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So that's the Kudu-Horn used on your Prize:
The Kind which no Mundial will ever blow
To pity their Ears; And Focus revise
But Senior Petrol in Love filled her Glow:
In turn flashed her Grin as a Cool Relief,
Humbled her Lady and recalled you Friend
Indeed, the Word so long etched in Belief
Was the Same Sharp Sound which caused Fans to spend
And did this Spike ever taught you to Boast
Though Genious the Temple Beggar reminds:
That Good Deeds Un-Posted are Noble Toast
But Kisses under the Fender are Fine.
I guess what's left to do this Summer's End
Is Toot that Horn; And Flames burn Flames again.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Jordan Rowan Feb 2016
Some simple morning
When the sky fell
It was like a temporary warning
Made of wedding bells
As the temple heard the laughter
And the sound of ***
It rang through the rafters
And said "life is complex"
Acina Joy Jan 11
Where there is thunder that reigns
down the emptiness of your flesh,
in a war hidden and filled with apathy,
to sink behind darkness , once named shame.

There it is, the torn kingdom,
that you've claimed as your body.
The temple which you've loved,
but never cared for in those aeons of silence.

Where you pretended that doing nothing
would solve everything
.

And so you weep, for the unfairness of it all,
as you claw at your already mangled flesh,
and press for the warmth of your heart.
Pretend that the rush of blood is a rolling blanket.

You swallow those shards of glass, and emulate the heavens,
and pretend your body with jagged scars
is the place for honourable heroes; pretend your triumph
in this barren, damp land of storms
is the place where thunder always reigns.

A place for heroes who never won, but died in their place.
a poem that is a bit analytical of people who are apathetic to their problems in life; who let themselves get hurt, and pretend to care for themselves by doing nothing, believing just weeping and feeling sad can solve the pain in your life; people who are apathetic, and still persist to hurt themselves (both literally and not).
Star BG Dec 2018
I live in a Temple of Strong.
A place in heart,
where I dance through
clouds and sun graciously.

I live in a temple of love.
Where I generate compassion
and smiles with intention
and reached out hand.

I live in a temple of self.
Where I nurture my own wisdom
and hear choirs of breath
to awaken.

I live in Temple of Peace
dancing to celebrate
my souls journey.
Welcoming all to visit
inside these exciting times

I live, in Temple of Dreams.
Where celebrate the gift of life,
moving with creative flow.
Where God lives within.  

I live, in Temple of Gratitude.
Where I cry, laugh, run,
and walk,
moving with creative flow.
Where  I travel in moment
inside Peace,
Jubilation,
and Abundance.
Inspired by Kryon. A being of love and light that speaks to assist humanity. Kryon I love you.
ThoughT May 3
I hereby invite every oz. Of pain I've been evading for years even before the recreations, to come forth, and hit me like a truck.  I understand you may need to switch between reverse and drive a few times, but I am ready.  I need my light again, for there's darkness in every direction I've been heading.  Forever unsteady.  At this point in my life i'd be happy to spend it sitting on the dock of the bay strumming the days away with the ghost of Otis Redding.  I feel like ive been riding a bike, the chain aint on but I'm still pedaling.  Show me a mystery and you will find another kid meddling.  But I dont wanna hang around while the dust settles in.  I want to watch the sun rise and set again.  I want to float beyond the skin I've been living in.  Soul been starving to go to a place I dont know exists.  I'm grateful for my life, but it's getting harder to shake this.  Been stuck in a cocoon phase unable to complete the change because the structure's too thick.  Mind still races while keeping body tethered with bricks.  But I will embrace it with the waves of sound and silence.  There is a way to make it through, and I'm hoping I will find it.  I will slowly stand up, again after hitting the ground.  Maybe enlist the aid of Chris Jericho to help me break these walls down.  I have lost many times but have not yet been fully defeated.  I want to disappear, but a holistic retreat may be what's needed.  Exorcise the traumas we mistakenly call demons.  I'll die before I settle being a cheap cog in the machine.  I just want to wake up again to see the reality of my dreams.  Instead we're haunted by alarm clocks often robbing us of sleep, and memories of truly beautiful scenes...that just happened.  Main character forgot his purpose along with the plot of the movie..why's the audience clappin'?
Therapy
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

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

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

in big pink petals of bloom;

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


be gentle, though whispering wind)

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

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

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

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

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
zebra Sep 2018
have you ever seen beauty in a silky nightmare
have you  ever seen the monster of deprivation in heavens promise?

we speak of private things
we should never talk about
about vailed women
and their terrible secrets
and about myself who remains no longer a secret to myself

somewhere i went off the track
like a  daisy chain saw of honesty
to ensure you knew i was sick
a sick **** with a trick
as if i ate some ****** up hallucinogenic' s
making me spill my obsessions all over you
like some weird perfumed *****
down a swirling rainbow toilet
that turns out to be only jelly and whipped cream
wrapped in colored ribbons on cellophane tampons

i feel like  having *** or going to the toilet in public
while waving my hands up in the air
screaming yahoo i'm free
to blow to kingdom come
the temple of normalcy
you know
the church of rose gardens, cemeteries and deprivations
except of course for the sneers, smears
and self loathing vanilla demons
who wear long see through dresses and crosses
like dash board plastic virgins
with bobbing heads
that make hissing sounds about sin

i confess
i'm attracted to the darkest women
strange *******
and  ******
the stranger the better
who shake their butts
like hoodoo enchanted show girls
doing what they shouldn't do
crying and scrying like cooing moons calling
"drink me like ****** Mary
daddy **** lollypop"
all inky tats and razorblade ouchies

or
you can join those
covered in white collared black as death habits
begging the invisible *** cake in paradise
waiting for mercy and a little ****
that never comes
stuck in an empty
loveless bar of crucifixes that only serves up theology

oh baby
***** dreams do come true
pink ****** ***** gladly widen their haunches
like **** without boots
not caring if they go to hell
playin
like a joy ride of fiddle **** sticks
all freaky tongues and tingling licks
thick saliva multi lingual blow jobs
lathering flashing lipped saliva for the squirt  
with fiery wet hypodermic kisses
that make screams
like creamed upleaping lava and ash
for a million hungry sexed up twisting tongues
in occult ecstasy
fecundating shrouds of steamy clouds
in stained red black lighted rooms
with cherub crowned *****
and their drooling snatches buttered ****

eat quivering
like fowl mouthed piranhas
crying more raw meat please
while you drag your perfect person visage
into hollow caves of despair
cold and lonely

so you forlorn love struck weeping
horney pathetic scarecrow
socially engineered robots
if you want love
like heated buttery waffles with sweet jam
just give your self away like slutty putty
to lust criminals and *** addicted pervs  
until
you feel someone swallow you whole
soul and all
and lick their lips
like your their cherry pie

then look passed your
rats nest of pride and exhaustive approval list
and love them back
like free beer
bang their brains out
be their slave and make them yours
in the mad house of love
of warped shimmering mirrors, straight jackets, and squeezy insertions

and if one day they don't appreciate your imperfect perfection
if they weaponize like critic's
teach them respect
shove it where they breathe
lick your wounds
be brave
throw them in the trash bin of history
and move on

Eros and Venus
take a million forms

look around
your swimming in a giant bowl of broken hearts
hungry mouths, drenched ***** and hard *****

you whimpering little beasts
dress to ****
undress to live

its a movable feast
advice to the lovelorn young
thank you to Lora Lee for the line
" swirling toilet rainbows"
L B Aug 2018
Katydids and fireflies have the levee tonight
Swat team held the day

There is peace now
and peeping neighbors
emptying horror
among themselves in whispers
left to wonder
‘bout the screaming and the barking
of earlier that day

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up”

Again and again
the demand of surrender
Total
There is no other way

“Let them go!
Come out! come out with your hands up!
It will be okay”

…and he argues in his mind with the shame and loss
…and the shame and "No…it will not be okay"
He had hit her! Hit her with the Gun
again and again…with the gun
Of his demands
The gun of his power
to make her!
The gun of his despair
He had hit her
the dog is barking
His children scream!

“Put down the gun and come out
with your hands up!”

How many more times will they say it!
for all the neighbors to hear
on a loud speaker
Surrender!
in front of his children
Had she cheated?
Had he lost his job?
Could he lose any more to the screaming?
to the "junk"?
to the flashing lights?
to the window's smashing?
Fence run down?
Lobbing
canisters of tear gas
into the room's stinging eyes
where there is no room
where there is no time

"I would never hurt them!
You!
You know!"
"Let them go!"
"You left me!"

“Put down your weapon and come out
with your hands up!”

It is all too loud
It is all too much
as you put the gun against your temple and…
pull the trigger
This happened today-- two houses away.  I could hear it all and sometimes I feel this way.
srax May 2018
They'll paint white walls over your thoughts
Because they think simplicity looks better than polka dots

They will strip you down to nothing
Because bare is better than bare minimum

They say your body is your canvas
Then why are they scribbling
On her canvas?

They'll doodle
They’ll doodle words
With some phrases of flatter
Like "You're pretty"
Teaching us that -that's all that matters

They'll hang up a **** model picture,
Because your body should look like this, you know? Richer.

They'll say your body is a temple
“Oh you're eating all that for lunch?”
They'll say your body is a temple
But her body
her body is the house
she grew up in
And yet you have the audacity to try and burn it down?

Oh,
I forgot to mention,
The white paint that they used to paint over you? yeah ... slight misunderstanding. Its permanent.

What could they expect? Their fault, actually... it said everything on the label.
But they were too busy, you see.  Too busy to see what it was really made out of, too busy to read what made it the way it was.
Because one glance is enough, right?

One glance is enough to ask her what did you eat today?
And she would answer oh plenty!
Sure she did.
she ate plenty of lonely with a side of regret and sprinkle of sadness for a touch of flavour
And for dinner, she ate her tears
she watched her blood eat her alive
And suddenly
she wasn't so hungry anymore.

And you would look happy with her answer because
she is treating her body like a house she doesn't even recognize

And you would look happy with her answer because
she let her body become your canvas

And you would look happy with her answer because
Your white paint was worth your money after all.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Anom o ly

Non-named, never imagined much less realized

The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here

We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.

Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?

Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.

Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question,  nor is good or bad. ******* Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.

I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.

First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>

Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice

Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
I checked 13 months later:Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’  I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
Rest in this, my bruised and weary soul:
I was a wretch, chosen to be a beauty;
a slave, chosen to be a bride;
an orphan, chosen to be an heir;
an enemy, chosen to be a friend.
I deserved nothing but wrath and death
yet received everything of life and grace.
I am loved beyond any dreaming of it
and blessed above all worldly wealth.
I have the incomparable birthright of those
whose Father is God and whose Lord is Jesus Christ—
righteousness from Him and peace with Him.
I am a cherished gift from the Father to the Son.
I was paid for by the Son’s own blood
and am "engraved on the palms of His hands."
I am the living temple of God’s Holy Spirit
Who empowers me to do His pleasure and bring Him glory.
I am the LORD's, chosen and set apart for His delight.

What more could I ask?
But that's only the beginning...


I will live as blessed as I believe myself to already be,
for "I have been blessed in the heavenly realms
with every spiritual blessing in Christ,"
"given everything I need for life and godliness"
through knowing Him and His precious promises,
"an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—
kept [securely and eternally] in heaven" for me.
I've been "raised up and seated with Christ";
my "life is hidden with Him" in the Father,
and "He will fill me with joy in His presence,
with eternal pleasures at His right hand."

Oh, that "the eyes of my heart would be enlightened
with the spirit of wisdom and revelation"
to see what’s already been prepared and given to me
and to know much more fully the One Who has
so meticulously prepared and lavishly given it.
As I walk intimately with Him and rest confidently in Him
(based only on His merits, never my own),
I am given free access to my account
in His heavenly storehouse and enabled to appropriate
its glorious riches to every circumstance of my life,
even the most searingly painful and confoundingly difficult ones.

I have a spiritual Fort Knox available to me
through knowing Christ Jesus my Lord,
but He Himself is my greatest treasure.
Without Him, nothing else matters.
Nothing else has meaning if I am not found in Him,
clinging to Him and carried by Him.
When I finally become desperate for Him alone,
I begin to understand the profound reality
of all He desires for me and offers to me
in my spiritual inheritance in Him.

There are infinite presents to be unwrapped
in His presence which cannot be told
in human words or comprehended by mortal minds,
but they wait to be taken hold of by
any and all who would take hold of Him.

For He gives and gives and gives and gives,
and even when He takes, He gives.
#
~~~

Inspired by the Holy Bible
(quotes from NIV)

Ephesians 1:3-19; Romans 5:1-11; 2 Peter 1:3-4; 1 Peter 1:3-4;
Ephesians 2:3-6; Colossians 3:3; Psalm 16:11; Isaiah 49:16

***
You can see how Endorsements feed your I
That Shy Ghost whose Casper does not exist
Fare alone for Cause to swallow your Pride
Which when accomplished guides your Star at Best
Just how often do we see your Girls cheer
And Pray for Purpose very Few will get
Hymns they Sing; From Media beg you to hear
Even when such Few harbour Good Intent
I guess those Executives knew your Cue
What would Attract and what would sure Pursuade
Even at Cost your Temple lost its Due
And they cry Happy at your Virtue, fade.
Those Trunks still shrink much to Addict's Delight
So climb your Board and do your Dive in-spite.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Is it my body you wish to plant
Your flag & lay claim to
Looking for buried treasure
Hoping to unearth riches
Beyond your wildest imagination
Trying to discover what men before
You have failed to possess
Rummaging through what used
To be a Holy temple
A place of innocence
Unfortunately,those men before you
Stole every ounce of that
There is nothing left of me here...
I Am But A Hollow Shell
A Metophor Of A Woman Giving So Much While Men Take And Leave When They Get Bored,Leaving Her Feeling Worthless & Empty
Grace Feb 2015
In flickering eyes
Is the glow of a smoldering fire
They are sizing us up

My body transforms, a whirlwind
A temple for worship
To a stage for performance

All eyes are on me
Shadows flickering on the walls
Whispers scattering
Hurried footsteps down the hall

Their lips glisten in the dark
A shred of light
Despite the darkness  trapped inside

Grumbling stomachs
Resonating like heart beats
Growling for me

They are starved
For my skin
Ravenous

For to them
I am nothing more
Than meat
Because I am not solely for your entertainment.
Andrew May 2017
When I'm with other people
Their mere presence reflects my character
Their strength validates me as an individual
Friends sneak away and doubt creeps in
Who am I without my companion justifiers?
Nobody
So I'm going to build an army
And we're going to storm the walls of hatred
They'll throw their bombs
******, ******, ****
Usually more specialized weapons appear as well
All trying to use shame to strip us of our very humanity
We disarm their shame with pride
Not pride in the way one is born or lives
But pride in the face of those who tell us we should feel ashamed
Those hate filled walls will be trampled by our friendship
Once we've infiltrated the pitch black city
We'll seize their holy temple
And find me
Naked, crying, alone
We'll pick me up and dust me off
After all, I have an army to build
I gave into a subtle beating,
Wrought once by Eros’ tasked -entreating,
The winds confound I lost my heart and…
…she of black-haired, eyes, dark beauty;
warm-rosined cheeks of nature gladdened.
For Pallas' claim, -said we both were saddened.
And me a farmer, she a princess,
I of yoked-labor, while her suitors, -the best.
Doth Father-King did mantic challenge, that challenge being sought in no jest.

Accosted me the low-ly suitor,
He gave of me a challenge -the worst. He sent me to the serpent’s folly.
With dagger and heart, whirlwind passion, sought I did the guiles’ jolly.
Up the cragged wind-swept mountain, past laurel berries, trees of holly,
Into white polished marble temple to the folly of a lair-born beast.
Gave my most but just a farmer, heart of swelling beat untempered.
As he set out, devour meal thus conquered, came she the dark-haired raven beauty, with shrieks and wails doth shocked the serpent, he surprised I plunged my dagger. Serpent dead she held her finger to my lips and then did whisper;

“We of Pallas judgment true did, find our love rise from ash-field –lister.
Tell of this you will to no one, you the boy who captures fair-heart,
To father you shall be a hero, deception we of female -impart,
Cleverness you must now fashion, must fashion your will to a high art,
Something of a nature now you must know,
Like the serpent-challenge dealt your passion a blow,
Apples will not save you once and,
Once as King and you my hus-band,
We the two of Pallas’ favor, love forever shall we savor,
I the half of you shall sing, you the half shall make me King,
We together, rule forever, we of two sides brawn and clever,
No serpent ever come between us, now that we a love -Athena’s!
Go now and this be our se-cret, marry me and never re-gret, all is yours and I your egret!”

Of this I did sit and ponder, on that hill of temple, off at yonder,
Me of fields, dirt-laden squire, she at court make of me a liar,
Is her beauty, hand a console -to the surety and loss of my soul?
Run I did to the city my way, storm gates to the court and did say;

“These, the teeth of folly’s serpent and she will be my wife on this day!”

Aged now and sit here, grumble...

Kingdom of deceit into which I crumble;
Woe to me how didst I tumble?

In rush to love perhaps did stumble?
In later years now here I humble;

...love was not worth all the trouble.
Old English-style rhyming verse. The classic mythology of the man entranced-by or enslaved by the serpent and rescued by cunning, trickery or deceit on the part of the female. This tale is as old as written history.
Madeline Harper Sep 2018
My blood is a toxin
Toxic like wine
The ink from this pen
Is duly mine

Your name is a drug
My drug and my wine
My body was your temple
Now become a shrine

The harlotry is my venom
The venom is my wine
And for all that I may account
I know I've walked the line

The whisky is my poison
The poison is my wine
And I find it warmer here
Beneath the dying brine

Now my thoughts lay bundled with twine
And here I am, fresh out of wine
If there's poison in the wine, then hunny I'm drunk
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging, this calling out, callig in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
Something so sacred that people
don't treasure, they defile it.
One of my own personal beliefs.
I was very close to making a mistake, but I'm glad I didn't.
The pressures of society got to me, to the point that my head was so muddled. I was weak-willed, then.
Looking back now, I'm grateful that I didn't fully succumb to it.
And now, my will has been strengthened.
Lyn ***
Tom Spencer Sep 2018
temple garden
pebble waves break
against islands of
moss and stone
pink cherry petals
drift on the tide

Tom Spencer © 2018
Briar Ren Jan 2018
I have built a nest in your heart,
made of down and daisies.

And you, in turn,
erected a temple
in mine.
Paul Hansford Aug 2016
(Pompeii/Florence, 1997)

Vulcan was real, alive as you were,
you and your language, long dead now.
Your town was prosperous, with its paved streets,
bars, bath-houses, brothels,
mosaics, painted walls, graffiti.
Your domestic gods too were real to you;
they had saved you before,
and when the superhuman hammer blows shook
your houses, you repaired them,
decorated in greater splendour,
erected a temple to your protectors.
But Vulcan was not appeased - years are not long
to the lord of earth and fire.
This time he struck swiftly, sending you death
from his mountain, overwhelming you
as you ran. Your garden
gave you no protection,
hot fumes choked you,
hot ash surrounded you,
sealed in your tomb as you died.

They excavated your town,
marvelled at its completeness.
In the ash that filled your garden
they found hollows,
and, filling the hollows with plaster,
found you. No, not you,
but echoes of yourselves,
like statues in a museum.

We came to see you, and after that
to the Academy, standing in awe
at David's perfect marble humanity.
But we were troubled by the others,
the uncompleted ones, the Prisoners,
their twisted limbs, hidden faces,
frozen in the act of emerging
from the stone, recalling too painfully
in their unfinished creation
your own agonised poses
as you died.
"I had seen birth and death,
  but had thought they were different."

.
The quotation at the end is from Eliot's Journey of the Magi - see my collection "My Favourite Poetry".
For photos see - www.amusingplanet.com/2011/04/garden-of-fugitives-fossilized-victims.html
and - www.accademia.org/explore-museum/artworks/michelangelos-prisoners-slaves/
patty m May 2014
Fertility
you are the life giving goddess
let me fertilize your expectation,
emptying my seed while cupping your richness
and soon your pregnant furrows begin to swell
lush and green.

Feast of dreams, sustenance of my people
your body is a temple giving and giving again.
And when the harvest leaves you barren,
I will let you stretch fallow and rest before
ravishing you and spilling seed once again,
my fingers in your moist darkness,
touching and loving your unselfish giving,
your womb's splendid infusion,  corn and wheat
in breezes blowing.   You breathe life into the child
with fierce *******, your mounds of nourishment.  

I bow to your naked purpose proclaiming my servitude,
tenderly reaping your glorious bounty.
King Panda Mar 2016
every profile of the body
drapes of a fallen dress
the flowers twang
the bassoons
the wooden harps

the human body is a temple
with the purpose of changing
into new forms
ephemeral
beauty
or love
or passion
or life

the metamorphosis of another
the brother
the kiss
the flowers of evil
the death of a maiden

Ovid
hear me
Ovid
love is simply a measure of
bumps and holes
Ovid
love grows out of soft marble
Ovid
we are one

the mythology of
passion ensues
the act encased in
fire
Stu Harley Sep 2018
oh
lord
what
a blessing
when
i
have found
a
temple
it
dwells inside my soul
where
the
impossible lives
ten thousand blessings unfold
through
your
grace glory and faith
with
my
temple within
In a graveyard by
a temple of maniacs
I dream to hold
your crippled hand
and cremate
my starving soul
in the space
between
the approval of your graceful thighs...


-Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I'm moving on again
The storm is coming through
I haven't been home in awhile
But there isn't much to do
The temple drags along a razor's edge
Like the beauty that I've found
But before I can enter in
I've got a soul to pin down

There's a warrior inside
And I can see it from a mile
It's probably just lost
Behind a painful little smile
If I ever get too close
Sometimes it washes over me
And the end of the day
It's all I want to see

In forces and in friends
There's a sorrow in youth
But where my words fall apart
My presence screams the truth
If all has broken down again
And nothing turns out right
Sometimes just a friendly face
Can get us through the night

Wear the face you want to
And wear it like a star
Because I don't care much for paint
It's the person that you are
Up high in the swirling mind
That dances through the night
I've fallen for the thoughts inside
May I make them mine?
SweetBrokenMe Dec 2018
You take my body because you feel entitled
I told you stop and you just went on
I said it again and you went faster
I said wait and I heard laughter
I said wait and you continued
You don't see anything wrong with it
"I'm your girlfriend"
So what does that mean?
Your urge outweighs my wishes
Is that how this works?
I tell you the pain and worry it causes
But do you care? No you just want to move passed it
So I push it under the rug and begin again the very next day
Then I pray and promise to be stronger than you
So the next time you try I won't be "confused"
I'll give attitude that won't be mistaken
Messing with me will be the farthest thing from what you'll be thinking
Just because she's your girlfriend doesn't mean that she's obligated to submit to having *** with you and if she declines with her words then she means it!!!!
Val Vik Dec 2016
"I don't need to go to church;
my body is the sacred temple of my soul.
I don't need a place called heaven,
for I found bliss within.
There is no need of vade mecum,
when the love I have gifts me wisdom.
There is no need of lust in the desire;
before us the key of endless fire!"
~~~
In love with Rumi
wonder
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