"scourged" poems
For instance, recall daisies,
or if you have not seen one, so much the better.
Paint me a crass picture and sleep
on the shallow crevasse. Stilt through
the orchard and search there: nothing still.
Even the nothingness is form-fitting, and thus,
your vestigial image of daisies. Mold something
out of the vacuity, and there a retrograde sculpture
will wind back to clay. Cornerstones have your name,
and your name even so, has taciturnly placed stones.
Stones. These tiny bodies that lay, undemanding,
scourged by the rapid passage of a carriage.
I wait there, with them, still thinking of daisies.
I know of a child, cylindrically obtuse, in front of the mirror.
Have you seen yourself in the hazy windows
of the Metro? What do you see? I still see daisies.
Or people with heads of daisies. But remember your
forethought of daisies? They are nothing. I am a beheaded daisy
in the lackadaisical wind of Summer. There is nothing to gain
here but the sadness of cold passing. And the child that I am speaking
of, his name, Magno. Sturdy like the rucksack he’s carrying,
lovelessly trundling altogether with the pipes and the
handrails, almost signaling the alarm without warning.
This uncared-for sultry evening decides to splinter
itself against the masses. Again, the daisies appear to me,
this time, in heady form rogue with peripatetic fragrance.
Magno used to unearth daisies and give them to her
mother when he was stiflingly young – he hustled through
the carefully placed furniture. Whatever happened to him,
I know not. And just like the daisies we have come to know now,
trains that do not belong to anyone, and the daisies too, that go
unheard of and unknown to the behest of the city,
have gone into the subtle beginning of everything
that once started in itself, the form of splendor. Nothing.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
There were not many at that lonely place,
Where two scourged hills met in a little plain.
The wind cried loud in gusts, then low again.
Three pines strained darkly, runners in a race
Unseen by any. Toward the further woods
A dim harsh noise of voices rose and ceased.
--We were most silent in those solitudes--
Then, sudden as a flame, the black-robed priest,
The clotted earth piled roughly up about
The hacked red oblong of the new-made thing,
Short words in swordlike Latin--and a rout
Of dreams most impotent, unwearying.
Then, like a blind door shut on a carouse,
The terrible bareness of the soul's last house.
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He lay within a warm, soft world
Of motion. Colors bloomed and fled,
Maroon and turquoise, saffron, red,
Wave upon wave that broke and whirled
To vanish in the grey-green gloom,
Perspectiveless and shadowy.
A bulging world that had no walls,
A flowing world, most like the sea,
Compassing all infinity
Within a shapeless, ebbing room,
An endless tide that swells and falls . . .
He slept and woke and slept again.
As a veil drops Time dropped away;
Space grew a toy for children's play,
Sleep bolted fast the gates of Sense --
He lay in naked impotence;
Like a drenched moth that creeps and crawls
Heavily up brown, light-baked walls,
To fall in wreck, her task undone,
Yet somehow striving toward the sun.
So, as he slept, his hands clenched tighter,
Shut in the old way of the fighter,
His feet curled up to grip the ground,
His muscles tautened for a bound;
And though he felt, and felt alone,
Strange brightness stirred him to the bone,
Cravings to rise -- till deeper sleep
Buried the hope, the call, the leap;
A wind puffed out his mind's faint spark.
He was absorbed into the dark.
He woke again and felt a surge
Within him, a mysterious urge
That grew one hungry flame of passion;
The whole world altered shape and fashion.
Deceived, befooled, bereft and torn,
He scourged the heavens with his scorn,
Lifting a bitter voice to cry
Against the eternal treachery --
Till, suddenly, he found the breast,
And ceased, and all things were at rest,
The earth grew one warm languid sea
And he a wave. Joy, tingling, crept
Throughout him. He was quenched and slept.
So, while the moon made broad her ring,
He slept and cried and was a king.
So, worthily, he acted o'er
The endless miracle once more.
Facing immense adventures daily,
He strove still onward, weeping, gaily,
Conquered or fled from them, but grew
As soil-starved, rough pine-saplings do.
Till, one day, crawling seemed suspect.
He gripped the air and stood *****
And splendid. With immortal rage
He entered on man's heritage!
