eggs
and confectionary.
But, despite their best attempts,
the Story remains unfinished.
Easter remains.  He is risen indeed.
zebra Jul 2017
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees

behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations

your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred *******
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss

I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake

then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky
*** ADULT EXPLICIT
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
The bamboo forest favors impermanence
Flower petals, thunder, snow flakes
So let the time traveling tourist tell us
We will have something to say about this, later
National Sucide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. May you walk each step in the garden of resurrection.
You walk beside the street wonderin' where to go.
This fiercely knotted rope, holdin' onto lettin' go.
What was once truth is now a brainwashed someone else.
Destination nowhere with a stranger inside, a stranger beside.
You don't want it; you Need it,
you don't want it; you've got to Have it.  
The fear that takes you is the fear that breaks you and the fear that breaks you is the fear that makes you and takes you and breaks you
Ylzm Apr 3
The Soul ages not, agelessly it grows
In sleep each night, to realms unknown it goes.
In dreams, lands immortals repose, hinted.
Refreshed, renewed and rejuvenated,
The Soul returns and we're resurrected.
Jade Sep 2018
VI. I, Ophelia
___________________

­{The Drowning}

It was her--
Flower Child.
Weeping Woman.
Crazed Ophelia--
who taught me that the
drowning is in the letting go
and not in the doing.

Ophelia did not flee to the riverside
with the intention of
drowning herself, no--
it was merely a promise of bouquets--
daisies, violet, rosemary,  rue--
of wild, velveteen petals nestled softly
against tear-stained cheekbones;
pine needles--
ticklish--
beneath raw feet
(do you recall how The Little Mermaid
danced upon knives
in the name of true love?);
and the train of her nightgown
a focal point for dewy leaves
and frayed bird feathers.

For it was flying she thought of
as she climbed the scarred willow
and cradled herself atop its highest bough,
severed blossoms in hand,
legs dangling precariously over
blustering currents.

But
when the bough
b r o k e ,
the cradle did   f
                              a
                               ­   l
                                      l,
and down came
mad girl
cradle and all.

But you must understand--
the dismemberment of the
willow's flailing limbs
was not her doing;
when the rapids dragged her down
to the belly of the murky river bed,
she merely gave no struggle
as death lapped at her ribs--
she merely submitted,
allowed the snivelling maw of the river
to swallow her whole.

Now,
I think it suiting
that I ponder the demise of the
Flower Child
(wilted in her ruin);
Weeping Woman
(tears reunited
with the eye of
the water lily);
Crazed Ophelia
(forgotten)
and all she has taught me
of drowning
as I let myself
fall asleep in the bathtub
at three o clock in the morning,
all the while a little drunk
and so very sad.
(You'd might have even thought
I wanted to drown myself. )
__________________
{Th­e Resurrection}

Doused in the pallid wash
of blue stage light,
and the clamour
of imaginary tides
growling in my ears,
I metamorphosize into
Hamlet's Ophelia
and all the other Ophelias
who came before me--
mad.
broken.
lost.
women.

Women who were never
capable of quieting
the sea trembling
in their veins;
the barbaric deluge festering
within their souls;
the siren songs
musing to the cavernous twists
of their hearts,
piercing through artery
with stalagmite precision.

These women succumbed,  
not to the water,
but to the burden of their own
desire.
love.
heartbreak.

None of them survived.

Except for me,
of course.

And, I must admit,
it took my
writing this poem
to finally understand
why that is--
why--
how--
I have managed
to stay alive,
despite dreaming of that
same siren song
that lured my foremothers
to their destructions.

See,
alone,
Ophelia could not weather  
the tempest seething over her.

But I different--
I am not alone.

Because I carry with me the spirits
of all the Ophelias
who came before me,
the fragments of their beings
melding together to create
a brilliant gossamer of hope.

And that is why,
together,
we can breathe underwater.
____________________
{­Blackout}

Ophelia Bows,
her performance immortalized
through the remembrance
of a standing ovation.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer for optimal experience)
I don't honor Easter
Bunnies hoppin' on one leg
I have no taste
For colored "peeps"
Or chocolate Easter eggs

Thanks to
Emperor Constantine
We have this pagan brew
I find the worship of Ishtar
Has me in a stew!

