"signifying" poems
∴
A signifying monkey grunted
(keyboard-clever, morals stunted)
from his perch in a digital tree.
And next, did text (quite rapidly):
“Courtship rituals won’t suffice.
Face-to-face can’t break the ice.
Instagram me! Tweet me up . . .
friend me, like me, buttercup.
Sentences are so outmoded—
take too long to get decoded;
primate sexting hits me faster,
steers me towards your hot disaster.
Female monkeys: send an image.
(Ain’t got time for useless verbiage…)
if your snout just might unseat me
tweet me, greet me—don’t delete me.”
Then, unpeeling fresh banana,
searched his screen for Vox Humana. . .
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Im cold
no one knows me
not even myself
Im tired of living with no self-help
Oh hell
Oh well
Guess this fights over
i hear the ringing of a bell
In time
in my own eyes im blind
cant seem to find
my way out of this mess
so much stress
just to impress
Impress who you ask
Matter fact
i dont know that
but all these suicidal tendencies
Someone put an end to me
I feel like i should be quoting Macbeth's final solilquoy
Life is but a wandering shadow
Goes nowhere
like i care
And all our yesterdays have lighted
fools the way to dusty death
Now stop it for a minute
let me catch my breath
Foe his final line
so i may go in depth
Life is told by an idiot
full of events
signifying nothing
so why repent
and now i truly question
can time be well spent?
Just let me lament
Few good times
adn many bad
all sad
i start to get mad
I start thinking
even if i did look
on the brightside id probably go blind
no lie
i bought a suit to meet god
so let me straighten the tie
my final words to you
goodbye
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
The name Theodore has its Greek anthropologies, Jewish anthropologies and also Germany anthropologies. The Greek anthropological perspective of The name Theodore indeed has something to do with the gods.However, the Greek way of looking at life was a frustrated thinking.To them everything was a god. They had a plethora of gods; utopia,cacotopia, Thespis, muse, clio, calypso, and Theodore was a half a god like Gabriel who impregnanted Mary on behalf of God as Joseph the cuckold carpenter patiently looked musing the ballad of a cuckold peasant . So Theodore and Gabriel were godsend.I have not delved to know what it means among the Jews, But am aware of the the cultural and anthropological surroundings of the name Theodore in Germany . It is a name of a male person signifying extra-masculine behavior. I also write poetry in Deutsch, so i know substantial cultural values of the people of Germany. Like in this case the modern social naming systems . I am aware of the anthropology of this Deutsch nomenclatural position.Why would link this name to Greeks but not Germany may due to some silent social and emotional disposition in Europe that the English speaking Europeans have a soft spot for the Greek culture.While at the same time they become victims of high adrenaline level when exposed to anything Germany. they always get repulsed when the word Germany is mentioned.So one's thesis on nomenclatural values of the name Theodore depends on which side of European consciousness one is found; is it Germany friendly consciousness or Germany threatened consciousness? The dystopic component of the name Theodore is purely cacotopic with zero element of utopia , as extra-masculinity is a swine of engendered civilization all the times.
Yours
Alexander k Opicho
NB/ i kindly invite Theodore to come to Kenya so that we do a joint research on the Swahili perspectives of the name Theodore, in Kiswahili the name Theodore is subverted to bwana tadayo
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
Red is the color of passion, but the passion of love
A firey burning sensation, heating and fueling lover's desire
Orange is the color of energy, blinding, and fast
Zipping through space and recharging the multiverse
Yellow is the color of friendship, sunshine and bright
Lifting frowns and bringing joy to all
Green is the color of life, growth, expansion
Of Gaia and the vibrant vivacity of Mother Earth
Blue is the color of sadness and melancholy and despair
Of the salty water of both tear and sea
Indigo is the color of calm and surging stillness, contemplation
And intellect, the color of knowledge
Violet is the color of passion also, the passion of music and art
Powerful and strong, mellowed and smooth
And octamarine is the color of magic, the eighth color of the rainbow, falling off the edge of the world into space
White and black, not contained within a rainbow, but both contain the rainbow themselves, they intertwine, yin and yang
White signifying good, pureness, gaiety, life
Black symbolising evil, taint, gloominess, death
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
"She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
~Shakespeare, from 'Macbeth'
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry
Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels
Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet
No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals
Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed
All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal
Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance
Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt
The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word
Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
the mirror
divides where
the partition begins
between broken and free
i touch the glass
it imitates me
copies my every move
i must be confused
i touch the glass again
it still imitates me
showing the contour lines
of my every ****** expression
but then its gone
i must be very confused
i look hard into the glass
i see my face
i look harder
but this time its different
i first see my flaws
my imperfect perfections
what makes me whole
why should i look like a brainless doll?