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amid scurrying feet
in the whirling humanity
with divided aims
and sizzling brains
she paused with singularity of purpose
never in a hurry, more at peace
on a park bench, alone
bent and weird, she sat.
when she moved
her bones creaked
on rusty hinges!
ragged in dress, torn in body,
face scourged by Time,
its contours deep like ravines
her withered *******
hanging like nests of tailor birds
hair lying disheveled,
with eyes shrouded in mist
she looked out into the sinking sun,
never dreading the darkness that falls
the park bench was her temporary halt
she sat there every evening
determined to live on,
with the coins habitually dropped
into her outstretched hands
by those sailing past her
unobtrusive self.
like a monument of patience
she sat.
sat, so alone!
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
It is only I that hear your voice
oh heavenly father, so divine
and to my end I have no choice
for through my death you shall refine.
Such weight I carry on my mind
will lift when I do breathe no more
for I am weak from such unkind,
my body scourged so red and raw.
Forgive them father for they know not
of what they do to your sweet son,
they shall reap what they besot
remember then, this day is done.
The gift I leave them in my wake,
a better world as thee bequest
you pass your son for their own sake
for all too know and all too zest.
For follow me, they will and must
when life does end their mortal toil.
For if in God they place all trust
then they shall walk that final mile.
To paradise you will commit,
untainted by the scourge of sin
and at your feet then they shall sit
inside thy glory they will win.
But should they turn away from thee,
take wrong direction as they choose,
for if the blind could only see,
then they would know of what they lose.
Eternity they will then embroil
in Satan's caverns down beneath,
where one encounters with the vile.
That place, where no-one gains relief.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
I am a ship.
There's nothing special about who I am,
for there are many like me.
Tall and proud,
small and brisk,
each with its unique direction.
Some to be admired,
others to take the risk,
all carved in false perfection.
Yet there is one simple wish
to which we all aspire.
From the day our journey starts,
through the rough tests of the sea
to reach the safety of our haven
is all that we desire.
I am a wanderer.
Send me on a voyage to which I see no end.
I will take it gladly.
When I gaze into infinity
I see far beyond.
So mourn for me not when I set my sails.
I shall return.
Send me through the darkest storm
guide me past the reason’s plea!
I fear no rock nor waves or tide
I fear no whipping of the sea!
Yet, each wave I break
Leaves a crack in my haughty hull.
I am a wreck.
A shattered pile of glorified wood.
A cracked bucket
leaking out treacherous dreams
it could not hold
even when it should.
There are parts of me
sunken
lying numb in deepest chambers of the blue.
There are bits to see
floating
scourged tirelessly by everything
I ever knew.
I lie naked under face of the sky.
I am afraid.
I am driftwood.
Carried around by the will of the waves,
their salty lips against my wounds.
All that is left of me
rocks
in a steady
steady flow
ridiculed by currents
and wind.
Me…
Who am I?
That I do not know.
Perhaps
I do not care.
Today
I traded my spirit for hope
and despair...
Until one day
I am washed ashore.
I am a raft.
Piece after piece put in an awkward place
empty spaces sealed with fiery salt,
scars healed by its sweet embrace.
I am complete.
There’s a soul
clinging on to me with nothing else
but the warmth of her skin.
I am her guide
and she is mine.
I am taking her home
across eternal oceans
in search of haven upon a familiar shore
and I
am not afraid anymore.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
After she drank his bitter wine of selfish, pathetic love
She slyly sang him her haunted chant
"The laughs on you", she crooned in her soft malicious tune
At times, she could act with chicane
She had many charms when treated well...
Deadly ones - when not
Oh yes...
She herself may at times have sinned
But he-had the stain of evil, paltry love
Now...Inside her gossamer labyrinth she lay
Carefully, diligently spinning her web
Revealing nothing-and everything
She'd weave her silky snare inside his heart
Laying her toxic eggs of betrayed despair
Spinning her poisonus venom of painful truth
Oh yes...
Her bite is deadly now
She could have been his 'Velvet Rose'
But, he crushed her petals rare
Ending her silken dreams
With his evil malicious schemes
Her spider's web became untethered
Attaching itself by a single thread
To his shoddy veil of evil, selfish love
Now...She is the hunter
And...He is the hunted
In the coming eve...