The holidays of pagans!
And to see events of Christ
Blended in with all of it
Has my stomach in a vice!

Take your rabbits
And your "Ishtar" eggs
I'll just have to pray
I'd just prefer to call this time
RESURRECTION DAY!
Research the above. Ishtar was a Babylonian fertility goddess. That's where the bunnies and eggs came in. Ishtar was later renamed ashtaroth. One of the members of the Demonic Trinity. Sounds like a good thing to worship, eh?
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:

“Death to self!”

It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.

Find me even one.

There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.

Why is this?

Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
~~~

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
~Philippians 1:21

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”
~ Philippians 3:7-11

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”
~ Galatians 5:22-25

“Then He said to them all: 'Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will save it.'“
~ Luke 9:23-24
Nikos Kyriazis Nov 2018
May Death befall
upon thee
and be slaughtered
by the blade of thy pen

The aftermath
of the poet's resurrection
will be an allusion
to those who never
believed in art

The Tempest
shalt come early
and by wolf's jaws
the artist
shalt rescue the light
A poem to all of us, the artists
CA Guilfoyle Nov 2014
Along this pilgrimage made
with candles lit by the sun, a holy desert communion
seeking connection to the one, here in this fiery church
I have found lost souls, sun bleached bones
they drink the moon and sun
saguaros wander to and fro
all are parched none are full
cactus leaning, I am kneeling
here at this earthly altar
awaiting resurrection
I have come to pray
watching nights and days
these veils burn away.
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

**** sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Prabhu Iyer Apr 19
There is a night to reflect on
as there is a day to celebrate it:

it is love that is pain that is
the unspeakable joy of the heart
a transformation

and here in this world cruel of men,
it is to love that is to suffer;

And so when you love
with all your heart
with all your soul,
with all your mind
with all your strength,

so is the suffering
sweeter the water
deeper the well,
dug into the earth
where walked the prophets;

But we can die a hundred times
on the cross,

for there is no love
that does not heal death, and

blessed is this sky under which
such a thing as love
blooms;

Risen, we live, when in suffering
we die, loving

such is the gospel of love
we contemplate tonight.
an Easter poem - its traditional for me, some of my meaningfully deepest poems are written at this time of the year...

The reference is to Mark: 12:28-31, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+12%3A28-31&version=KJV
King Panda Mar 2016
I laid an anemone
on the mask of a crying girl
the young mother
the crouching woman
I am beautiful
says the sirens
says the ever-youthful vegetation
of God

I mixed my blood and nectar
on the mask of a dying man
the decay of kiss
the resurrection
I am beautiful
says the anemone
says Adonis in his grave

I burned their leaf-stems
on the mask of an artist
the eternal springtime
the life-death-rebirth deity
I am beautiful
says the martyr
says girl as she wakes
to the sirens

I am beautiful
says the head on the platter
I am beautiful

and the woman descends
the bronze invading
the bronze high-handed
the bronze opening
to the gates of hell
KCibot Apr 25
First I was Mormon.
Then I was not.
Second I was agnostic.
Then I was not.
Third I was confused.
And then I am.
And so are all of the beautiful you

As I prepare for Easter
and resurrection
I remember that before I can see
her risen eyes
I first must allow
for death

-Evangeline
Poem written on Good Friday 2019. The poem was inspired by the first photo you see when you google Kali.
Qweyku May 2014
Loves' tribute;
was a traumatic bloodletting,
at the feet of Earths' foundation,
passed over through resurrection,
as the author; Perfect,
penned the first song,
startling in Red;
chorused;
Sacrifice and Redemption.

A soul melody,
padlocked on repeat,
a key,
to live,
to move,
to exist;
the act of human being.

A dance of humiliating instruction,
'twas the universe's orchestra simply conducting;
a priceless,
yet eternal concerto,
forever titled...
‘Unique-Spring-Awakening’


**© Qwey.ku
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