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"sects" poems
Even the longest journey Begins with a single step Tendulkar has waited patiently to be a part of winning the world cup The master has some incredible records to his credit No cricketer in the modern era can compare with him for merit Yesterday nearly 120o million Indian glued to the television sets Irrespective Of caste, colour, creed, religion or sects Dhoni and Co rewrote history after twenty eight years From the faces of Indian cricketers rolled joyous tears Cricket brought All the cricketing countries Unbelievably together The western Coach Gary Kirsten and Co were responsible For the Eastern thriller The great sport became the emotional healer and the gap filler And the greatest ever crowd puller Tendulkar has carried the Nation’s burden for nearly twenty four years So His team mates carried him on their broad shoulders Even Tendulkar could not help shedding his emotional tears It was really a great Moment for the entire nation to celebratewith cheers
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Apr 3, 2011
Apr 3, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
THE A WESTERN COACH AND THE EASTERN THRILLER
NO OFFENCE MEANT TO ANYONE. JUST WORD PLAY. Many thoughts of saviours. Different deities. Varied idols. Doctrines unique, Sometimes similar. Holy books. Different sects, yes I said sects. Buddhists, Mormons, Muslims too, Hindus, Jews and Rastafarians. Pass the spliff, that one miffs me. Too name but only one or two. Garlands or flowers. Holy cows. Churches and temples. Mosques and mystic synagogues. Or even halls perpetuating to the Kingdom. Gis' us a pint of blood or not. Definitely not vampires,oops I forgot. "Cup of tea, love?" Welcome to the Mormons. Latter day saints? Jesus Christ, what a choice. My explanation, I'm agnostic. But, never on a Sunday. I don't want converting. (C) LIVVI
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Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
SAVING GRACE
Deception feeds on ignorance in every lane, Missiles are wrong symphonies in Ukraine. The world won't rise with the cries of a thousand, Corruption sneaks into the bones in Thailand. Humans and bodies are wars' cheapest lance, The riots take back stolen rights in France. Starvation is stronger than the dignity of men, Begging for food is integrity, in Yemen. Moms paid, with their children, the fees. Souls taken, are countless in greece. There, living in an empty land is the plan, Women, children and men, murdered, for power, in Sudan. "Spending eternity in peace, is a ban", Told the people, between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Depravity spreading in man like Ameba, A losing game of change played in Cuba. Billions of harassment cases, you bet, Are, will be reserved in god's eyes in Egypt. Buried her father, brother and, desire of existence, dear Haya, She, and millions another, in fenced Libya. In the name of religion, crimes covered, disgracefully, Chastity thrown, in land of churches, the Vatican City. Shattered wood under a phloem, Are the confused inhabitants of oriental Jerusalem. Too many sects, invading the minds, anon, Conflicts will split the one entity of Lebanon. Washing souls with lies of worship, is a key Says the elected president of Turkey. To be served, pure blood awaits in the line. It rains glory and sacrifice upon Palestine. To regain true reality, they had to wham, Under snow, through fog, numbed rain, in Vietnam. Lost a thousands of years worth of legacy, Guns are the rulers in Damascus city.
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Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Countries and Loafs
Deception feeds on ignorance in every lane, Missiles are wrong symphonies in Ukraine. The world won't rise with the cries of a thousand, Corruption sneaks into the bones in Thailand. Humans and bodies are wars' cheapest lance, The riots take back stolen rights in France. Starvation is stronger than the dignity of men, Begging for food is integrity, in Yemen. Moms paid, with their children, the fees. Souls taken, are countless in greece. There, living in an empty land is the plan, Women, children and men, murdered, for power, in Sudan. "Spending eternity in peace, is a ban", Told the people, between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Depravity spreading in man like Ameba, A losing game of change played in Cuba. Billions of harassment cases, you bet, Are, will be reserved in god's eyes in Egypt. Buried her father, brother and, desire of existence, dear Haya, She, and millions another, in fenced Libya. In the name of religion, crimes covered, disgracefully, Chastity thrown, in land of churches, the Vatican City. Shattered wood under a phloem, Are the confused inhabitants of oriental Jerusalem. Too many sects, invading the minds, anon, Conflicts will split the one entity of Lebanon. Washing souls with lies of worship, is a key Says the elected president of Turkey. To be served, pure blood awaits in the line. It rains glory and sacrifice upon Palestine. To regain true reality, they had to wham, Under snow, through fog, numbed rain, in Vietnam. Lost a thousands of years worth of legacy, Guns are the rulers in Damascus city.