i look harder once more
into the glass
and i see something
far more different
i see the girl
with the piercing
dark grey eyes
who has everything in
her life just sorted out
but then i see
the girl
with dark black
holes in her sockets
instead of eyes
this girl has
many marks on her body
signifying how many times
she has been hurting
i see a marking
on her forehead
it says LOST
it then begins to
cut a wound
into her scull
i try to forget
all these disturbing images
i have seen in this mirror
forgive and forget
hasn't it always been about forgiving and forgetting?
i'm not sure i want to forget anymore.
i want to remember.
i turn back
and look at the girl
with the deep dark eyes
i then see her mouth move
who are you?
(b.d.s.)
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
I never really put much thought into love.
I figured it was something imaginary.
Parents say I love you.
But then they scream at each other behind slammed doors.
Boys tell you they love you to get in your pants.
Girls seem to love everything whether it's fluffy, pretty or just **** attractive.
I've never been one to believe in it all.
It never made much sense.
Always a meaningless word.
Signifying as little as four simple letters.
But then I met you.
And it may have been a sunny day.
And everyone may have been in high spirits.
But we walked.
And we talked.
And I think I felt our souls bounce off each other.
Like they were old friends reconnecting.
Catching up.
Yet you were totally new.
And two days.
Two days is all it took for my soul to understand that it found its long lost friend.
But then we were separated again.
And our souls are struggling to stay in touch.
But I feel deep down that you're not gonna be gone long.
We'll see each other again.
And we'll be Soulmates.
And I know for a fact I will run anywhere with you.
Because the feeling I get when I'm with you.
It's as if those four empty letters are full at last.
And they're full to capacity.
I know it's not lust.
I feel it in my soul.
This is love.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Once upon a time, Oh but that’s such a boring way to start-
Once upon a time.
I was little red riding hood that knowingly stepped
onto the wrong side of the path,
Hoping that a monster in the woods
would come and get me, but you-
A hurricane,
car crashes in slow motion,
personified heartbreak-
Too much.
Too much applesauce madam? The waiter asked, clean-shaven face bathed
In the New York skyline, ignorant to the gunfire explosions
inside me as I waited for you.
No thank you, sir.
“Meet me at the station”,
scrawled in messy, love- stained letters
In between the railway roars and the clatters of foreign accent, you've flaked again, like the struck chord of a bass
Signifying disappointment like a punch line
Reverberating through my skull.
Okay, repeat the mantra, one-two-steady-
Okay. It's Okay.
Four weeks later
I had your body pushed up flush against bricks and-
No shut up you don’t get to say anything after you go and shatter me like that
You’re sick do you know that? Lips snarling, heart breaking.
You’re sick.
So maybe I was the big bad wolf after all.
Stairwell bricks glinted off iridescence and
your mouth in that sad, sad laugh
Studying me like a dream brought
to the ground,
Puffy lipped and eyes blown wide like I was on some psychedelic high-
And you said
*“You’re still a child with fanciful ideas of love, and the way you cling onto them-
Quite frankly, it’s terrifying.”*
Please darling, let me redefine myself
Skip the pleasantries and small talk,
scrap the story of little red riding hood-
Once upon a time, I was apology and you were forgiveness
I can imagine inside you, of alarm bells and sunken souls
as you listen to the static white noise of
A dying heart
Hello darling, are you there? Can you hear me? Is this mic working?
I hate to sound like those magazine cut outs-
I hate to sound like,
Just another lover, just another cliché-
But you were the matchstick to my dynamite
and nothing feels better
Than my own self- destruction, so won’t you please
Another chance? No?