She'd deliver her poisonous, lethal sting
He'd be noones's lover now
Her threads would cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom would seal his fate
Remaining nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow
All along the castle walls
For some time a deadly secret she doth keep
"Revenge”, she whispers, while he sleeps
She was once his only lady
With ivory skin and beauty fair
She fed him nectar from her raven hair
His betrayal seared her hemorrhaged heart
She'd warned him with many words and fiery stares
"Thou shalt not indulge in wicked fare
Be ever so watchful, do not betray
Beware, where thou heart doth leave
Take heed" said she, "Just who thy seed deceives".
In her chamber dark at night, this maiden fair
Planned his demise with scourged nectar, bitter sweet
Stirring her venomous, poisonous treat
Or would dagger to his heart she’d plant
Bid him die a dark and painful lingering death
Upon his sleeping body that she'd leave
As she crept silently into his chamber -
These words she bitterly but victoriously said...
"Thou shalt betray no more.
Thou has sinned against me...
Taken my love in shame
"Betray no more", she said".
But now
Thou is thankfully, forever DEAD!"
Her silken threads had cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom had sealed his fate
Now...he remained nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow...
All along her castle walls
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
Redolent May sings,
lays of perplexing antique,
wooden rose flounders.
...
Fungi is in rout,
war of mushrooms is halted,
desolate treescape.
...
This is not a game,
the colours rest in spindles,
the flag is in truce.
...
Paragon of ice,
tractive glacier, no friction,
chronotropic death.
...
Scourged almighty sea,
symphonic ocean blasted,
tranced undertaking.
...
Mort, syphoned blood grass,
waving like entrails, flooded,
blood spins, grave now swims.
...
Gritty stagnant bole,
refurbished hybernation,
the scent come to play.
...
Reminiscent moon,
gather ye, encompassed light,
that we may know life
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
Nailed and ******* on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,
Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.
He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.
Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed
It was for our sins that He lay down His life,
It was our misdeeds that made Him bleed,
It was for our lust that He was painfully stripped,
It was our arrogance that bent Him low.
None could gauge the agony he endured,
No man ever performed such a daring deed,
To liberate mankind, the Lamb was slain,
To lead his Flock, He walked in front.
‘Love your enemy’ was the mantra He recited,
What He preached, He relentlessly practised,
While writhing in pain, He prayed for His foes,
Pleaded with his Father to spare the wrath.
When wrongly accused, never said He a word,
Unruffled remained He on painfully betrayed,
Hard it was to be deserted by those He loved,
Sore it was to be treated so very rude.
The Son of Man came seeking the missing sheep,
He builds from where everything is wrecked,
Rejoice in Him, for He is our Lord!
Adore and worship, He deserves to be praised.
Peace was what He promised the world,
Grace was what He gifted to all,
Look up to the Cross when trials confront,
And cast your burden at His feet!
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
1771
How fleet—how indiscreet an one—
How always wrong is Love—
The joyful little Deity
We are not scourged to serve—
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The first slow,
Scraping turn
Of metallic lid
Atop ‘f my silver-stained
Hip flask
Gives way to smell of hard liquor
And sweaty palm.
It is the most eagerly anticipated
Seven seconds of each of my twenty-four hour days.
Whiskey was cheapest today,
And always preferred.
But,
As often is the case,
The lid was harder ******* on
With shaking hand
And blood scourged cheek
Telling everyone
I missed my world.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 6:24 PM UTC
#Sarah Josepha Hale (1788–1879)
We bring no earthly wreath for Time;
To man th’immortal Time was given—
Years should be marked by deeds sublime,
That elevate his soul to heaven.
Thou proudly passing year—thy name
Is registered in mind’s bright flame,
And louder than the roar of waves,
Thundering from ocean’s prison caves,
Comes the glad shout that hallows thee
The Year of Freedom’s Jubilee!
‘Tis strange how mind has been chained down,
And reason scourged like branded sin!
How man has shrunk before man’s frown,
And darkened heaven’s own fire within!
But Freedom breathed—the flame burst forth—
Wo to the spoilers of the earth,
Who would withstand its lightning stroke,
And heavier forge the galling yoke;—
As well the breaking reed might dare
The cataract’s rush—the whirlwind’s war!