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35
An elliptical scent sways and swoons the chamber's floor As goddesses feathering their summer clothes galore Without mourning hot concreted toes anymore As a cool spell sighs upon their necks Each idle with radiance worthy of praise and sects Worshipers of the nigh Like neph Tribute with sighs Ridged, hypnotized by mere thighs And ***
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May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Praise
taken up residence in all my areas and in these places there is always a place for her In my basement when she rubs and soothes my toes to a numbing comfort at opposite end her stretch lets my hands do the same to hers Structure beams stand and are why my calves and thighs continue to grow stronger are incentive to be wrapped around her legs and hers in a grip twist throughout the curve of my hips to hold crossing X made when I am wrapped For entering the front porch She knocks but not heard for her tapping inquiries are irrelevant So it turns, the doorknob turns unlocking opening this abstract transition in my abdomen   Here is hers to warm her hands and chest when chills come over and Level-Up in connect with another’s rushes through bloods chamber controller In the hearth of my arms is where she sleeps off stressful days and absorbs deep breaths given to her by the nighttime in comfort fire that keep warm in clutching swarm The crawl space of my mind is her cozy retreat Where she writes to and receives poetry like excessive pounding heartbeats and sings and reads, is read to and strummed to in this cave of only good thoughts drape over, outweigh and extend root outward sprout upward seeds are sewed for and of future place take place This is where she speaks one line “Millions of days,” and falling feta paints rapid wetness across raised cheeks grazing my chin upward, with her fingers where we pace, follow, and race, To more moments in place on our backs in the yard just to lay and stare ahead at endless sects of aerospace As if in bed, in their others head
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Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
Bloods Chamber Controller
taken up residence in all my areas and in these places there is always a place for her In my basement when she rubs and soothes my toes to a numbing comfort at opposite end her stretch lets my hands do the same to hers Structure beams stand and are why my calves and thighs continue to grow stronger are incentive to be wrapped around her legs and hers in a grip twist throughout the curve of my hips to hold crossing X made when I am wrapped For entering the front porch She knocks but not heard for her tapping inquiries are irrelevant So it turns, the doorknob turns unlocking opening this abstract transition in my abdomen   Here is hers to warm her hands and chest when chills come over and Level-Up in connect with another’s rushes through bloods chamber controller In the hearth of my arms is where she sleeps off stressful days and absorbs deep breaths given to her by the nighttime in comfort fire that keep warm in clutching swarm The crawl space of my mind is her cozy retreat Where she writes to and receives poetry like excessive pounding heartbeats and sings and reads, is read to and strummed to in this cave of only good thoughts drape over, outweigh and extend root outward sprout upward seeds are sewed for and of future place take place This is where she speaks one line “Millions of days,” and falling feta paints rapid wetness across raised cheeks grazing my chin upward, with her fingers where we pace, follow, and race, To more moments in place on our backs in the yard just to lay and stare ahead at endless sects of aerospace As if in bed, in their others head
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48
I look the same as other flies but my name is my flaw, Blue Bottles are a pest but not perceived as much more, The common House Fly is named with human charm, I’m called Mosquito and mean you no harm, Most of us eat nectar and us males eat nothing more, It’s the ladies of certain sects who take the blood from your pores, So please don’t be scared of me as you lay dishabille in the sun, I’m not going to bite you; I am the nice one.
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Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:54 AM UTC
The Mosquito
.  .  .  .  .  .  . .                 . .  .   .   .   .   .   . i would like a space marked out wherein in silence i'd observe my sacral auguries,   and insularly divine amid mid-dawning light contingencies, to sweep a magic sweep for sunrise-                                                                        -tabula|_|rasa and find, founded in a flout: a sect beyond sects to section self sectionless~ inwrought helix interhelix nest~ and there reside attentively ()blinking()        s l o w      ...ly in rainbow eyelash quiver flow, arrows     soaring      ' '  '    '         '              'centerly to        pin    each                whirl of dream,                        of sleep,                            mneumonic residue,                                              prehensions right    or wrong    clear through -- symbological goo, too-- all too evidently called from out an obvious deep oblivion of plenum om, or so it's said it's seen in clear eidetic percept room of alter overmInd of mindstuff's tomb [*] and form of selfish altar drama gone and soon for looking in or out or neither both oblique, about aboutness-mirror zoom~ to which what spectionism halves behaving in a twofold twining intro free: the finest of the fine: insight-interred        intuited sign quiescently, albeit doubtfully at times, benign . . . .