Even Lucifer sometimes longs to be let
Into the gates of heaven again
I’ve cooked some apology,
I saved a plate for you
So for the love of god come inside and have some before it goes cold.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 5:04 AM UTC
CRIMSON
Colors explode
As the sumac stands sentinel over the ebbing rays of the sun
Shepherding away Niibin to make room for Dagwaagin
Standing, alone, in a sea of green
Sumac heralds the changing season
And like an artistic wild fire
Is the first in what will become a palette of chromatic vibrancy
Sensing the subtle change
Mother deer, her two fawns and yearling
Meandering through the sumac grove
Make haste of the fading green buffet
Mother Bear and her cubs, now a year stronger and wiser
Gorge on honey and berries as they ready for their winter's sleep
Red-Winged Blackbirds, Robins and Sandhill Cranes congregate en masse
Hummingbird drinks the final drops of nectar
In anticipation of their journey south
In advance...of the returning white Biboon blanket
The clock of Mother Earth is precise
And the natural world follows her timely rhythms
As southerly and westerly winds shift to the north
Eagle soars high above...the yet unfrozen river
Vivid foliage slowly falls to the forest floor
Creating an intricate insulating tapestry for those below
In the meadow, swaying in the wind, stands a solitary Daisy
It's single yellow petal defying the departure of longer days
Harvest moon shimmers through bare branches
Dancing, tapping in rhythmic fashion, upon a quiet window
Stirring Misigami from her reverie
Outside her window, a lone black figure, a Lobo, like her
Acknowledges her presence, blurring the lines of consciousness
Signifying that dreams do come true
And that through the change of seasons
We grow
We become stronger
Wiser
And are given the true gift...of forever being...
...Hopeful
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
STOP CREEPING
(Road signs in Australia thus remind us to keep to the speed limit)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare: MacBeth, Act 5 Scene 5.
Creeping, seeping, peeping, sleeping,
What’s the common factor through these ‘eep’ words deeming?
Shakespeare calls them dusty and aligns them up with death.
Our world calls it shadow but it chokes you out of breath.
Churches cannot see them so they flout invisible.
Jesus calls them idols yet they sound so plausible.
Christians follow teachers in a roundabout way.
Teachers crave disciples which determines what they say.
But these are all poor players on a poorly structured stage.
Their stage gives way. They tumble. They rise up in a rage.
“Life has not been fair,” they say, and “Where is God in that?”
Did they ask Him in the first place? Did they call God up to chat?
The churches have no answers. Now where do I go from here?
Go right back to the Bible, Friend. The truth is written there.
Check it yourself. It’s relevant to eras far and near.
Like natural laws it cannot change with fashion year to year.
So do not mix the fashion in philosophies of life
With Truth that stands forever among raging seas of strife.
Counselling in modern terms can get you sympathy,
But will it give you backbone for the next antipathy?
Feminism needed to support the weaker staff,
But now of our humanity it rejects one whole half!
And money is too much an issue when it must be said
That what is not of love is valueless to Christ our Head.
Of all the thousands who are found in church each seventh day,
How many can indeed discern the right and faithful way?
How many put their lives on hold for truth and nothing less?
How many first set out their plan and build their faith round this?
Is there not one who will apply to God for his blueprint
So s/he can play the part of power for treasure in Heaven’s mint?
The Spirit of Truth cannot be found where ideas pull such weight.
He’s somewhere else you don’t suspect. Chase Him, and don’t be late!
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
A sign we are, without meaning
Without pain we are and have nearly
Lost our language in foreign lands,
For when the heavens quarrel
Over humans and moons proceed
In force, the sea
Speaks out and rivers must find
Their way. But there is One,
Without doubt, who
Can change this any day. He needs
No law. The rustle of leaf and then the sway of oaks
Besides glaciers. Not everything
Is in the power of the gods. Mortals would sooner
Reach toward the abyss. With them
The echo turns. Though the time
Be long, truth
Will come to pass.
But what we love? We see sunshine
On the floor and motes of dust
And the shadows of our native woods and smoke
Blooms from rooftops, at peace beside
Turrets' ancient crowns; for the signs
Of day are good if a god has scarred
The soul in response.
Snow like lilies of the valley,
Signifying a site
Of nobility, half gleams
With the green of the Alpine meadow
Where, talking of a wayside cross
Commemorating the dead,
A traveler climbs in a rage,
Sharing distant premonitions with
The other, but what is this?
By the figtree
My Achilles died
And Ajax lies
By the grottoes of the sea,
By streams, with Scamandros as neighbor.
In the persisting tradition of Salamis,
Great Ajax died
Of the roar in his temples
And on foreign soil, unlike
Patroclos, dead in king's armor. And many
Others also died. On Kithairon
Lay Eleutherai, city of Mnemosyne. And when
God cast off his cloak, the darkness came to cut
Her lock of hair. For the gods grow
Indignant if a man
Not gather himself to save
His soul, yet he has no choice; like-
Wise, mourning is in error.
Friedrich Holderlin
translated by Richard Sieburth
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
I shall love diners after Death
Famished from a million mile trek
Soft dances, whimsical, flowing
All in time and in step
Effervescent in its antiquity
Light penetrates the vociferate soul
A blinding silhouette Reveals the true physique
casting no shadows
back, at last, back to the harmony &
surrealism of our sacrarium, our home
no more hours to waste away
nothing to signifying
night from day
no need to search for words to convey
As we began we return just as we should
our recrudescence revivifies our sainthood
with No judgment charged upon us
with no reward for the good
neither condemned are the noxious
immoral nor the many many absurd
For those deleterious malignant calamities
must remain incarcerated on Earth
from whence it came
As we Return once again
soul cleansed in beatific death
The physical abandoned with sin
The dead left unknown,
un birthed
Shut in
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
He raised up his head,
Trying to speak,
Yet speaking nothing.
She opened her mouth,
Trying to mutter words,
Yet nothing coming out.
I can't breathe
Words never to be forgotten
I can't breathe
Words we carry on placards
I can't breathe
Words kicking down whiteness
I can't breathe
Words doing-away with racism
I can't breathe
Words demanding equality
I can't breathe
Words bridging the white and black gap
I can't breathe
Words changing the times
I can't breathe
Words destroying white supremacy
I can't breathe
Words uniting colors
I can't breathe
Words uniting races
I can't breathe
Words signifying unity
I can't breathe
Words causing race inequality uproar
I can't breathe
Words knocking down white brutality
I can't breathe
Words ending police brutality
I can't breathe
Words
Great words
Creating equality for all race
Ending police brutality
Doing-away white supremacy
Uniting all race
Uniting all colors
A must for all nations
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 8:40 AM UTC
I look for twilight,
The dim purplish light
Signifying neither day or night
But merely time,
held in lofty suspension
For precious few moments,
Not so blinding as day
Nor as smothering as night
But a momentary lapse
In the gaps between heaven and here,
Wherever here might be.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
It was not my first intention
Courting, that is
Never my strongest of suits
Known to closest my true emotions
I let my colors speak for me
The crispness of my whites
Radiating pure innocence
The warmth and joy of my yellows
Welcoming
My orange hints
Full of desire and energy
The subtleness of my pinks
Portraying my delicacy and grace
Be around a bouquet of me
The sweetest thoughts of the most gentle sentiments
Will arise alone from my aroma
After having met my thorny stems
You are rewarded by my silky texture
My mesmerizing fragrance
The spectrum of my colors entice
I spread my own rainbow across the skies
I tease, I flirt
All to my liking
However seducing
Although said to be a natural
I prefer to be picked
Coat smooth as the most delicate of flowers
Queen of the Garden
Rosa is my name.
Different needs call for different hues
I am divine.
I am romantic.
The presence of me, pleasant
The perfume I emit, calming
Creative minds put me to good use
A trail lines the hall
Crimson flutters leave a path to your bedroom
Delicately placed aloft the best of Egyptian cotton
What better sight of affection to see?
The flush of color to my cheeks when we meet
The thumping of my hearts beat?
Rose petals on the sheets?
From sponge baths to massages
Chocolate dipped scarlet strawberries
Each affair we have is the most superb of quality
My red appearance not the deepest of color
But its beautiful elegance is the most sought after of shades
A symbol of deep burning undying passion
Signifying the most immortal dramatic love
The Red Rose is The Rose of all roses.
Rosa is my name.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Dedicated to all my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2019 ! Kindly read the footnotes too. If you like it, do re-post this poem for wider circulation please! Thank You, - Raj
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Travelling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the 'uncrowned
King' one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolised His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
Of His kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
……………………………………………………………….......................
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC, which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
ALL COPY RIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
,
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Dedicated to Ms Valsa George & my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2017 !
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………...........................¬..
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Edit poem
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
If Emily Dickinson was writing a suicide letter:
Dear Soft Reality,
Your presence brings me grief and your absence leaves me emptily blissful. You leave my heart to suffer under your cold dagger of truth. I see no purpose to further seek you, only to face my murderer in the bitter realms of my heart that have been so tortured by your harsh precision. To go on would be madness, but perhaps that is what I have become. A madwoman, trapped by lies of true love and wishful thinking. My heart was so filled with the falsity that has become love, and compassion. To completely give yourself to somebody, to find out that their heart already belongs to another fortunate soul, has by far been the down fall of my sanity. I cannot cry any more, what good would it do. I cannot deny the truth that my love has been poured into an bottomless pitcher…but oh how beautiful that pitcher was. It promised me everything I could dream of, so pristine and clean, signifying all that is good. It was decorated with ornate blossoms that told of new beginnings and hope and it’s spout was graced with delicate greenery that promised fortitude and protection from all that could bring harm. Now all I see is despair. As I took a closer look at its intricate detail, I began to nice the rotting leaves that lay beneath the blossoms, and the tiny thorns that lay prominently on the vinery across the spout. It has been a trap from the beginning, and I am in love with it.
However, I have poured my soul into that pitcher, and I have nothing left. My heart is parched and crackling, and my love has dried up on the shores of desperation. All that I have loved is gone, and my hope of release lies in a steel barrel of pain that lies in my left hand. It is beautifully real. I can wrap all of my loathing fingers around its cold trigger; it shows me the only truth that has been made clear to me. Death. I have been yet a tall drink, chilled on ice, numbed to reality, sipped on by the devil himself. Well the devil has had his share and is drunk on my love, leaving me an empty glass, with melted ice. I can feel every pang of you. There is nothing more for me here.
I shall introduce this truth to my mouth, and it will be sweet, like the first time I met his lips, so gentle and unassuming. Only this time, when death is promised, it will not be masked with love and tenderness. My tongue will make love to its silver bullet, as my mind slips into peace and silence from the wolves of my torment.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM!
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolizing His sorrowing, suffering, and
crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children and
bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………..........................................
A Very Happy Christmas To All My Reader!
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD manuscript says that these three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that
King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes , & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming ; - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
In the days when dry ******* was as far as it went
I just fancied you more.
Strange I should think of this, after the one positive stick
in an ammonia scented carrier bag of negatives, or not.
Like a car salesman in a too often dry cleaned suit,
I enticed you with lurid banners offering years of hetro milage.
"££££££££££££££s of savings, no contraception needed,
this one wants a bun in it's **** loving oven",
and as I ***** down my eyes at the sound of rustling sheets,
signifying an imagined eroticism,
a rub down with an ******** my friends would squeal for,
I'm wishing you were a chick with a strap on.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 11:43 PM UTC
At 7 years old, I told my mother,
"You're not my real mom.
You're my Earth mom,
And at night when I'm asleep,
I go back to my home planet."
As the years sped onwards,
I conceptualized myself as a three headed alien,
A Poet From Another Planet,
Acutely aware of my innate differences.
No explanation had I other than being extraterrestrial.
Those around me, too, seemed to sense I was "other."
Playground insults supported by adults who floated labels like
"Lazy," "Difficult," "Rude," "Deliberately Obtuse"
Over my head as if they were a crown,
Signifying I was queen of kingdom "Unlike Us."
No one looked deeper at the poor social skills ,
The rigidity, sensory difficulties, challenges with executive dysfunction.
It was easier to pretend I was in control,
Choosing the route of difficulty and belittlement.
It was only after I nearly succeeded in killing myself
That someone assembled the whole picture.
My story is not unique among women
Born into bodies and brains whose operating system is Autism.
We are the forgotten, the alienated, and plastered with assumptions,
Lost under the blind eye of those who spin tall tales of
"Only straight, white little boys can possibly be autistic!"
Generations of autistic women have known not a name for their difference,
Bogged down under self-loathing, eating disorders, and suicides,
Anything to cope with a world designed to break them
For the differences everyone noticed but no one could see.
Now that women are finally coming onto the scene,
A subtle shift in the awareness that the clinicians, teachers, doctors
Were missing a whole population of autistic people,
Answers are gate kept behind assessments that are thousands of dollars
And diagnosticians who've yet to see the error of their ways.
Peace of mind seems to be a right only of white autistic men
Who are lucky enough to have the "profile" of autism modeled after them.
It took 19 years, two suicide attempts, including 10 days in a coma
For someone to finally "see me,"
And I'm one of the lucky ones.
Answers were finally mine,
But understanding one's own brain should be a human right.
I think we can all agree:
The price of a diagnosis should not be your life.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 2:39 PM UTC
The universe and
the cosmic system
is always renewed daily
with the divine helpful
ability to heal and refresh
our bodies and all that
concerns us.
Absolutely nothing is ever
stagnant in nature.
The cloud changes itself to
beautiful sequences,
even the winds twirling and
turning in complex moves gives
freshness to change the weather
to sooth and calm our nerves.
A new door just opened up,
though old in nature.
Signifying a new way,
a new beginning unexplored,
untouched, untapped by man.
The beginning of a new dawn,
another phase of the day,
with a new law in place.
Subtly efficiently and effectively,
unshakable in its chores
and in synergy exacts its influence
powerfully in order to help our life
function without interruption.
You don't need any key but just a push.
A new door is here,but it's ever so old,
the door to your heart
with a new law on love engraved deeply
within it,
though so ancient but ever so modern.
Find it urgently please.
Would you?
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC