"underscored" poems - Hello Poetry

"underscored" poems

You were beaten and bruised, for the sinful likes of me; three nails pierced Your flesh, as You were hung… at Calvary. An unthinkable act of Love was cruelly executed for me; for You took the punishment, that had been… meant for me! With forgiveness on Your breath, You requested a pardon for those, who carried out judgment on You, as a death sentence was imposed. A spear was ****** in Your side, as Your demise was underscored; when it was mundanely removed, both blood and water had poured. [chorus] On The Cross of Calvary, Love was brokenhearted; Salvation was paid in full; Grace’s flow was started. [bridge] We don’t fully understand, God’s goodness towards us; Sin’s debt was wiped out, by the sacrifice of Jesus. We adore Him, since Christ had truly loved us first; He bore the painful brunt of payment for Sin’s curse. . . . Author notes Inspired by: 1 Pet 2:24; Gal 3:10-14; 1 John 4:19 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

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Feb 20, 2016

Feb 20, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC

joseph-j-breunig-3rd

Poem: On The Cross of Calvary

You were beaten and bruised, for the sinful likes of me; three nails pierced Your flesh, as You were hung… at Calvary. An unthinkable act of Love was cruelly executed for me; for You took the punishment, that had been… meant for me! With forgiveness on Your breath, You requested a pardon for those, who carried out judgment on You, as a death sentence was imposed. A spear was ****** in Your side, as Your demise was underscored; when it was mundanely removed, both blood and water had poured. [chorus] On The Cross of Calvary, Love was brokenhearted; Salvation was paid in full; Grace’s flow was started. [bridge] We don’t fully understand, God’s goodness towards us; Sin’s debt was wiped out, by the sacrifice of Jesus. We adore Him, since Christ had truly loved us first; He bore the painful brunt of payment for Sin’s curse. . . . Author notes Inspired by: 1 Pet 2:24; Gal 3:10-14; 1 John 4:19 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

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The Lady is a month to me, A title and half her name; Her mask sustains the mystery, the beauty beneath the chains. The pompous men explain, about Christ in all his passion, But they know not the pain, of a life spent folding napkins; To serve and serve in silence, with no whisper of complaint, The quiet of a painting and the patience of a saint. Hold her petals gently, lad, but the stem you must grasp firm, My Rose, a perfect pupil, never shy to grow and learn. I'm sorry if I crossed you, it was only with respect, As every rogue treats treasure, we must mark it with an X. I could only give you words, and sadly I have known, In truth what you deserved, was a kingdom of your own. The maid will get her palace, and her carpets crimson red, Fine wine in her chalice and gold ropes around her bed. But first, we'll to the ballroom, along paths with gems inlayed, The bedding will come later; there's other games yet to be played. We'll dance there, Miss December, On the garnet tiled floor, And every stance of mine will render, Love incarnate; underscored. I know I wasn't perfect. No, your Highness, not the best, And though I haven't earned it, for your kindness I was blessed. So now lend your Bard his drummer and he'll sing for you a tune, Compare your eyes to summer, if your name was Lady June. Yet, I think the winter fitting, and I do not mean the cold. For I'm on concrete city benches sitting, dreaming of your soul. I sit beside a western shore and look at western seas, The water has no more joy for me, the Lady's in the East. The poem turns to rambling, but I'm half-drunk and it's late. I only hope she's understanding, what my garbled words would state. You know your Master's only letters, not a thing to see or feel; And though I can't do better, at least for me, the words were real.

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Jul 28, 2011

Jul 28, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC

The Lady of December

The Lady is a month to me, A title and half her name; Her mask sustains the mystery, the beauty beneath the chains. The pompous men explain, about Christ in all his passion, But they know not the pain, of a life spent folding napkins; To serve and serve in silence, with no whisper of complaint, The quiet of a painting and the patience of a saint. Hold her petals gently, lad, but the stem you must grasp firm, My Rose, a perfect pupil, never shy to grow and learn. I'm sorry if I crossed you, it was only with respect, As every rogue treats treasure, we must mark it with an X. I could only give you words, and sadly I have known, In truth what you deserved, was a kingdom of your own. The maid will get her palace, and her carpets crimson red, Fine wine in her chalice and gold ropes around her bed. But first, we'll to the ballroom, along paths with gems inlayed, The bedding will come later; there's other games yet to be played. We'll dance there, Miss December, On the garnet tiled floor, And every stance of mine will render, Love incarnate; underscored. I know I wasn't perfect. No, your Highness, not the best, And though I haven't earned it, for your kindness I was blessed. So now lend your Bard his drummer and he'll sing for you a tune, Compare your eyes to summer, if your name was Lady June. Yet, I think the winter fitting, and I do not mean the cold. For I'm on concrete city benches sitting, dreaming of your soul. I sit beside a western shore and look at western seas, The water has no more joy for me, the Lady's in the East. The poem turns to rambling, but I'm half-drunk and it's late. I only hope she's understanding, what my garbled words would state. You know your Master's only letters, not a thing to see or feel; And though I can't do better, at least for me, the words were real.

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Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself drift off to sleep Still despite the navy skies It was still summer summer means peaches big ones, bursting, dripping honey nectar and sunshine so we make a peach pie cinammon and sugar sticking to our fingers like slow molasses underscored by the constant drip, slip, flooding arranging produce like composers and we waited we waited for the pie to bake we waited for the crust to crisp, for the sugars to melt, for the peaches to ripen, to brown and butter we waited for the rain to stop we waited for sunshine, for dry shoes, for beach days, powerlines we waited for hours we waited for months we waited eighteen years we sat, and we stood, and we waited. We sat in front of the oven eyes pressed against the window we waited watched the sugars bubble, the scented cloves we were two years old and one hundred at the same time we waited for the kind of lives that we saw in movies the kinds of dreams you wanted so bad it hurt we waited with stomachs churning wasting our youth, one rainy afternoon at a time waiting for life to begin Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself forget about the peaches forget about summer, about friends, about anyone and anything drift off to sleep

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Jul 13, 2013

Jul 13, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC

Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself drift off to sleep Still despite the navy skies It was still summer summer means peaches big ones, bursting, dripping honey nectar and sunshine so we make a peach pie cinammon and sugar sticking to our fingers like slow molasses underscored by the constant drip, slip, flooding arranging produce like composers and we waited we waited for the pie to bake we waited for the crust to crisp, for the sugars to melt, for the peaches to ripen, to brown and butter we waited for the rain to stop we waited for sunshine, for dry shoes, for beach days, powerlines we waited for hours we waited for months we waited eighteen years we sat, and we stood, and we waited. We sat in front of the oven eyes pressed against the window we waited watched the sugars bubble, the scented cloves we were two years old and one hundred at the same time we waited for the kind of lives that we saw in movies the kinds of dreams you wanted so bad it hurt we waited with stomachs churning wasting our youth, one rainy afternoon at a time waiting for life to begin Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself forget about the peaches forget about summer, about friends, about anyone and anything drift off to sleep

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Heart's cover sealed in burgeoning prime Fading leaves folded in the book of time Follicles of love blanched on the pages sublime Billowy blades dulled with eroding sands that modulate and slime Bleached, seamless threads spliced in the deep recesses of my mind Glossy words overgrown, strangled with thistle and thyme Each, dilated syllable devoid of reason and rhyme Each segment underscored with a stagnating byline Every, amorous allusion deconstructed; devoid of design Each, sterile refrain resounds a doleful chime Remaining, truncated edition a lapsing memory; requited pantomime

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Aug 8, 2011

Aug 8, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC

Leafing Through Love's Primordial Book

Heart's cover sealed in burgeoning prime Fading leaves folded in the book of time Follicles of love blanched on the pages sublime Billowy blades dulled with eroding sands that modulate and slime Bleached, seamless threads spliced in the deep recesses of my mind Glossy words overgrown, strangled with thistle and thyme Each, dilated syllable devoid of reason and rhyme Each segment underscored with a stagnating byline Every, amorous allusion deconstructed; devoid of design Each, sterile refrain resounds a doleful chime Remaining, truncated edition a lapsing memory; requited pantomime

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I am not apt to dance with fleeting judgement Gone awry, left of right A pain stained glance through her window Strikes a splintered gaze in spite~ loyalties sworn in the moment, shifted by the hands of time reaching out with subtle movement crashed onto the seaweed shore. Coral kiss may not recover, unresolved and underscored. A talon's reach amidst the plunder grabbing bodies off the floor diving swiftly out and under shifting upwards, on the run. Phasing inwards contemplation in between the Earth and Sun. Moonlight walkers jubilation~ infiltrating everyone. Cast a spell of Celebrations, right of left, to keep the balance turns the page for brand new season~ blows the Horn of Clarion.

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Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC

I am not apt to dance with fleeting judgement Gone awry, left of right A pain stained glance through her window Strikes a splintered gaze in spite~ loyalties sworn in the moment, shifted by the hands of time reaching out with subtle movement crashed onto the seaweed shore. Coral kiss may not recover, unresolved and underscored. A talon's reach amidst the plunder grabbing bodies off the floor diving swiftly out and under shifting upwards, on the run. Phasing inwards contemplation in between the Earth and Sun. Moonlight walkers jubilation~ infiltrating everyone. Cast a spell of Celebrations, right of left, to keep the balance turns the page for brand new season~ blows the Horn of Clarion.

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crassly lashing flashing plastic rings creating an ambiance of Olympic glory impeded good-deed-doers freely spew fruitarian propaganda at the vegetable eaters while, chewing cow flesh, the masses only stare blank eyes match black hearts and the bleak outlook beacons the barbarians….time to barbeque – beginning again, the road less traveled barely shapes itself against the tall grass backdrop crop dusting drunkards use the ***** trails and trailing behind….the banished children broken toes leave misshapen footprints and mothers can only sob at the spectacle – underscored idealism stands rage filled on the billboard presenting hate and separation values with a clever tag line and overpaid advertising men irritated immigrants stare up without being able to read the text, they grasp the meaning and with new meaning to their lives of impoverished helplessness they start anew looking to the sunrise for inspiration –

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May 12, 2015

May 12, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC

Randy the ranting immigrant

crassly lashing flashing plastic rings creating an ambiance of Olympic glory impeded good-deed-doers freely spew fruitarian propaganda at the vegetable eaters while, chewing cow flesh, the masses only stare blank eyes match black hearts and the bleak outlook beacons the barbarians….time to barbeque – beginning again, the road less traveled barely shapes itself against the tall grass backdrop crop dusting drunkards use the ***** trails and trailing behind….the banished children broken toes leave misshapen footprints and mothers can only sob at the spectacle – underscored idealism stands rage filled on the billboard presenting hate and separation values with a clever tag line and overpaid advertising men irritated immigrants stare up without being able to read the text, they grasp the meaning and with new meaning to their lives of impoverished helplessness they start anew looking to the sunrise for inspiration –

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We walked the beaches holding hands, Our naked feet massaged upon its Grainy, cornmeal, golden sand And water blue as Texas Bonnets. The sun was gently overcast, Its golden light dispelled by haze. And though it's beauty would not last, Our hearts were with its fleeting rays. I dared to touch you, eye to eye, And in your bright gray Iris found That same dispelled and gentle sky Forever to my spirit bound. Our footsteps furrowed in the sea, As if the ocean bid them come And dance its waters rhythmically. They stayed, instead, like raisined plums. And while we walked in harmony We sang a hymn to God, our King, Encouraged by the endless sea And love so vast, untamed, to sing. The ocean seemed to sing along And underscored our three-four time With lapping like a metronome— The trio trippingly sublime. Our anthem, carried on the breeze, Sauntered through your curly hair. A lonesome trembling dread then seized Your forehead—cute while whipping there. At last, as though a common day, The sun went down, gave way to moon. Our song grew still. A silent lay Voiced then our love. But that was June. If love's first minute after Noon Is night, our walking, singing songs Should have made us fear, since soon The love we shared would all be wrong. But true minds married will confess That Love's no fool of Times. So, Sweet, Our love continues to regress While holding hands with wrinkled feet.

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Jan 3, 2012

Jan 3, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC

Song on the Beach.

We walked the beaches holding hands, Our naked feet massaged upon its Grainy, cornmeal, golden sand And water blue as Texas Bonnets. The sun was gently overcast, Its golden light dispelled by haze. And though it's beauty would not last, Our hearts were with its fleeting rays. I dared to touch you, eye to eye, And in your bright gray Iris found That same dispelled and gentle sky Forever to my spirit bound. Our footsteps furrowed in the sea, As if the ocean bid them come And dance its waters rhythmically. They stayed, instead, like raisined plums. And while we walked in harmony We sang a hymn to God, our King, Encouraged by the endless sea And love so vast, untamed, to sing. The ocean seemed to sing along And underscored our three-four time With lapping like a metronome— The trio trippingly sublime. Our anthem, carried on the breeze, Sauntered through your curly hair. A lonesome trembling dread then seized Your forehead—cute while whipping there. At last, as though a common day, The sun went down, gave way to moon. Our song grew still. A silent lay Voiced then our love. But that was June. If love's first minute after Noon Is night, our walking, singing songs Should have made us fear, since soon The love we shared would all be wrong. But true minds married will confess That Love's no fool of Times. So, Sweet, Our love continues to regress While holding hands with wrinkled feet.

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The hippie days were rather hard For a young guy just starting out. Off- brand jeans and crew-cut hair Didn’t carry all that much clout. I was into show tunes and Elvis, The Beatles were great and new. I lucked right into the Troubadour And fell in love with Elton too. One of my ladies loved Airplane The other loved the Monkees The problem was that only one Was ever approved by junkies. But I was so squeaky clean That I was only into cheap coffee. I swear I could get high as a kite On Russel Stover’s fine toffee. But something changed for me The day I first heard David Bowie. It sounds kind of childish now But he was special and so glowy. He pointed out some dichotomies Between what was said and done. At that time we needed something And Bowie was obviously the one. I didn’t stick there with his genie But his genius opened some doors And affected my art and my poetry Way back then and forever more. So then it was Prince, The Doobies, Aretha Franklin and Annie DiFranco. And, of course, the one-hit wonders About eighteen hundred or so. It wasn’t always about music This social code of mine. But music underscored it all Made even politics toe the line. We made changes in civil rights And even affected an evil war. There is no reason to doubt it. Music will continue to change more.

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Nov 10, 2015

Nov 10, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC

ROCK AND SOUL SAGA

The hippie days were rather hard For a young guy just starting out. Off- brand jeans and crew-cut hair Didn’t carry all that much clout. I was into show tunes and Elvis, The Beatles were great and new. I lucked right into the Troubadour And fell in love with Elton too. One of my ladies loved Airplane The other loved the Monkees The problem was that only one Was ever approved by junkies. But I was so squeaky clean That I was only into cheap coffee. I swear I could get high as a kite On Russel Stover’s fine toffee. But something changed for me The day I first heard David Bowie. It sounds kind of childish now But he was special and so glowy. He pointed out some dichotomies Between what was said and done. At that time we needed something And Bowie was obviously the one. I didn’t stick there with his genie But his genius opened some doors And affected my art and my poetry Way back then and forever more. So then it was Prince, The Doobies, Aretha Franklin and Annie DiFranco. And, of course, the one-hit wonders About eighteen hundred or so. It wasn’t always about music This social code of mine. But music underscored it all Made even politics toe the line. We made changes in civil rights And even affected an evil war. There is no reason to doubt it. Music will continue to change more.

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let us speak in tones, hushed, of mountains and molehills. benchmarked by tape measures, underscored, with concerned apprehension. for now it is time, to masticate the elephant and the roaring lion too. with silver plated forks and knifes undulled with use. slap down your grievance on the noritake dinnerware and partition the proportion, dissect the angst, and delicately place the rage, between your bloodless lips. to sit, ashlike on your scathing tongue. we will drink, your aged bitterbile wine, in leaden crystal goblets. smile at your witticisms, however, humdrum and malign. and when the elephant, is but ivory and leather. and the king of beasts, but a tattered rug, upon your floor. we shall cry jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. our indenture is done. emancipation now has come. and we will run, we will run. it is then, we will be, looking at life, with kaleidescope eyes. fitted with lenses of love, joy, and liberty, crystalized within. we will be, dancing the fandango, with robust, rebellious gusto and singing glory, hallelujah riffs. and o' there will be laughter and big broad smiles. and o' there will be hugging and much comfort shared. and the door will be open, for anyone to come sit and chatter on for a while. heaven on earth, heaven on earth.

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Mar 18, 2014

Mar 18, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC

someday real soon

let us speak in tones, hushed, of mountains and molehills. benchmarked by tape measures, underscored, with concerned apprehension. for now it is time, to masticate the elephant and the roaring lion too. with silver plated forks and knifes undulled with use. slap down your grievance on the noritake dinnerware and partition the proportion, dissect the angst, and delicately place the rage, between your bloodless lips. to sit, ashlike on your scathing tongue. we will drink, your aged bitterbile wine, in leaden crystal goblets. smile at your witticisms, however, humdrum and malign. and when the elephant, is but ivory and leather. and the king of beasts, but a tattered rug, upon your floor. we shall cry jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. our indenture is done. emancipation now has come. and we will run, we will run. it is then, we will be, looking at life, with kaleidescope eyes. fitted with lenses of love, joy, and liberty, crystalized within. we will be, dancing the fandango, with robust, rebellious gusto and singing glory, hallelujah riffs. and o' there will be laughter and big broad smiles. and o' there will be hugging and much comfort shared. and the door will be open, for anyone to come sit and chatter on for a while. heaven on earth, heaven on earth.

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It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat every movement was stylized and expositional the faintest grin the miniscule teardrop even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated; encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography. It was an opera in that we yawned, shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call. It was an opera, but it was mostly life in that it had no final act, ending or closure.

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Sep 23, 2014

Sep 23, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC

andrew-marshall-alper

It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat every movement was stylized and expositional the faintest grin the miniscule teardrop even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated; encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography. It was an opera in that we yawned, shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call. It was an opera, but it was mostly life in that it had no final act, ending or closure.

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I'm sitting in a theater and watching my life on the screen Every song I've ever loved plays in the background I see myself underscored by lyrics I wish I wrote All of my moments are time perfectly To crescendo and dissolve on cue And it fades to black before we see my big decision Do I run from the edge? Do I hide myself away again? Or do I pursue the life I seem to crave, And earn my sweeping cinematic moment While my favorite song plays in the background? The credits roll and the music presses on And before long I realize That I've been staring out a car window Listening to music that makes my heart hurt And wishing that life were scripted Yet again

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May 9, 2016

May 9, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC

I'm sitting in a theater and watching my life on the screen Every song I've ever loved plays in the background I see myself underscored by lyrics I wish I wrote All of my moments are time perfectly To crescendo and dissolve on cue And it fades to black before we see my big decision Do I run from the edge? Do I hide myself away again? Or do I pursue the life I seem to crave, And earn my sweeping cinematic moment While my favorite song plays in the background? The credits roll and the music presses on And before long I realize That I've been staring out a car window Listening to music that makes my heart hurt And wishing that life were scripted Yet again

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You are refreshing like the breeze on a hot day. It is not in that you make me forget the rough environment and offer a moment of calm. And not in the motion that relieves the senses through gust. But rather, cleansing in that you remind me of juxtapositions in the world: the arid and cool; the stale and fleeting. Just like the wind, you are brevity that clearly shows why contrasts highlight and you are the pleasant other underscored.

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Oct 11, 2014

Oct 11, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC

hope at first conversation

You are refreshing like the breeze on a hot day. It is not in that you make me forget the rough environment and offer a moment of calm. And not in the motion that relieves the senses through gust. But rather, cleansing in that you remind me of juxtapositions in the world: the arid and cool; the stale and fleeting. Just like the wind, you are brevity that clearly shows why contrasts highlight and you are the pleasant other underscored.

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We’ll steal their pensions and their land Won’t that be amazing and grand? And there’s not a stinking thing they can do. We’ll blame it all on the opposition Then take an outraged position. They’ll elect our congress and governors too. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today? We’ll concoct a bunch of lies And convince all the unwise That everything we say is the truth. We’ll fool the older Republicans And win some undecided fans Everything but the clever and the youth. In no time at all, we’ll succeed And underscored with greed We’ll take this gullible country back. The Democrats will help us to Do everything we plan to do Because the dummies chose to elect a black. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today? Our war against intelligence Is really making a difference In getting voters to not smell a rat. The richest civilians are helping With the lobbyists they’re buying And we gratefully tip our MAGA hat. They are letting us make laws That defy any philanthropic cause Except when we get our hefty share. We deny them their health and aid And needn’t be the least bit afraid Republicans will ever become aware. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today?

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May 16, 2018

May 16, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC

GOP BATTLE PLAN 2018

We’ll steal their pensions and their land Won’t that be amazing and grand? And there’s not a stinking thing they can do. We’ll blame it all on the opposition Then take an outraged position. They’ll elect our congress and governors too. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today? We’ll concoct a bunch of lies And convince all the unwise That everything we say is the truth. We’ll fool the older Republicans And win some undecided fans Everything but the clever and the youth. In no time at all, we’ll succeed And underscored with greed We’ll take this gullible country back. The Democrats will help us to Do everything we plan to do Because the dummies chose to elect a black. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today? Our war against intelligence Is really making a difference In getting voters to not smell a rat. The richest civilians are helping With the lobbyists they’re buying And we gratefully tip our MAGA hat. They are letting us make laws That defy any philanthropic cause Except when we get our hefty share. We deny them their health and aid And needn’t be the least bit afraid Republicans will ever become aware. USA, USA How many brown people Did you **** today? GOP, GOP Which of your promises Did you break today?

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Secrets Revealed by the Rain The girl of special quality and beauty set looking out through her rain stained window he was passing by So he snapped her picture it created a moist foggy connection to the world that is seldom seen Aloneness reached through the glass a tinged soft sorrow ran greater than the edge of the picture eyes Were fixed with longing but what only the soul could address that question maybe in miles or in days That ran back to lost love or maybe it was searching through hope to find a bright future where the man Of Her dreams was walking in her direction maybe she could see through the rain and it allowed her to Make a decision that she had wrestled with for many days and on a steamy streaming window she Found power to release her emotions let spread and dissolve into a different form that would be her Guide out of limitations a quiet note the perfect cord that underscored what she was leaning toward Before her world was to cut and dry now with the assistance of a window pane and the beautiful falling Rain she could ***** in a great arching that encompassed great and small natural points that speak in Their essential language from what they are and how they relate to one another in the grander scale Moments of fluid motion instilled in her the gift of wondering and from branches to soft tuffs of grass To the glory that is all around in the sky and on this sacred land to her was described truth that pierced The maze of confusion that to her were a fault and an intrusion that is only bridged over water if it is Only As deep as glass in a simple window but it truly can refigure the world and give right assessment to To problems that hold you in a tangle of predicaments and it is so funny how they loosen when you Spread your vision through the width and height of a rainy day window and through a connected Unseen desire but one that is deeply felt you touch the unseen and wisdom comes on **** frost and Writes to you a secret message for your eyes only that in detail clears all the doubt and confusion away And leaves you beaming out on a changed world not unlike yourself that has been changed also and it All Occurred through the most pleasant frosted glass

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Feb 19, 2012

Feb 19, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC

hal-loyd-denton

Secrets Revealed by the Rain

Secrets Revealed by the Rain The girl of special quality and beauty set looking out through her rain stained window he was passing by So he snapped her picture it created a moist foggy connection to the world that is seldom seen Aloneness reached through the glass a tinged soft sorrow ran greater than the edge of the picture eyes Were fixed with longing but what only the soul could address that question maybe in miles or in days That ran back to lost love or maybe it was searching through hope to find a bright future where the man Of Her dreams was walking in her direction maybe she could see through the rain and it allowed her to Make a decision that she had wrestled with for many days and on a steamy streaming window she Found power to release her emotions let spread and dissolve into a different form that would be her Guide out of limitations a quiet note the perfect cord that underscored what she was leaning toward Before her world was to cut and dry now with the assistance of a window pane and the beautiful falling Rain she could ***** in a great arching that encompassed great and small natural points that speak in Their essential language from what they are and how they relate to one another in the grander scale Moments of fluid motion instilled in her the gift of wondering and from branches to soft tuffs of grass To the glory that is all around in the sky and on this sacred land to her was described truth that pierced The maze of confusion that to her were a fault and an intrusion that is only bridged over water if it is Only As deep as glass in a simple window but it truly can refigure the world and give right assessment to To problems that hold you in a tangle of predicaments and it is so funny how they loosen when you Spread your vision through the width and height of a rainy day window and through a connected Unseen desire but one that is deeply felt you touch the unseen and wisdom comes on **** frost and Writes to you a secret message for your eyes only that in detail clears all the doubt and confusion away And leaves you beaming out on a changed world not unlike yourself that has been changed also and it All Occurred through the most pleasant frosted glass

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A twist of fate The light shines through Wondering in this unfamiliar land I scan my surroundings Vibrant with color and life Thoughts and hopes once so far Now within my reach These moments forever suspended in time A freeze frame image of all I’ve ever wanted No longer held by doubt I walk this land once only a child’s dream No longer breathless in a sea of stress I conquer the trials set before The world’s weight lifted from Atlas’s shoulders I tread with ease The flowing water of uncertainty now crystal clear in my mind’s eye This circulating warmth one blocked by dismays icy grip The new days light glowing brighter with each routines cycle Eyes focused on the horizon ahead Alone I do not trek Side by side with others we travel A feeling of inner harmony sounds Each providing their own tone and rhythm Underscored by this place Combined into a rich melody These elements resonate echoing from wall to wall Spreading like a crimson wildfire Others are called to join in on the journey All leaving gloom behind, as the radiance fills in

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Jul 7, 2010

Jul 7, 2010 at 10:00 AM UTC

A twist of fate The light shines through Wondering in this unfamiliar land I scan my surroundings Vibrant with color and life Thoughts and hopes once so far Now within my reach These moments forever suspended in time A freeze frame image of all I’ve ever wanted No longer held by doubt I walk this land once only a child’s dream No longer breathless in a sea of stress I conquer the trials set before The world’s weight lifted from Atlas’s shoulders I tread with ease The flowing water of uncertainty now crystal clear in my mind’s eye This circulating warmth one blocked by dismays icy grip The new days light glowing brighter with each routines cycle Eyes focused on the horizon ahead Alone I do not trek Side by side with others we travel A feeling of inner harmony sounds Each providing their own tone and rhythm Underscored by this place Combined into a rich melody These elements resonate echoing from wall to wall Spreading like a crimson wildfire Others are called to join in on the journey All leaving gloom behind, as the radiance fills in

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let us speak in tones..... hushed...... of mountains and molehills. benchmarked by tape measures, underscored, with concerned.... apprehension. for now it is time, to masticate the elephant and the roaring lion too. with silver plated forks and knifes undulled.... with use. slap down your.... grievance on the noritake dinnerware and partition.... the proportion, dissect the angst, and delicately place, the rage, between your bloodless lips. to sit ashlike on your..... scathing tongue. we will drink.... once more, one last time, one sip of, your aged bitterbile wine, in leaden crystal goblets. smile at your witticisms, however, humdrum... and malign. and then,when the elephant, is but ivory and leather. and the king of beasts, now, but a tattered rug.... upon your floor. we shall cry.... jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. our indenture is finally done. emancipation now has come. and we will run....... we will run. it is then,we will be..... looking at life, with kaleidescope eyes. fitted with lenses of love, joy, and liberty, crystalized..... within. we will be,dancing...... the fandango, with robust, rebellious gusto and singing glory.... hallelujah riffs. and o' there will be...... laughter and big broad smiles. and o' there will be .... hugging and much comfort shared. and the door will be ... open... for anyone...... to come sit and chatter... on for a while. heaven on earth....... heaven on earth...

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Aug 22, 2014

Aug 22, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC

someday....real soon

let us speak in tones..... hushed...... of mountains and molehills. benchmarked by tape measures, underscored, with concerned.... apprehension. for now it is time, to masticate the elephant and the roaring lion too. with silver plated forks and knifes undulled.... with use. slap down your.... grievance on the noritake dinnerware and partition.... the proportion, dissect the angst, and delicately place, the rage, between your bloodless lips. to sit ashlike on your..... scathing tongue. we will drink.... once more, one last time, one sip of, your aged bitterbile wine, in leaden crystal goblets. smile at your witticisms, however, humdrum... and malign. and then,when the elephant, is but ivory and leather. and the king of beasts, now, but a tattered rug.... upon your floor. we shall cry.... jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. our indenture is finally done. emancipation now has come. and we will run....... we will run. it is then,we will be..... looking at life, with kaleidescope eyes. fitted with lenses of love, joy, and liberty, crystalized..... within. we will be,dancing...... the fandango, with robust, rebellious gusto and singing glory.... hallelujah riffs. and o' there will be...... laughter and big broad smiles. and o' there will be .... hugging and much comfort shared. and the door will be ... open... for anyone...... to come sit and chatter... on for a while. heaven on earth....... heaven on earth...

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The Twentieth Century War --> A carillon => Calling all fronts to move a pace... Not to be confused with a Fanciful Past, Nor a Fabulous Future. There is only one real History Of the Twentieth Century on Earth, And that History is embedded too deeply to dislodge. The Reality as a Collective Mind Evolving Through Time & Technology & Knowledge & Art. Forget the externally imposed insider Jokers, That thinks they can clear collective guilt's, Or whitewash cultural tragedies, Or brush aside National Pride, All for the Love of Mind-F**king society at large. I might have instinctively specialised in WAR, But that hasn't been the greatest Bane Inflicted from further a-field. The Pseudo-philes and their undue influence Have spoilt our brethren and relatives; And the big, glaring signposts to disaster, From my Point-of-View (as a G'day Man) are: Economicks, Psychiatry, and Post-Modernism's Political Correctness --> All ******* Fields, underscored by Fundamental Miss-Information ==> Globally influential Slave-Trading systems; Imperialers of Free Thought. Even though I'm not a Religious Man, All things being Equal , I say, "Credit where Credit's due" --> Like those Institutions or Loathe their Dogma, At least they get into the guts of Society And do the best they can as attractors Of both Good and Bad proto-types - community Gravity Wells - They, too, tag and release for the greater social benefit. So, regardless of your P.O.V., have some consideration for Others.

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Mar 4, 2014

Mar 4, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC

The Twentieth Century War (in 3 parts)^2

The Twentieth Century War --> A carillon => Calling all fronts to move a pace... Not to be confused with a Fanciful Past, Nor a Fabulous Future. There is only one real History Of the Twentieth Century on Earth, And that History is embedded too deeply to dislodge. The Reality as a Collective Mind Evolving Through Time & Technology & Knowledge & Art. Forget the externally imposed insider Jokers, That thinks they can clear collective guilt's, Or whitewash cultural tragedies, Or brush aside National Pride, All for the Love of Mind-F**king society at large. I might have instinctively specialised in WAR, But that hasn't been the greatest Bane Inflicted from further a-field. The Pseudo-philes and their undue influence Have spoilt our brethren and relatives; And the big, glaring signposts to disaster, From my Point-of-View (as a G'day Man) are: Economicks, Psychiatry, and Post-Modernism's Political Correctness --> All ******* Fields, underscored by Fundamental Miss-Information ==> Globally influential Slave-Trading systems; Imperialers of Free Thought. Even though I'm not a Religious Man, All things being Equal , I say, "Credit where Credit's due" --> Like those Institutions or Loathe their Dogma, At least they get into the guts of Society And do the best they can as attractors Of both Good and Bad proto-types - community Gravity Wells - They, too, tag and release for the greater social benefit. So, regardless of your P.O.V., have some consideration for Others.

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*Step by step I'm walking away It's a battle creating a wider gap But It's more disastrous to stay So forgive my walking chap I'm trying to close my ears To the crescendos of regret I don't wanna show you my tears I don't want you to feel in debt I'm walking away From the haunty -taunty memories Walking past the effervescent fairies I'm walking further from cradle I need a rest from the entire struggle Been sticking around too long Together but too alone It's time I found some company within I'm finally lifting up my chin Not to prove I got a beard To face the reality I've hither feared I'm walking so deep into the jungle I'm going past my limit triangle Past the games I underscored To the peaks I've not explored Beating the limits lingering like a shadow With only my mind as my Ammo I'm going far far away From here, I’m walking away*

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Mar 31, 2015

Mar 31, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC

ignatius-hosiana

BEATING MY LIMITS

*Step by step I'm walking away It's a battle creating a wider gap But It's more disastrous to stay So forgive my walking chap I'm trying to close my ears To the crescendos of regret I don't wanna show you my tears I don't want you to feel in debt I'm walking away From the haunty -taunty memories Walking past the effervescent fairies I'm walking further from cradle I need a rest from the entire struggle Been sticking around too long Together but too alone It's time I found some company within I'm finally lifting up my chin Not to prove I got a beard To face the reality I've hither feared I'm walking so deep into the jungle I'm going past my limit triangle Past the games I underscored To the peaks I've not explored Beating the limits lingering like a shadow With only my mind as my Ammo I'm going far far away From here, I’m walking away*

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In March 2001, Melania granted green card asper elite EB-1 program intended for renowned academic researchers, multinational business executives (linkedin with Uncle SAM) or those in other fields, such as Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors, who demonstrated “sustained national and international acclaim” until...now, when (FAKE trophy wife)... besieged with WHAM! The Don whips to defense of (legal residency status), sans his third wife imbroglio finds the president flat footed regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife, where details concerning former in vogue Slovak model now cushy life challenging her right to live in The United States, the most Democratic nation plus concomitant abrogation afforded robber Baroness admission dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION, where sentiment underscored verbatim "Some people come in, and they bring their whole family with them, who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!” The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet, hence quoted with poetic license, a prime example how two (or more faced) president didst react to un seat fairness, which November twitter allowing parents with bearhug he did greet legal residency of her parents, Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite who received figurative green light despite riding piggyback Nsync with military beat ting back pesky atop flimsy green card, the freedom appetite got whet scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet files, particularly equality for those skeined alive in the DACA net ready to boot innocent offspring of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!

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Mar 1, 2018

Mar 1, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

FLOTUS FLAUNTED EINSTEIN VISA

In March 2001, Melania granted green card asper elite EB-1 program intended for renowned academic researchers, multinational business executives (linkedin with Uncle SAM) or those in other fields, such as Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors, who demonstrated “sustained national and international acclaim” until...now, when (FAKE trophy wife)... besieged with WHAM! The Don whips to defense of (legal residency status), sans his third wife imbroglio finds the president flat footed regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife, where details concerning former in vogue Slovak model now cushy life challenging her right to live in The United States, the most Democratic nation plus concomitant abrogation afforded robber Baroness admission dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION, where sentiment underscored verbatim "Some people come in, and they bring their whole family with them, who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!” The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet, hence quoted with poetic license, a prime example how two (or more faced) president didst react to un seat fairness, which November twitter allowing parents with bearhug he did greet legal residency of her parents, Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite who received figurative green light despite riding piggyback Nsync with military beat ting back pesky atop flimsy green card, the freedom appetite got whet scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet files, particularly equality for those skeined alive in the DACA net ready to boot innocent offspring of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!

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the gift in a dilapidated two-story country home empty for miles through holes in the walls on either side blackened supports and ramshackle comfort tackled by fire caressed by rain you can see through to the second floor if you tilt your head, expose blood subways, let your hair grasp at spine the fault of past residents mirrored in big blue eyes a world of green and brown surrounding, no, growing from this pin-prick destination left to the wind, to the quiet the underscored call of persons, stronger than I, who knew they were finished and walked away. who saw the green and the brown, and looked at the home, once warm, I'm sure, and thought, "there's so little here, compressed, with an expanse beyond so much friendlier than brittle walls, tender floors, metal and wood." so they left and rightfully so.

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Jun 29, 2023

Jun 29, 2023 at 8:21 PM UTC

the gift in a dilapidated two-story country home empty for miles through holes in the walls on either side blackened supports and ramshackle comfort tackled by fire caressed by rain you can see through to the second floor if you tilt your head, expose blood subways, let your hair grasp at spine the fault of past residents mirrored in big blue eyes a world of green and brown surrounding, no, growing from this pin-prick destination left to the wind, to the quiet the underscored call of persons, stronger than I, who knew they were finished and walked away. who saw the green and the brown, and looked at the home, once warm, I'm sure, and thought, "there's so little here, compressed, with an expanse beyond so much friendlier than brittle walls, tender floors, metal and wood." so they left and rightfully so.

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Presence finds itself least expected, yet underscored Anywhen, somewhere, a bus rolls into aurora, at wee hours Though not on oceans That's the place where cargo ships do Together with airplanes, these larger escorting tempos and times, clock shifts Pulling sun along with them in motion intrinsic as sustenance Workday begins for some pre light Bakers and bus drivers know this best Two noble professions perhaps glamorized, perversely by this poet but not without recognition of their elemental indwelling of us all

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Apr 12, 2017

Apr 12, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC

Bread And Butter Sun

Presence finds itself least expected, yet underscored Anywhen, somewhere, a bus rolls into aurora, at wee hours Though not on oceans That's the place where cargo ships do Together with airplanes, these larger escorting tempos and times, clock shifts Pulling sun along with them in motion intrinsic as sustenance Workday begins for some pre light Bakers and bus drivers know this best Two noble professions perhaps glamorized, perversely by this poet but not without recognition of their elemental indwelling of us all

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I remember, that time I was at work and stole a piece of marble cake with the thought, I'll lure her with some food. I showed up half past nine, with delight in hand, with a smile in my eyes. when you met me at the coffee shop. While they sat by threes, by fours, we sat by two We talked of typical things, of weather, of tomorrow- underlined and underscored and understood. from the outside, you couldn’t tell. that time you sat on the passenger side, in a car so faithful, we knew it well. and I suddenly let go of the wheel, you shrieked and I acted- "my arms my arms!" I finally coerced you, for once, to drive. laughing all the while when it thundered and when it rained, in a blueish green mellow way. in a whispering loud obvious way. we sat underneath the front door overhang and sat. but. I'm here and you're there, so, I can- only imagine, only want to remember.

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Mar 6, 2011

Mar 6, 2011 at 4:54 PM UTC

I remember, that time I was at work and stole a piece of marble cake with the thought, I'll lure her with some food. I showed up half past nine, with delight in hand, with a smile in my eyes. when you met me at the coffee shop. While they sat by threes, by fours, we sat by two We talked of typical things, of weather, of tomorrow- underlined and underscored and understood. from the outside, you couldn’t tell. that time you sat on the passenger side, in a car so faithful, we knew it well. and I suddenly let go of the wheel, you shrieked and I acted- "my arms my arms!" I finally coerced you, for once, to drive. laughing all the while when it thundered and when it rained, in a blueish green mellow way. in a whispering loud obvious way. we sat underneath the front door overhang and sat. but. I'm here and you're there, so, I can- only imagine, only want to remember.

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....There were six then five then four Now in silence after the war that no one won I listen to the symphony of failed angels of how they were underscored Trust in meaningless man not a God thought of fearing man Out of tune , out of key hums the cherished sound of disarryied dissonance The caked dried blood flowing inside our viens powder puff breath With all that was made fold and press put up and away It's just a paper cut but the Drip , Drip , Drip becomes a Sunday sacrifice

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Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

Four Strings of Dissonance

....There were six then five then four Now in silence after the war that no one won I listen to the symphony of failed angels of how they were underscored Trust in meaningless man not a God thought of fearing man Out of tune , out of key hums the cherished sound of disarryied dissonance The caked dried blood flowing inside our viens powder puff breath With all that was made fold and press put up and away It's just a paper cut but the Drip , Drip , Drip becomes a Sunday sacrifice

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Waiting for the taxi, sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best. A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth on the table beside. A sepia photo of a young and blushing bride. The groom tall serious, all pride, stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide. He left for the front, she stayed behind. Waited and prayed for her God to hide, her young strong lover from war's unwavering gaze. Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear. Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her as she pruned his roses. Her march of tredpidation now over. Her life long walk of grief begun. She stands now, and his medals brave clink, ***** over her lonely heart. For while, her ride has come, so she can remember with others. In heart, alone, she awaits still and true, her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue

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Apr 24, 2014

Apr 24, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC

Waiting for the taxi, sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best. A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth on the table beside. A sepia photo of a young and blushing bride. The groom tall serious, all pride, stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide. He left for the front, she stayed behind. Waited and prayed for her God to hide, her young strong lover from war's unwavering gaze. Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear. Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her as she pruned his roses. Her march of tredpidation now over. Her life long walk of grief begun. She stands now, and his medals brave clink, ***** over her lonely heart. For while, her ride has come, so she can remember with others. In heart, alone, she awaits still and true, her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue

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an inner conflict dust brew within this scribe, who offers ye to chew (like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock counts down minutes few according Al Gore rhythm unstoppably ticking, when life gets turned to global goo tenderized viz Doctor Zeus if not Horton Hears Hoo then most definitely The Lorax (couching urgent morals underscored by satellite photographs showing melting icecaps or igloos, which planetary sos, sans in extremis requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew, plus every other sectarian credo, dogma, ethos...knew clear family, and whatnot to become linkedin with Linda Loo yes, we moost not forget Old McDonald with his moo moo there bovine creatures agedly hobbling along, or new lee born, cuz juiced one day per three hundred and sixty five (six with leap year - imagine dragons festooned leotard with brand name Oroblu) or poor ole Whinny The Pooh eternally stuck in Rabbit's hole sum Hutch as a queue doth loosely form dreaming up and rue mien hating solution (burning the midnight oil) true lee trying to remedy plight of said bear character, perhaps unstated message being woo king in tandem solutions to resolve wretched condition of world wide web possible by bridging differences between me and you, and you, and you...

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Apr 22, 2018

Apr 22, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

earth day april 22nd 2018

an inner conflict dust brew within this scribe, who offers ye to chew (like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock counts down minutes few according Al Gore rhythm unstoppably ticking, when life gets turned to global goo tenderized viz Doctor Zeus if not Horton Hears Hoo then most definitely The Lorax (couching urgent morals underscored by satellite photographs showing melting icecaps or igloos, which planetary sos, sans in extremis requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew, plus every other sectarian credo, dogma, ethos...knew clear family, and whatnot to become linkedin with Linda Loo yes, we moost not forget Old McDonald with his moo moo there bovine creatures agedly hobbling along, or new lee born, cuz juiced one day per three hundred and sixty five (six with leap year - imagine dragons festooned leotard with brand name Oroblu) or poor ole Whinny The Pooh eternally stuck in Rabbit's hole sum Hutch as a queue doth loosely form dreaming up and rue mien hating solution (burning the midnight oil) true lee trying to remedy plight of said bear character, perhaps unstated message being woo king in tandem solutions to resolve wretched condition of world wide web possible by bridging differences between me and you, and you, and you...

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