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Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
(templum) for an inner sectionalism (/escapism)
.  .  .  .  .  .  . .                 . .  .   .   .   .   .   . i would like a space marked out wherein in silence i'd observe my sacral auguries,   and insularly divine amid mid-dawning light contingencies, to sweep a magic sweep for sunrise-                                                                        -tabula|_|rasa and find, founded in a flout: a sect beyond sects to section self sectionless~ inwrought helix interhelix nest~ and there reside attentively ()blinking()        s l o w      ...ly in rainbow eyelash quiver flow, arrows     soaring      ' '  '    '         '              'centerly to        pin    each                whirl of dream,                        of sleep,                            mneumonic residue,                                              prehensions right    or wrong    clear through -- symbological goo, too-- all too evidently called from out an obvious deep oblivion of plenum om, or so it's said it's seen in clear eidetic percept room of alter overmInd of mindstuff's tomb [*] and form of selfish altar drama gone and soon for looking in or out or neither both oblique, about aboutness-mirror zoom~ to which what spectionism halves behaving in a twofold twining intro free: the finest of the fine: insight-interred        intuited sign quiescently, albeit doubtfully at times, benign . . . .
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41
My Middle East is torn Divided into sects and stones Desert full of rage Ancient cities bearing witness to atrocities In the name of the merciful Let the killing begin Seek justice in an afterlife For God is deaf Ceasefire! long enough to bury her face Under the classroom's desk Or onto her dead mother's chest Nameless casualties in numbers Gaze at the brilliant night sky Rain of shells, rekindling the dark-ages No truce is left For God is deaf The Father carried his young one A lifeless log returned to earth Faith unshaken among shouts and prayers Let the words avenge you Curse the creator in whispers And spiral not into an uncharted nihilistic ground Fuel your hate For God is deaf Commemorate the dead With roses on their heads Or with poems on their gravestones instead Morality embedded in poetry, blood is shed Humanity on trial Blame not my words For God is deaf And in my Middle East He remains, Undead.
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Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
My Middle East
#…a threefold cord is not quickly broken. (Ecclesiastes 4:12) A pastoress once bore a name which merits neither guilt nor shame; Pentecosta Charismania (biblical in megalomania). Worthy of poetic fame, a brilliant if unstable flame. Sincere she was, yet volatile, she brought it down, revival-style. At altar calls, she could inspire tongues of glossolalian fire. The Devil she would oft rebuke with lines from John, or Paul, or Luke; a prophetess on holy crack was Pentecosta on the attack… Her nemesis was prudent, able doctrinally dull—but stable: Patriciana Presbyteria. Less given to divine hysteria, wisdom did adorn her table. And her soul bore well the label. No prophecies escaped her lips nor prone to divinating slips; this sensible reformed young maid was made to have and have it made Elect, correct in doctrine, wit invested in no counterfeit her pop’s portfolio lent her worth: not less than heaven cashed on earth. Mocking these unseemly heretics swayed by neither sects nor politics was Maria Della Romana Faithful matron, primadonna, loyal to her Papal rite, she grieved her sisters by candlelight; fingered furious rosaries stormed the gates with St. Peter’s keys beseeching Jesus that they turn from devil’s doctrines fit to burn, rejoin the holy Mother Church rather than their souls besmirch with further Antichristian sin. (She genuflected fit to win.) God is known in Trinity but less through femininity: His three adherents, flamed by One like braided gold reflecting sun are Christian fates: three tendencies or triplicate analyses, tripartite in judgemental grace each one assumed, with zealous face that the other two could not be saved as sure as Heaven’s roads are paved with wisdom’s gold and Christ’s pure light. (They made a most amusing sight.) Since threefold cords cannot be broken, let my punchline rest, unspoken.
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Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Church-o-Rama3
#…a threefold cord is not quickly broken. (Ecclesiastes 4:12) A pastoress once bore a name which merits neither guilt nor shame; Pentecosta Charismania (biblical in megalomania). Worthy of poetic fame, a brilliant if unstable flame. Sincere she was, yet volatile, she brought it down, revival-style. At altar calls, she could inspire tongues of glossolalian fire. The Devil she would oft rebuke with lines from John, or Paul, or Luke; a prophetess on holy crack was Pentecosta on the attack… Her nemesis was prudent, able doctrinally dull—but stable: Patriciana Presbyteria. Less given to divine hysteria, wisdom did adorn her table. And her soul bore well the label. No prophecies escaped her lips nor prone to divinating slips; this sensible reformed young maid was made to have and have it made Elect, correct in doctrine, wit invested in no counterfeit her pop’s portfolio lent her worth: not less than heaven cashed on earth. Mocking these unseemly heretics swayed by neither sects nor politics was Maria Della Romana Faithful matron, primadonna, loyal to her Papal rite, she grieved her sisters by candlelight; fingered furious rosaries stormed the gates with St. Peter’s keys beseeching Jesus that they turn from devil’s doctrines fit to burn, rejoin the holy Mother Church rather than their souls besmirch with further Antichristian sin. (She genuflected fit to win.) God is known in Trinity but less through femininity: His three adherents, flamed by One like braided gold reflecting sun are Christian fates: three tendencies or triplicate analyses, tripartite in judgemental grace each one assumed, with zealous face that the other two could not be saved as sure as Heaven’s roads are paved with wisdom’s gold and Christ’s pure light. (They made a most amusing sight.) Since threefold cords cannot be broken, let my punchline rest, unspoken.
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58
A girl has a quirky image in the society, If this image is broken she is labelled, you see. This image was set since the rooting of womanhood. A girl had to excel in all aspects as much as she could. She had to be covered to stay away from evil eyes. She had to obey her elders and say no lies. She had to know how to cook and stitch, And at an immature age she was forced to tie a hitch. She could not express her emotions out loud, She had to silently cry it all out. She was never given respect, She was killed as an infant in many backward sects. She tolerated it all these years, But till now there is no end to her bleeding tears. She is labelled regardless of her deeds, Criticism is all what the society feeds. If she’s walking down the street, Men out there will stare and mistreat. If she doesn’t sacrifice and compromise she won’t get anywhere. She can never wonder fearlessly here and there. She has been set within boundaries always, If she tries to erase them she’s taunted in every way. If the child is deformed, why is it only her fault? If her husband dies, why does her life come to a halt? Why do women suffer the most in every nook and corner? Why is she not treated with honor? Have men forgotten that women gave them birth? Why are women always a target? Hello, she too gets hurt! Yes, women are emotionally strong, But that so doesn’t mean she’ll take blame for all the wrongs! She is a human like us all, Can’t you catch her when she trips and falls? She has equal rights by the constitution, But still she’s struggling for a better position. When will women in the world stop crying? When will she start to live each day rather than dying? Will women ever get some relief from all the pain? Will she ever be free from all the everlasting vain? Yes, many have accomplished and done a lot! But there are still a million who just cannot. I plead to the one’s who read this today. Don’t label women no matter what they do or say! Respect their views and choices. Let them be heard when they raise their voices.
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Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
Careworn for Decades
A girl has a quirky image in the society, If this image is broken she is labelled, you see. This image was set since the rooting of womanhood. A girl had to excel in all aspects as much as she could. She had to be covered to stay away from evil eyes. She had to obey her elders and say no lies. She had to know how to cook and stitch, And at an immature age she was forced to tie a hitch. She could not express her emotions out loud, She had to silently cry it all out. She was never given respect, She was killed as an infant in many backward sects. She tolerated it all these years, But till now there is no end to her bleeding tears. She is labelled regardless of her deeds, Criticism is all what the society feeds. If she’s walking down the street, Men out there will stare and mistreat. If she doesn’t sacrifice and compromise she won’t get anywhere. She can never wonder fearlessly here and there. She has been set within boundaries always, If she tries to erase them she’s taunted in every way. If the child is deformed, why is it only her fault? If her husband dies, why does her life come to a halt? Why do women suffer the most in every nook and corner? Why is she not treated with honor? Have men forgotten that women gave them birth? Why are women always a target? Hello, she too gets hurt! Yes, women are emotionally strong, But that so doesn’t mean she’ll take blame for all the wrongs! She is a human like us all, Can’t you catch her when she trips and falls? She has equal rights by the constitution, But still she’s struggling for a better position. When will women in the world stop crying? When will she start to live each day rather than dying? Will women ever get some relief from all the pain? Will she ever be free from all the everlasting vain? Yes, many have accomplished and done a lot! But there are still a million who just cannot. I plead to the one’s who read this today. Don’t label women no matter what they do or say! Respect their views and choices. Let them be heard when they raise their voices.
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44
And on the eighth day On all corners of the dry land He had created Out of love for mankind, His people formed religions and sects, Through which to worship their creator, Each according his race. So were born pride and enmity, Jealousy, hatred and prejudice. Doctrines, dictates and decrees Enslaved each and every one. Darkness descended And distant thunder Stirred
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Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 1:32 AM UTC
The Eighth Day
I accept atheism, agnosticism, Transmigration, reincarnation, Obliteration and nothingness. These beliefs include all religions, Yes, Voodoo, Satanism, Witchcraft, Judaism, Christianity, Muslim, Hindu, Shintoism, and Buddhism (even Scientology). Some sects aren't polite. I won't mention the one that rhymes with: Vileness, truthless, bias, noxious, menace, Hubris, vicious, **** prejudice, malice, Callous, darkness, heinous, carcass or badness. I might lose my head, or something. But all the others, They're based on humanitarianism, And isn't that what it's all about? Us, Not them.
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May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Us, Not Them
The love that rose on stronger wings, Unpalsied when he met with Death, Is comrade of the lesser faith That sees the course of human things. No doubt vast eddies in the flood Of onward time shall yet be made, And throned races may degrade; Yet O ye mysteries of good, Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear, If all your office had to do With old results that look like new; If this were all your mission here, To draw, to sheathe a useless sword, To fool the crowd with glorious lies, To cleave a creed in sects and cries, To change the bearing of a word, To shift an arbitrary power, To cramp the student at his desk, To make old bareness picturesque And tuft with grass a feudal tower; Why then my scorn might well descend On you and yours. I see in part That all, as in some piece of art, Is toil cooperant to an end.
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1.2k
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 128
I knelt down and cried, within His gentle, multi colored hands. Confessing to my sins and hoping He would understand. I realized my own forgiveness was at my command. I had been harder on myself, with my own reprimands. Gently, in multi colored hands, I cried and knelt down within. He said that my beliefs, were not looked upon as sins. For was He not a part of everything we had been given? And was He not at the core of every Sects religion? His multi colored hands, gentled, as I knelt down within and cried. For God has not one Nationality, nor one color, I realized. And I did not see a sign that read Only Christians Need Apply. An all encompassing love, was his way of a reply.
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Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
His Multi Colored Hands
The crooked path of my unraveling spirit twists amid crystal relics; icy recollections that amble through cool ferns and bloodied twilights, absorbing warm ivory sunlight leisurely threading through daisy and lemon summers, whispering days of rain and balmy nights under the moon, revisiting unknown sects of lost words and sparkling snowflakes, reliving the forgotten.
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Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 6:29 AM UTC
memories like cloth in sunlight
From formative years To adulthood serfs-baited Servants ill-treated From their means Of existence alienated, It is with hatred From- serfdom- of- every-kind -the- newly -unshackled heads' Formatted! Though their much-lamented land Has come back to their hand Tardy,their mind proves not free, That is why they engage In a killing spree! Worse still death to all, allies Inclusive,they decree! Although it sounds funny They pay back gal For received honey! Also to cultural norms And religious ideals blind, Atavistic they slay A woman and a child In a way that is wild. Oblivious for 9-months They had a lodging In a mother's womb They want to blast it With a bomb! They want to shove in it A spherical thorny wood As far as they could. Alive,they grill a man, For idle or unskilled what They can't do, he can! In the name of God Or religious sects, Replete at this Satan-released age, They behead a man Made in God's image!///
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
Liberating the mind before the land
Through the Glittering Seas brought your Survive Which both your Good Ends managed to Perform From my Views placed Honours to your Guide And Pray that such will Sustain your Reform Having much by Models and Sects thereof With Voices astound then doomed to Interpret Of all your Best Efforts labelled by Thought Thrown to the Bin then Destroy your Effect Such the Life of Stars. Which their Moons un-sate Evenly known my Thickest Shields weather Though your Entourage betray such Rebate, Cancel Late Programs then find Another. So Still Friendships be; By Modest acclaim, The Simpler the Form; The Greater the Fame.
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Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE SUNDRY: KENDALL AND KYLIE JENNER - WELL-WISHES AND ADVISE
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious ( revised, revised, revised) How to say this briefly: Firstly, Words that help convey the hidden. They exist. Here is the gist: Churches, sects, cults, creeds, the claim Of being chosen. Tenets frozen, Woven into scripture Which professes knowing What is best for all, Where if you’re good you rise And if you’re bad you fall. Spirit's -ality puts stress on union, The approach to life Emphases On oneness under all beliefs; On peace and joy and getting these; Transcendence over time and space A sense of being face to face With truths about reality, its indescribability - Yet not impossible to give a voice to. Fear that goes, Love that grows. Agape’s universal call, Connecting to an All in all. Practices to help along: Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song, Means to fit all shapes and sizes, Geniuses as well as dunces, Non-, theistic preferences Which need to be demystified. Not magic, pagan, or god-based, Theo-physical, but meta-: deeply meaningful, And mystical, the core of all. The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017 To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin
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Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 7:01 AM UTC
The Difference Between The Spiritual&The Religious revised, revised, revised
RELIGION It has so many crimes to answer to Yes crimes against humanity I think back to the holy wars Christian ( what a joke ) against the might of Islam But who had the right to say what was right and what was wrong The Spanish inquisition,  torture and death to non believers Look at the various sects in Islam Where by one it was considered just to shoot a 15 year old girl in the head because she dreamt of being a teacher Isreal, now the bully boys of the middle east ( With American backing ) Historically Israelites where a tribe within Palestine But now Palestine (Gaza) is a state within Israel. A British decision in 1948 Here I see a similarity between Israel and the early Americans Emigrating West And not caring about the tribes and peoples they displace in the doing Greed and religion, the two curses of the world My church is the fields and forests, my god is nature I need no more than that
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Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
I'm Sick Of This Sad World
The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious How to say this briefly: Firstly, find words for the inexpressible. They do exist. Here is the gist: Each has components - Churches, sects and cults, their creeds: The claim of being chosen. Pure spirit's -ality doesn’t seem to need A system woven Into scripture which professes knowing What is best for all, Where if you’re good you rise And if you’re bad you fall. The spiritual as an approach to life, Seems to place the emphases On unity within the mixture of beliefs; On peace and joy, and getting these; Transcendent over time and space And, most of all, A sense that you are face to face With truth about reality, Its indescribability. Yet not impossible to give a voice to; Love that comes, fear that goes! ****** no. A loving kindness big & small, Universal, – if you will, That permeates, recalibrates, Connecting to an All that’s spirit: All in all. Practices to help along: Meditation, psilocybin, prayer and song: The mystical both caused or opened. That said, non- theistic preference Needs to be demystified, a road for genius, dunce. Not piety, religion, magic, paganism, or god-based, Not theological nor physical, But meta-, deeply meaningful, Yes mystical! The core of all. The Pleasant Difference ‘Tween The Spiritual & Religious 2.9.2017 To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin
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Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
The Pleasant Difference 'Tween Spirituality & Religious
Where do society's extremists abide? Rallies and Racists go side by side. BBQs offer up well-done bigots; On Jordan's lap dance the zealots. Dogmatists rant in wild front rows, True believers don't put on such shows? Sexists cower in coastal Compounds, Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns. Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns. Sepratists hold their final stand On this side of The Rio Grande; Fanatics occupy far Left and Right, Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight. Mysoginists grab till they have blisters, Huns and louts date brothers and sisters. Philistines take our private spaces, And whistle-blowers can't show their faces. Of all the ists I know and abhor, The musicist is a bigoted boor; A connoisseur I abjure, Who chooses tunes he insists Are superior than my interests, And disses tunes I like best. So now I'll lay my needle down, I've turned the table that goes round, And plead musicists won't hesitate To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.
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May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 9:41 AM UTC
The Musicist