Ay, thrones must crumble—even as clay,
Searched by the scorching sun and wind!
And crushed be Superstition’s sway
That would with writing scorpions bind
The terror-stricken conscience down
Beneath anointed monarch’s frown;
Till Truth is in her temple sought,
The soul’s unbribed, unfettered thought,
That, science-guided, soars unawed,
And reading Nature rests on God!
This must be-is-the passing year
Has rent the veil, and despots stand
In the keen glance of Truth severe,
With craven brow and palsied hand:—
Ye, who would make man’s spirit free,
And change the Old World’s destiny,
Bring forth from Learning’s halls the light,
And watch, that Virtue’s shield be bright;
Then to the ‘God of order’ raise
The vow of faith, the song of praise,
And on-and sweep Oppression’s chains,
Like ice beneath the vernal rains!
My Country, ay, thy sons are proud,
True heirs of Freedom’s glorious dower;
For never here has knee been bowed
In homage to a mortal power:
No, never here has tyrant reigned,
And never here has thought been chained!
Then who would follow Europe’s sickly light,
When here the soul may put forth all her might,
And show the nations, as they gaze in awe,
That Wisdom dwells with Liberty and Law!
O, when will Time his holiest triumph bring—
‘Freedom o’er all the earth, and Christ alone reigns King!’
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
be tender of words
and
tender of hearts,
be strong, be kind,
forgive us, them,
forgive them, us,
yourself as well,
for ours are walls
needy for overcoming,
and yours are too oft
too high
lives of tasks and taskmasters,
these oft self-appointed,
responsibilities - rocket-thrust
upon shoulders of mortal materials
uneven for and unintended
for the job
of carrying the world...
and yet,
we do
carry you, carry the world,
imperfect and scourged,
those self-righteous,
beheaders be wary,
I will not atone for you,
I will speak no tenders for you,
on this day of forgiveness,
there is none
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
There were once Lands of Right and Left
Where mutual loathing brought bloodshed.
They disagreed on numerous things
Such as which hand one should use to eat,
Which leg one should start with to walk,
Or which hand one should raise to talk.
There was literally no time for consensus
Since the clocks ran in opposite directions.
But one fateful day, all hell broke loose
When the Baron of Right made his own noose
By shaking the right hand of the Baron of Left,
Wreaking havoc with such unforgivable offense.
How dare you defy us with such heinous mockery,
We’ll pour our wrath for defiling our sanctity.
It was then that blood began to rain outside,
Where a red river scourged the streets, claiming lives.
Cries for peace were drowned by thunder,
Egos were too hurt to excuse the blunders.
If only, if only there were ears to listen.
If only, if only there were eyes for vision.
But when tongues have the power and run amok,
Not reined by reason and empathy locked,
Surely nothing good will come about,
Only disunity and violence shall sprout.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
He knew the secrets of this wood
He knew it should be shaped for good.
He was not sure that he approved
when the Centurion came
seeking a rood.
The grain was heavy and unforgiving
It was surely meant to serve the living.
Now a means of torture it must be
for some rebel rabbi from Galilee.
Whipped and scourged like a beaten dog,
a poor excuse for a son of God.
He staggered through the streets of the City
Cursed and reviled for few showed pity.
His grieving mother, one courageous friend,
and his woman stayed until the end.
Nicodemus helped to take him down
with my ladder he had brought from town.
Those who died with him fed the dogs
but the Rabbi did not share their fate.
His body was lain in a Hillside tomb
on Nicodemus' own estate.
What happened next depends on Grace
What transpired there on the third day?
Did the body rise or was it just misplaced?
Some will scoff while others pray.
I contemplate the rough hewn rood
Now to me it seems a stranger.
Was it used for good or ill?
The secret is held
in the hands of the Maker.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
When He saw famine,
He fed them
When He saw plague
He healed them
When He was reviled, persecuted
betrayed, scourged, broken,
impaled and crucified.
He blessed them.
When He bled,
He sanctified them
When He embraced the sins of a wicked world,
He redeemed them
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 12:13 AM UTC
Many had fallen but few have risen
Deep in the hearts of men spears glisten
The battle field
Where you are only as strong as your will
With hate this thick: many had fallen short of reason
Could it be for glory or be it for freedom?
