"sufficiency" poems
1229
Because He loves Her
We will pry and see if she is fair
What difference is on her Face
From Features others wear.
It will not harm her magic pace
That we so far behind—
Her Distances propitiate
As Forests touch the Wind
Not hoping for his notice vast
But nearer to adore
’Tis Glory’s far sufficiency
That makes our trying poor.
6.4k
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.
and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
The power of contentment is a strong force,
composed of the sense of inward sufficiency;
for we’ve been promised the strength to succeed
when we open spiritual eyes and dare to see…
His divine plan of grace and abundance for us.
Christ, the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end,
demonstrated His Love with actions at Calvary,
giving us the privilege to be called His friend.
We should not be worried about personal needs,
for we’ve been equipped to address all of them;
study The Word, apply His principles to your life
and you’ll enjoy Life, without feeling condemned.
For contentment has nothing to do with your wants;
it’s being satisfied on the way to where you’re going.
Boldly ask God for wisdom; trust Him and His timing;
continue to be blessed by the seeds you are sowing.
Don’t be affected by Life-stealing, negative emotions;
find your identity of being one of His girls and boys;
real contentment is the underlying power to be happy-
learn to lean on Biblical promises and the Lord’s joy!
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 11:36; 1 Tim 6:6; Eph 3:20; Jam 4:2; Phil 4:11-13; John 3:16-17
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Most of my life, I’ve been a highly independent person and proudly so. I have grown myself up, travelled alone, personal decisions. I am even praised for being so independent. I can’t say I did not enjoy the glory. I have rejected my support system fiercely and craved the glory of independence.
Growing up and be independent! That’s all that has been a goal. I had made personal independence as my virtue. Independence from parents, from education, and when you have your heartbroken, independence from being in love. I hated the word “compromise” and the only way to achieve. Doing something all by yourself takes no compromising. I don’t have to think about someone else’s feelings, I don’t have to worry about their needs, I don’t have to take care of anyone but me. Now, this sounds more and more like selfish than independence.
I realise the bigger struggle is to collaborate and come to a solution where everyone has their needs met, to give as well as take. Now that felt like growing up, the test of real courage. Are we glorifying independence because we don’t want to take care of other people? Because everywhere I went, someone was telling me I needed to find my freedom. Everywhere I looked, I searched in vain for that independence I once had, finally having to accept I would never be an unemotional, unattached person again.
Maybe we need not be independent. Self-made Is so overrated. Nobody is. We need not be. Even world war was won by the alliance. We need 2 for a clap or make a life. You need light and day to survive, you need bones and muscles. The world is not singular, the world is not independent. Even earth is going round and round the sun with a crazy crush that it can’t collide into and it can’t move away from. Earth is so on its own, so much in its own, but its existence is a collaborative one.
I know now that I can’t go at it alone or maybe even if I can I don’t want to do this alone. I want to live a life with friends and family supporting each other through the good, the rough, and everything in between. And I want a romantic partner to experience life with me. I want to have support emotionally, physically, and financially a coexistence.
My feminazi is in admitting that we need more feminine collaboration than the masculine ideal of success and independence. I want to find that freedom of shared submission and being part of something bigger than self-sufficiency.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC
Overdevelopment in Bali
The Farmers lose valuable water
For use in the hotels
The mushrooming developments have clogged irrigation channels
To rice fields inland,
Often driving them up and driving up the cost of tending the land
The shrinking amount of land available
Has threatened Bali's self-sufficiency in rice
Tourism benefits the economy
But the environment should also be respected
A String of letters
The Height of a man stand in the middle of a lush padi field
They spell, "Not for sale,"
Gede Agus says the words
Are meant to scare off investors
This is his land
He inherited from his ancestors
Development must be halted
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
Train spotted on ancient rail tracks
Mucks and grants on submerged pasts
Copper and ***** metal poles point
Upwards in heaven above the panelled tops
Price all the intentional conditioning
A paradise of self sufficiency
A dew of ranting , the metal raiding
Price the substitutional compressions
A timber frame of tunnels
The heightened temperature
Price and tag her beautiful mind
An attachment of glorified plinth
The punch of the chaotic medals
Pride and rearrange her plentiful plight
Show all her cast frame in crimson and greys
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
my hidden shames
are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.
But they will someday
make an excellent poem.
Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here
———————————————————-
the askew
are my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.
a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,
and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery, by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.
no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .
a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.
But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.
7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-
morning prayers are
always
a trilogy
the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.
7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
Beturikeš sleep in the middle of Germany. USS, Romania, Serbia, C. Using Maccaro Maguinda. Green Turkish Arabic Italian Export Marks Marcus Germany Roman legends are amino acids. 1 edition of "Beritania'amino Nā'akika -'amino Nā'akika ... which, to see Nikki, Pompey, Ram Lambinue Mont Blanc NJAC (Mont Blanc), Tiripolisa, United States, Brazil, China, Hawaii, United States "In Somalia, United States of America, Romania, Serbia, Romania, sad, knowing in the USA, Diego has lost the wall," meaning "landlords are Arab, Arabic Arno'ōma'oma'o , German, Thai, Italian लौरा LGBQLig Rich Roman Mount Cay England, United Kingdom, Romania, Science NJAC sufficiency, 11 new cases in my new Mont Blanc, Luembanii Hawaii American Tripoli Brazil, Uganda, Romania, Spain, Riya, Somalia, November, Switzerland, Germany, and now it is an adult man acid , Nā'akika D. was unhappy, sound United States, and Romania Purgatininigi -... "This popular Christian Democratic International, United Nations General Assembly, United States Marinca, Romania, Serbia, Roman race. Mango Mango lamp. Green Apap, Arno, Albanian, German, one Italian लौड़ा बक Light, Real Estate in Thai. In the Roman Empire I Pelekāne'amino nā'akika lock in the UK, "no idea" Hey, Romania, Luembinnogo Mont Blanc Custom NJAC (Mont Blanc), Brazil, United States Tripoli China, Hawaii, Uganda, Romania, Spain, Italy, Somalia , November 11th ... - Laws Act, Germany, Law on Germany, Now A Man, 'Amino Dictionary D. On the contrary, a spokesman for the Roman Latin America, the former Romanian-American ... even "Christian" has never been a Christian.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
I sit up there in the thin air where my focus is extended by eyes that feed on loneliness and lips that taste the awesomeness of pipe dreams in the sky,
A vision opens up to me, unreal, a trip out LSD, but no this is reality and here
in thin air flying free, the eagles seem to float as if on skis across a frozen sea.
I have abandoned all for self sufficiency, I want the eagle to be me and me to be the eagle, up here in the thin air where I grab at straws.
Two thousand floors down on the elevator to desperation in the nation of investigators they look for me, Up is not on their agenda or they'd send a scouting party to hunt me down.
In some era long before when I tore envelopes to lick my life and stuck them to the notice boards and no one cared, I cared more for stray dogs on the street than any one of ten or so of beggars that I met or those who came to meet the dawn with pleading looks, was it yesterday when my name, written in the book that details all? I began the fall that rose me to this place where I now sit, invisible but I am seen by clean air to be particle, to be this place without the trappings of a soiled humanity, I want to ski like eagles 'cross the frozen sea and for those who doubt me this was never LSD, this was the walking in and through a life that no one ever knew and a shout or two along the way,
In the thin air, I learn to grin, to remember what it feels like when you let the future in, some time ago I knelt to pray and being nearer to tomorrow than today. I'm sure that if someone watches over me, they'll set the skis, fire up the frozen seas and let me go.
I become my own General and watch over my army, but here in the thin air there is no one to harm me,
the eagles look on quizzically
floating by on skis.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow
The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy
The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.
The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds
The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them,
Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.
The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever
and if at times the former
then always the future
the finest font I've ever found is you
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
*you told me that you were
just playing it safe,*
careful to keep your perfectly powdered face from grime
and getting dirt under your manicured nails.
you try to maintain that posture with poise and grace,
while others break their backs and crawl
on the ground on their knees and bellies.
*you told me
that you are playing nice.*
you said that you are loving, caring, kind, and generous
and all those pretty qualities.
that's true,
but
one glance at your eyes
is enough to know fully that
you are also
fearful and terrified.
you are a coward:
a prisoner of pride
playing god as you place your trust on yourself.
taunted by questions of rejection, ability, and sufficiency,
you cowered in your high tower
instead of joining the frontlines in the fight.
frozen by fear
your heart has gone too numb and cold, for
the doubt and anxiety has put out your fire.
you said that you have won it all.
but actually,
you know nothing.
nothing!
about triumph and victory
for though the world has plunged into calamity,
you were never one with the army.
your bright eyes has seen death
but only from the sidelines.
**you defile the purpose of your armor
by keeping it perfectly polished
when it is meant to be stained by mud and blood.**
you told me that you were just playing it smart.
you said that it's only rational, logical,
the normal human response
to take every measure to avoid pain and harm.
you behold the chaos
and cry
"they are fools!"
and
you are
perfectly
right.
they made themselves
into proud and shameless fools
for they know well that
the fools are the ones chosen to shame the wise.
darling,
just
stop
playing it nice, safe, an smart
for this is not a game,
**this is
war.**
strip off the crown and ball gown and
pick up your sword and armor.
from your high tower,
run
to the mountains and fields
to the homes and cities
run
to the trenches and frontlines.
for it's either you lose your self or lose the fight
soldier,
warrior,
get ready to pour out sweat, tears,
and even blood.
though you have yet to see
still,
claim victory:
the war has already been won
before it has even begun.
**it is
done.**
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
the ink of succinct…
***is this a poem?
is it a sufficiency?
it self, itself is in
possess of two f’s,
two i’s and two c’s,
thus, is it necessary?
necessity, a quality qualification?
the moment, this moment
is both over and forever,
a sufficient and a necessary
condition for art, for your art,
think - is your condition,
necessary and sufficient?***
then you are an artist and a poem…
Dec 30, 2022
Dec 30, 2022 at 5:57 PM UTC
*alas, the same promise,
yet again, broken, no more writing of
the lightness of perfection so real,
it cannot be a truly,
a man's one more poetic homage to improve upon nature's gift,
nary a single craft to be seen,
tho somewhere, a motor hums nearby,
a mechanical reminder that men
will intrude, even if unobserved,
not necessarily then,
a picture complete
the sun 7 o'clock afternoon sky low,
warmths the world, as did its AM reciprocal,
a dozen hours earlier,
both on a low heat,
a sky stove top
'keep warm' setting,
a desirable global warming temperature
that promise not to burden you
with a hundredth scribing of his
lottery luck, this poetry nook and the
idyll of its surround,
it's childlike insistence,
stomping on the greenest sea grass
of this portly world,
"write of me, attention must be paid!"
the lightest breeze of excellent sufficiency
asks the trees to shake
their compatriot leaves
as if to applaud,
one more time, a lord of the ring serenade,
an evenstar song of
the solstice of perfection
a cloudless night but for
an occasional wispy white blemish,
hinting that the orb's final bow will be
a forever remembered,
standing ovation performance
in an hour, to the dock we'll go,
joining the congregant gulls
in appreciating the edging lower of
an immaculate inception
of a dying day's deceptive departure
my troubles, those that
furrow and till the brow,
105 miles away, as the crow flies,
for now suppressed into non-existence,
as we drink to
la vie en rose,
our wine, snatching the salmon pink
of suns rays rippling and reflecting
upon humans, who too reflect,
upon their good fortune,
this single and singular
peeking at the peaking of their perfection,
each wishing this be
their journeys end, their final solstice,
to walk into a funnel upon the water,
into the sun and the
horizon in attendance faithful,,
alighting upon the wings of the most glorious of inviting, dying rays of setting,
answering the question, a long last finale,
here, here is shelter!*
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
“*You are so kind.
Thank you with all the
resolve
in my heart.”*
J.V.
<>
A thank you note,
for a simple shining-of-light,
stuns me into inspiration,
deep chested thrombosis consternations and calculations,
palpitations of the boom-boom variety,
signaling the onset of intracranial contractions
of a new birth~poem
aborning…
who of us these days,
speaks of the resolve in our hearts?
who of us free confesses deep natured thanks,
it is almost too old fashioned.
it is powerful.
it is a thanks that
powers the wattage sufficiency
to light up a city entire,
and even though inward focused,
it yet is shedding Moses-like
light beams
heavenward,
I wrack my heart to even comprehend,
that simplest of actions reciprocal:
1/Thank You
can it, (it can!)
steel the heart,
give its truthfulness a special
power, and more than resolve,
even solves
our equation solution
so elegantly is the endless searching for the
right way to give thanks, to receive thanks,
it is a mutual gifting, for our mutuality is of
two hearts, echoing the words of
all legislative bodies:
”Be it Resolved”
what is this resolution then?
the consummate of English words
with such a variety of shadings,
requiring a declarative,
not a narrative,
consummation
be it resolved,
that two resolute hearts
shall not depart this Earth
before their arms interlocute an
embrace,
the shadows of their eyes interlock,
casting away
interfering long distances,
a single atmosphere shall
be tasted, inhaled,
by their
combinatory sensories
then and only then:
their resolve tested
and surpassed
will their poem
commencé et terminé,
begun and completed
The Emotion is Carried
<<>>
“*The gender-neutral name Jamadhi comes
from Arabic origins, meaning “beauty.”
When thinking about all the beautiful
things in the world, your little one, with
their kind demeanor and bright smile,
no doubt springs to mind! But a name
simply meaning “beauty” doesn’t only
refer to their appearance. This name
is a reflection of their beautiful little
soul, too, on a journey through this world.
Baby Jamadhi could be a gentle soul
or the fiercest of little childon the playground,
but no matter what, a name meaning
“beauty” will always ring true.”
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 3:28 AM UTC
Ersatz coffee, chicory and dandelion,
a dream of self sufficiency
the town has regained its prominence
reverting to old style timber
chevaux de bois,
a smithy as new
as time unfolding,
the spaces between buildings
allowing the sun to divine down
sentimentality decked on back- stools,
speckled sepia blossoming
a petite fleur coronation crown
becomes renewed strangers.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
From labyrinth in Istanbul, my eye spied a familiar cord
Education
How can any education
Be a sufficient insurance
For a pathetic population
Keeps favoring ignorance
From <https://hellopoetry.com/>
Truth known makes free,
truth hid is not ignored,
it waits the fire the next time innocents
are sacrificed to lies. ... thanks, you gave me a spark,
as real as any angel a self anoints another, go
be a lying spirit in the mouth of the tyrant's prophets,
let all the wise
laugh at the possibility of one peacemaker's leaven,
leavening the entire lump, liked or not.
Plop. On to the publisher's desk, piles of wonder and ifity.
A fantasy realm,
counter trope, here the so-called victor-victim ratio,
is imperceptibly low,
we have a regulation: each day requires
its sufficiency of evil,
no harm done is intentionally not possible,
otherwise you get a dimension of flat metric orthogonal
constructive critics
assuming unassigned roles. Do you dance? Or only read along?
Behold how great a fire words may kindle in a satisfied mind.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 5:27 PM UTC
I try to be strong in action and words every day
Every morning I open my Bible and start to I pray
Whispers of imagined blessings in the starts
Positivity, I have learned that, is a farce
I try to hold up ideals that I have broken before
In the hope that I can redeem myself the next time
The distant bell chimes calling out my death
I ignore the knell in an immortal hope sublime
I follow distant shadows on indistinct walls
My insecurities grace the surface and slither and crawls
I scoff at the reptilian camouflage of self-sufficiency
Knowing it is the pain carrying me on.
I am a ********* that would rather feel than be distant
I feel without expression when all I should do is cope
But instead what I do is hopelessly hope
My obsession with dreams makes me repentant.
Sometimes, on lonely nights, I can't be strong anymore
I reach out for a strong shoulder to cradle my sobs
But they often melt away in my tears and shape my fears
I shiver in my feigned self-sufficiency that calls out to emptiness
Maybe I let my imaginations run wild, wild horses fraying into the night
Maybe I need to let go of impossibilities and accept the practicalities
But I would rather lose myself in eyes I have never peered in
My paradise lurking beneath unseen memories.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Walls I'd
Carefully erected
Deconstructed in
A few moments of
Brutal honesty and
Embraced doubt
You'll run
You'll reject
Never forgive
Heaven forbid you forget
Those doubts, crushed
When the pressure couldn't
Be handled and
I combusted
Wall deconstructed
Those bricks held in place by
Mortar mixed with my lies
Set carefully by insecurity,
Crumbling in the explosion
Telling me
To just be
But now, not
Too long later,
I'm scrambling
To pick up the pieces
Gathering bricks and ashes
Remixing my mortar of lies
Trying to reconstruct
My walls
I know
That it isn't good, but
It sure as hell feels easier
Stack brick, on brick
Hide away,
All hide and no seek
I know it's no good
But it sure feels easier
I know
Out of ashes can
Come a beautiful new creation
Redeemed and restored
Because
Lighting and sand make
Glass in a storm
Combine enough
Pressure and heat and
You get a diamond
I know beauty comes
From ashes and
I'm a rough cut diamond crafted
By Greater Hands
But I still want to
Scrape up the ashes
Mix my mortar,
Build my wall
Because it may not be good,
But it sure as hell feels easier
Help me believe
Your diamonds are
Better than
My bricks
Don't let me reconstruct
My walls of
Insecurity and
Self-sufficiency
Deconstructing all
You've built in me
I have
To love You more
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
the isle is surrounded,
one if by day, and
too by night,
a thickening paste
of fog, condensed humidity,
and the mind smiles that
interloper explorers would sail
past by us, unawares,
for the waters are merely a
dirtier shade of green grey,
a "path" to follow and we
would be spared the noisy
pollution of politics and
and injections of identity
that divide, the tirades of
the overly righteous chest
beaters, who never question
their certainty, their compasses
always broken pointing their
"only one way"
sail on, sail past. this piece of
quiet tranquility, a place that
has just one of everything, a
sufficiency, a rejection of excess,
and the only melancholy is
the finality of passing of
the day lillies,
b u t,
the multi-colored irises, the
flowering of azaleas, rhododendrons, and the brevity
of the cheery cherry blossoms
of those;
secure, safe we are, assured that
their peaceful return is guaranteed
by the firmament and its secrets,
that, along with the overwhelming
greenery of this spot, for the
pleasuring enjoyment of all,
even the fog's quietude,
its surround sounds silences the anxious rapid heart beating,
slowed by one thought only:
Here,
herein is,
here within
lies the truths of
shelter
S. I. 2025
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 10:51 AM UTC
My role as a poetic scribe is…
more than I imagined, or had
hoped to do; He qualified me,
as one of His spiritual nomads,
who digs within the Scriptures,
in search of those prized gems-
eternal lessons of Godly wisdom.
I’m not desiring some stratagem,
to con people in turning to Him,
but to share my heart’s delight
of a solid Faith in Christ; He
strengthens me and by His Light
guides me forward in Truth; by
this gift, I can softly voice
my limited understanding of His
Love for me; I opt to rejoice,
having accepted His sufficiency
for my Life; I’m an extension
of Today’s New Testament Church,
rising up with poetic ascension…
while embracing my true identity
in Him; by His Grace and Spirit,
I’ll write new songs, stories,
poems and hymns that will lift…
all eyes unto the eternal Godhead.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
Over many years he built it-
One Panel at a time.
A model of transparency,
A marvel of its kind.
Its terracotta flooring
gave it passive solar heat.
It's placement on a hillside
was a vantage hard to beat.
When he glanced up to the rafters
there Orion, splendid, shone.
With the Hunter as companion,
He would never feel alone.
He took pride in self sufficiency-
wood barrels caught the rain
Solar panels met his modest needs-
off the grid, against the grain .
He always had an open door
as he placed no faith in Locks.
-but sometimes, every now and then-
He wished he had a rock.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
America was never just great
It was flawed first
It is practically an accident
But better here than India
The explorers came, and faster than a cinnamon skinned Arawak Native American woman could yell “the colonialists are coming!” The men in lily-white shirts shoved the unsuspecting indigenous off their land.
The explorers were as lost as Louis and Clark without Sacajawea
But a determined pedophelic peony planted itself in the deep brown soil
The invasive plant started a genocidal streak all over the continent
In return it won a couple cities and holiday and the Native Americans were bestowed with accidental exposure to smallpox and enslavement.
To repay them we allotted reservations where people live in crippling poverty, put Sacajawea on a coin and Pocahontas in a movie yet we cannot fully allow them into our society, our neighborhoods, our schools because they are uncivilized.
The only people who have any business being on this continent are uncivilized. What a shame.
America still is not great
It still shows scars and old behaviors from the 1400s, 1800s, 60s and even yesterday. The Band-Aid was applied but the wound never washed, never sewn up.
So it sets, burgundy bruises and gore gaping at our present, our future.
America’s past is far darker than anyone’s skin but is accepted while brown complexions are not. America’s roots are not up for discussion, white supremacy is not real.
We are imagining things.
We weren’t turned away at white linoleum restaurant counters, we haven’t been isolated from the rest of the country, our sufficiency in the English language hasn’t been questioned, our bodies haven’t been sexualized, politicized
It’s all in our heads.
Our heads, spinning with fiction, are buried
Sinking towards the earth’s core, waiting to come out of the other side where oppression is not pressing down on us like a molten red brick wall. Our brown heads will come up out of the grass and be greeted by the sun and all will welcome us.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:28 PM UTC