For as many we were, we all scourged for one diadem
Pride blind our eye sight vile in our strife
Your blood my knife your fall my rise
Admist all this mayhem no one knows if it may end
Survival of the fittest? No, triumph for the sleekest
Even the meanest got slain leaving no clues for the weak ends
Alas! We were three one throne one king
None relenting till life flows only through one being
With no soul to reign on the crown becomes null
All in all we had bled for nothing
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
*
*When the illusive Angel of LOVE strikes
On the birds soaring wings in flight
LOVE rests for a while in their nest
To pen birth of LOVING babies in hearts
To brood LOVERz-BELOVEDz LOVE passions
Into a phenomenal devotional longing...
That's what this craving is all about
To annihilate ourselves in LOVEz
This is our chance to show the world
The true way to LOVEz each other as
BELOVEDz-LOVERz & LOVERz-BELOVEDz
The world asked us: "Who are YOU?"
We said: "Shadows of each other"
The world asked us: "What do you want?"
We said: "Each other's LOVEz"
The world said to us: "That's impossible"
We said: "..If that is so.. so be it...!"
If this is the pathetic affairs
On which the world functions
Let the world know this:
-Our LOVE is not a "game"
-Our LOVE is not a "business"
-Our LOVE is not a "competition"
-Our LOVE is not a "gamble"
-Our LOVE is not a "play"
We LOVERz have lived history:
Burned in the flames of fire
Drowned in the abyss oceans
Jumped into the deep valleys
Broken into shards & pieces
Bled under swords slashes
Lynched at public spaces
And been crucified on the cross
Those who try to **** our LOVE
Listen this carefully:
Amidst all cruelty and atrocities
We LOVERz have survived
Our LOVE is still alive
In whatever state we are in
We're still LOVERz-BELOVEDz unite
That's the measure of
Our True AGAPE LOVE
We keep on calling each other
With our LOVE poems and songs
We keep on communicating
With LOVE energies and vibes
Let the world listen to our music
Let the world feel our LOVE aura
And change the way humans live
It is the same LOVE we sync-in
Through which each person is born
It is the same feelings of LOVE
That touches each human heart &
Burns in longing at least once
In their life time with tears
Those who have courage
Will continue LOVING and succeed
Those who are cowards
Will live life... - defeated...!
Let them search for success in "work"
But let us LOVERz-BELOVEDz -
LOVE each other aplenty now
Having lived so long in LOVE
Do not expect us to stop LOVING
Even if the world does not extend
Support to our LOVE
We will continue LOVING
And longing for each other
We brought a heart
Of peace and LOVE
Why did not the world
Understand & accept us?
We told each other
"LOVE YOU till death"
Why the world did not
listen to our pleas?
Only when:
Layla-Majnun were killed
Romeo-Zuliet died
Heer-RanZhana committed suicide
Shirin-FaRhaZd gave their lives
The world remembered its own guilt
And looks down on itself with shame
In the end - if world does not LOVE
The world will burn in its own wild-fires
The world will face calamities
Its own bane, scourged nemesis
This is the un-uttered curse
That will befall the world on the
Judgement-day, Apocalypse, Doomsday,
For making a LOVERz BELOVEDz wail*
*
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 12:40 AM UTC
A candy maker in Indiana around the 1900s
wanted to make a candy
That expressed the meaning of Christmas
So he came up with the candy cane
He used hard candy because
Jesus is the “rock of the ages”
he shape it into a J which
is the first letter of Jesus’ name
And if turned upside down is
the staff of the good shepherd
His candy cane is white to represent
the perfection and sinlessness of Jesus
And he added a thick red stripe as a symbol
Of the blood Christ shed for us
He also had thinner red stripes for
The stripes Christ received when he was scourged
So the next time you give or receive a candy cane
Perhaps you will look at it differently
Merry Christmas
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
New snow has dressed the dawn in white and veiled as if a maiden
bride this one light. The wind as if a voice whispers unto the dawn,
"Beloved." Beckons, "Beloved." "Beloved," breathes, sighs unto the dawn.
This one light falls upon the naked tree, flush and warm upon its
trembling limbs. Branches as if hands concealing shame implore,
"Look not upon my nakedness. Look not upon the wounds of my nakedness."
Yet this one light moves among the branches, curls upon the limbs,
its restive body soft as grace on tender scars and draws
its veil with its embrace.
Once a stalwart tree arose, forged
in war, opposed before it stood grasping at the earth, tearing at the hem
of heaven's gown. Years etched somber verses on its back, years pleased
to twist and bend what would not break, to let stand this reading of the leaves:
Behold the fate of the last thing. Once a stalwart tree became as if the truth
in ugly nakedness, in stripes and scars, as if the truth in branches frozen open
to absent light to the shame of its members in the horror of plain sight.
Then dreamed a tale and knew the truth no more.
Come one light upon the naked tree, closer still, closer still, until within
its branches then its limbs light as fire upon its naked wounds blushes
crimson white beneath a snowy veil. The wind as if a voice pleads,
"Hush. Hush." A secret union mocks the work of years finding there
an ageless will to be at peace with fire, to become what lies within
suddenly awake by touch of what is wholly other. What is seen,
dawn dressed as if a maiden rises and departs, a scourged tree bears
its sorrows to the light, cold grace, cruel denial, need - or unseen,
the two will always be as one, beloved -
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
We sat at the end of the stairway
Outside your house past your garden’s gate
Our lips moved whilst exchanging words
Our gaze was vast beyond what ears are heard
My outlines remained shivering and unstill
We talked and talked draining our hearts once filled
Our lips ran dry, craving for water’s bliss
You then took my empty heart and leaned in for a kiss
You parted, leaving me immensely wanting for more
I held your hand and it pricked me like a thousand thorns
Blood started pumping through and past my veins
Into your chest, into your heart infected with pain
I didn’t let go to you holding on
Your lips stopped moving, your words drifted, it was done
I touched you once more, pressing mouth against mouth
Severing heart, this hurt more than our lips filling in the drought
You pulled closer; it struck harder, slashing past before my skin
I took hold of you, trying to stay stronger, mouth deeper than sin
Hand in hand, it was sinking in; I’m falling down the rabbit hole again
The stairway was gone, the gate, the roses, you were still there but I’ve lost a friend
The garden gnome, he held the clock, time was slowly ticking away
Bodies side by side, our hearts then stopped, it had almost seemed like it’s been days
She and I, once innocent, now bare, with no more dignity to hide
She whispered “come on Alice, don’t give up, we’re got our hearts to find”
Scourged skin, torn dresses, unpredictably she smiled
She said “I haven’t been this scared in a long time; it’s been quite a while”
Our footsteps grew distant yet the clock continued to tick
She lifted two roses obliviously, her eyes followed to the one I picked
She held it close to her lips, sliding the stem past before her skin
Blood started streaming down, there’s more than there has ever been
Wounds started to unstitch, scars started reopening
And with the greyest of eyes and the rose between her mouth, it slowly started unfurling
She gave me the slightest smirk and approached me with an embrace
I felt her warm touch draining inside me, the rose pricking me through
And the was the last time, I ever saw her face
n.j.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
A scene of Ridicule, Betrayal, Humiliation, Pain, and Sorrow
He was whipped
His flesh was cut into
His body was torn
His blood painted the earth
He carried the cross up to the mountain of Calvary
He was Full of anguish
Blood and sweat in his brow
He was thrown onto two pieces of wood
Dust and splinters entered into his lesions and wounds
Into his scourged back
They tied him up
The Soldiers prepared their hammers
They readied their nails into place
Their eyes were steadied to crucify
And all at once - the first spike entered into his palm
he felt the piece of metal as it crushed the nerves in his wrist
The second came too soon
He felt an excruciating pain throbbing through his arms
A burning ache instantly bursted its way to his head
The third.
His weak and feeble legs were crossed
And the last nail was born into his flesh
Tendons snapped
Muscles tore
At last he called out to God
"My God, My God why have you forsaken me?"
As every bone in his body was being torn apart
He slowly melted
Two pumps and whoosh.. his heart gave its last beats and exploded
The weight of our transgressions were burdensome upon him
And so his spirit left him
And blood and water poured out of his side
They laid him in his grave
One gloom day passed
mourning took place in his followers hearts
While the earth wept
A grand shaking began in the ground
The veil was torn
The stone was rolled away
And behold our savior arose
Resurrection power radiating off of him
And our sins were atoned
The ultimate price was paid
He gave his life to forever hand us eternity
With his death he erased all of our sins
He cleared our mistakes
He made right all of our wrongs
He poured unto us his holy salvation
And God transformed one of the darkest hours in history into
A moment of eternal redemption
This was love.
Love was never an emotion, but an action
A sacrifice
A dying to yourself
Putting everyone's life before your own
Taking off your crown and getting up from a throne
Love was Jesus hanging from a tree, for you and for me
He gave it all
He forever defeated sin
And most importantly He overcame
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Decade of decades thru’
Crawled, walked and ran amuck
Flied, cruised, dived n’ delved
Stumbled, fumbled and tumbled
Blithe, he, the centenarian!
Transited and trespassed
All seasonal fare and furor
Of quirks, quacks and quakes,
Of chaos, canards and concords
Of fun, frolic and foolish
Neither did his debilitating diabetes got him scared
Nor hyperbolic hypertension placed him scourged
Death dared not break his breath; he is fit to the core
But the day is not too far for him to rest his oar
Fantastic phantasmagorias reeling
Through the clumsy chip of his mind
Century past was his prolonged sanctuary,
Reminisced he in awe, what he saw;
From rude n’ rustic paths to roadways,
From wading to waterways and skyways
Blowing cannons turning into zooming rockets
Swords and knifes on to guns n’ pistols
Heels of horses over to powered wheels
Wars broke into battles and battles unto wars, of course,
Anarchy of monarchy tamed and tuned to democracy
Candled kingdoms switched over to electrified nations
Electronic wizards brought life easy, cozy, busy and rosy
All was well that went but not so well as it wanted
The glitter of stars vanished in horizon
In the gutter of urban agglomeration
Greenhouse gases displaced the granary of greenery
None bothered of the smothered mother earth
Human values sunk in exchange of currency
Poor like him left their prayers unanswered since
“Does it carry any sense for me to hit century” he surmised
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
i
Aloof aback the nether antechamber
Abaddon tried to calleth out mine name
Aba composition's awoke from smoke
Whilst nephilim brutes were left untamed.
ii
They bit me and they gripped me with
Their nail's of poison and polunium whip's
Through the old agaric horror play oubliette
Obelisk's, of troglodyte monstrosity!!!!
iii
The nearing was open, yet to far off
I felt the crimson color, up mine lung's I coughed
Mine calumus pinion's all were eventually lost
For I was mocked, as the legion scoffed.
iv
Scourged I was, as mine back was chopped
Like glass bead's hitting a gentle rock
They cracked mine sweetly frame, and made a pop
Mine soul was dying, mine head was lost.
v
Yet in the destination of this witching hour
Cameth in Gabriel and Michael of all unknown power's
They arrayed this hell with celestial shower's
They freed me of mine inferno, and tooketh me to the higher sire.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry.....
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
I begin to write and immediately
as if obeying an immemorial pact
the earth pulls away for me.
Shows me her full body—veined,
scarred, demure, ashamed. Too
pitifully beautiful in her naked
cringe and tuck of her legs. The
meaning of brutal honesty. Waits
as if expecting to be scourged but
shaking my head I gesture
no. In light darkness, sketch
true martyrdom.
It is nightfalling. That is what it is.
Like hands, interlocking,
spoken as ashen clay infolding
to a dome their clasp over a flame,
covering it. To hold—not extinguish—
and if extinguished to travel on
in smoke. It is that. That covering
over the flame, the capturing of all
warmth and light from all that is
around. I try to get above, over,
around. Before I slip into bed.
To cup over the flame
my self, my life, this hour. And her.
Try to round all as home
or hearth above the nomadic flame
that mocks what I gesture, and shakes
vigorously its own vacuum.
As if heaving in rib-tickled laughter:
Who do you think you are!
laughing, doubling over, cracking
its sides.
But I do not forget my hands.
I do not regret my hands.
What they can do, above a flame.
In light darkness of mine, I can laugh too
and write—above, over, around
and she, relax her trembling skin.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC