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So here Ulysses slept, overcome by sleep and toil; but Minerva
went off to the country and city of the Phaecians—a people who used
to live in the fair town of Hypereia, near the lawless Cyclopes. Now
the Cyclopes were stronger than they and plundered them, so their king
Nausithous moved them thence and settled them in Scheria, far from all
other people. He surrounded the city with a wall, built houses and
temples, and divided the lands among his people; but he was dead and
gone to the house of Hades, and King Alcinous, whose counsels were
inspired of heaven, was now reigning. To his house, then, did
Minerva hie in furtherance of the return of Ulysses.
  She went straight to the beautifully decorated bedroom in which
there slept a girl who was as lovely as a goddess, Nausicaa,
daughter to King Alcinous. Two maid servants were sleeping near her,
both very pretty, one on either side of the doorway, which was
closed with well-made folding doors. Minerva took the form of the
famous sea captain Dymas’s daughter, who was a ***** friend of
Nausicaa and just her own age; then, coming up to the girl’s bedside
like a breath of wind, she hovered over her head and said:
  “Nausicaa, what can your mother have been about, to have such a lazy
daughter? Here are your clothes all lying in disorder, yet you are
going to be married almost immediately, and should not only be well
dressed yourself, but should find good clothes for those who attend
you. This is the way to get yourself a good name, and to make your
father and mother proud of you. Suppose, then, that we make tomorrow a
washing day, and start at daybreak. I will come and help you so that
you may have everything ready as soon as possible, for all the best
young men among your own people are courting you, and you are not
going to remain a maid much longer. Ask your father, therefore, to
have a waggon and mules ready for us at daybreak, to take the rugs,
robes, and girdles; and you can ride, too, which will be much
pleasanter for you than walking, for the washing-cisterns are some way
from the town.”
  When she had said this Minerva went away to Olympus, which they
say is the everlasting home of the gods. Here no wind beats roughly,
and neither rain nor snow can fall; but it abides in everlasting
sunshine and in a great peacefulness of light, wherein the blessed
gods are illumined for ever and ever. This was the place to which
the goddess went when she had given instructions to the girl.
  By and by morning came and woke Nausicaa, who began wondering
about her dream; she therefore went to the other end of the house to
tell her father and mother all about it, and found them in their own
room. Her mother was sitting by the fireside spinning her purple
yarn with her maids around her, and she happened to catch her father
just as he was going out to attend a meeting of the town council,
which the Phaeacian aldermen had convened. She stopped him and said:
  “Papa dear, could you manage to let me have a good big waggon? I
want to take all our ***** clothes to the river and wash them. You are
the chief man here, so it is only right that you should have a clean
shirt when you attend meetings of the council. Moreover, you have five
sons at home, two of them married, while the other three are
good-looking bachelors; you know they always like to have clean
linen when they go to a dance, and I have been thinking about all
this.”
  She did not say a word about her own wedding, for she did not like
to, but her father knew and said, “You shall have the mules, my
love, and whatever else you have a mind for. Be off with you, and
the men shall get you a good strong waggon with a body to it that will
hold all your clothes.”
  On this he gave his orders to the servants, who got the waggon
out, harnessed the mules, and put them to, while the girl brought
the clothes down from the linen room and placed them on the waggon.
Her mother prepared her a basket of provisions with all sorts of
good things, and a goat skin full of wine; the girl now got into the
waggon, and her mother gave her also a golden cruse of oil, that she
and her women might anoint themselves. Then she took the whip and
reins and lashed the mules on, whereon they set off, and their hoofs
clattered on the road. They pulled without flagging, and carried not
only Nausicaa and her wash of clothes, but the maids also who were
with her.
  When they reached the water side they went to the
washing-cisterns, through which there ran at all times enough pure
water to wash any quantity of linen, no matter how *****. Here they
unharnessed the mules and turned them out to feed on the sweet juicy
herbage that grew by the water side. They took the clothes out of
the waggon, put them in the water, and vied with one another in
treading them in the pits to get the dirt out. After they had washed
them and got them quite clean, they laid them out by the sea side,
where the waves had raised a high beach of shingle, and set about
washing themselves and anointing themselves with olive oil. Then
they got their dinner by the side of the stream, and waited for the
sun to finish drying the clothes. When they had done dinner they threw
off the veils that covered their heads and began to play at ball,
while Nausicaa sang for them. As the huntress Diana goes forth upon
the mountains of Taygetus or Erymanthus to hunt wild boars or deer,
and the wood-nymphs, daughters of Aegis-bearing Jove, take their sport
along with her (then is Leto proud at seeing her daughter stand a full
head taller than the others, and eclipse the loveliest amid a whole
bevy of beauties), even so did the girl outshine her handmaids.
  When it was time for them to start home, and they were folding the
clothes and putting them into the waggon, Minerva began to consider
how Ulysses should wake up and see the handsome girl who was to
conduct him to the city of the Phaeacians. The girl, therefore,
threw a ball at one of the maids, which missed her and fell into
deep water. On this they all shouted, and the noise they made woke
Ulysses, who sat up in his bed of leaves and began to wonder what it
might all be.
  “Alas,” said he to himself, “what kind of people have I come
amongst? Are they cruel, savage, and uncivilized, or hospitable and
humane? I seem to hear the voices of young women, and they sound
like those of the nymphs that haunt mountain tops, or springs of
rivers and meadows of green grass. At any rate I am among a race of
men and women. Let me try if I cannot manage to get a look at them.”
  As he said this he crept from under his bush, and broke off a
bough covered with thick leaves to hide his nakedness. He looked
like some lion of the wilderness that stalks about exulting in his
strength and defying both wind and rain; his eyes glare as he prowls
in quest of oxen, sheep, or deer, for he is famished, and will dare
break even into a well-fenced homestead, trying to get at the sheep-
even such did Ulysses seem to the young women, as he drew near to them
all naked as he was, for he was in great want. On seeing one so
unkempt and so begrimed with salt water, the others scampered off
along the spits that jutted out into the sea, but the daughter of
Alcinous stood firm, for Minerva put courage into her heart and took
away all fear from her. She stood right in front of Ulysses, and he
doubted whether he should go up to her, throw himself at her feet, and
embrace her knees as a suppliant, or stay where he was and entreat her
to give him some clothes and show him the way to the town. In the
end he deemed it best to entreat her from a distance in case the
girl should take offence at his coming near enough to clasp her knees,
so he addressed her in honeyed and persuasive language.
  “O queen,” he said, “I implore your aid—but tell me, are you a
goddess or are you a mortal woman? If you are a goddess and dwell in
heaven, I can only conjecture that you are Jove’s daughter Diana,
for your face and figure resemble none but hers; if on the other
hand you are a mortal and live on earth, thrice happy are your
father and mother—thrice happy, too, are your brothers and sisters;
how proud and delighted they must feel when they see so fair a scion
as yourself going out to a dance; most happy, however, of all will
he be whose wedding gifts have been the richest, and who takes you
to his own home. I never yet saw any one so beautiful, neither man nor
woman, and am lost in admiration as I behold you. I can only compare
you to a young palm tree which I saw when I was at Delos growing
near the altar of Apollo—for I was there, too, with much people after
me, when I was on that journey which has been the source of all my
troubles. Never yet did such a young plant shoot out of the ground
as that was, and I admired and wondered at it exactly as I now
admire and wonder at yourself. I dare not clasp your knees, but I am
in great distress; yesterday made the twentieth day that I had been
tossing about upon the sea. The winds and waves have taken me all
the way from the Ogygian island, and now fate has flung me upon this
coast that I may endure still further suffering; for I do not think
that I have yet come to the end of it, but rather that heaven has
still much evil in store for me.
  “And now, O queen, have pity upon me, for you are the first person I
have met, and I know no one else in this country. Show me the way to
your town, and let me have anything that you may have brought hither
to wrap your clothes in. May heaven grant you in all things your
heart’s desire—husband, house, and a happy, peaceful home; for
there is nothing better in this world than that man and wife should be
of one mind in a house. It discomfits their enemies, makes the
hearts of their friends glad, and they themselves know more about it
than any one.”
  To this Nausicaa answered, “Stranger, you appear to be a sensible,
well-disposed person. There is no accounting for luck; Jove gives
prosperity to rich and poor just as he chooses, so you must take
what he has seen fit to send you, and make the best of it. Now,
however, that you have come to this our country, you shall not want
for clothes nor for anything else that a foreigner in distress may
reasonably look for. I will show you the way to the town, and will
tell you the name of our people; we are called Phaeacians, and I am
daughter to Alcinous, in whom the whole power of the state is vested.”
  Then she called her maids and said, “Stay where you are, you
girls. Can you not see a man without running away from him? Do you
take him for a robber or a murderer? Neither he nor any one else can
come here to do us Phaeacians any harm, for we are dear to the gods,
and live apart on a land’s end that juts into the sounding sea, and
have nothing to do with any other people. This is only some poor man
who has lost his way, and we must be kind to him, for strangers and
foreigners in distress are under Jove’s protection, and will take what
they can get and be thankful; so, girls, give the poor fellow
something to eat and drink, and wash him in the stream at some place
that is sheltered from the wind.”
  On this the maids left off running away and began calling one
another back. They made Ulysses sit down in the shelter as Nausicaa
had told them, and brought him a shirt and cloak. They also brought
him the little golden cruse of oil, and told him to go wash in the
stream. But Ulysses said, “Young women, please to stand a little on
one side that I may wash the brine from my shoulders and anoint myself
with oil, for it is long enough since my skin has had a drop of oil
upon it. I cannot wash as long as you all keep standing there. I am
ashamed to strip before a number of good-looking young women.”
  Then they stood on one side and went to tell the girl, while Ulysses
washed himself in the stream and scrubbed the brine from his back
and from his broad shoulders. When he had thoroughly washed himself,
and had got the brine out of his hair, he anointed himself with oil,
and put on the clothes which the girl had given him; Minerva then made
him look taller and stronger than before, she also made the hair
grow thick on the top of his head, and flow down in curls like
hyacinth blossoms; she glorified him about the head and shoulders as a
skilful workman who has studied art of all kinds under Vulcan and
Minerva enriches a piece of silver plate by gilding it—and his work
is full of beauty. Then he went and sat down a little way off upon the
beach, looking quite young and handsome, and the girl gazed on him
with admiration; then she said to her maids:
  “Hush, my dears, for I want to say something. I believe the gods who
live in heaven have sent this man to the Phaeacians. When I first
saw him I thought him plain, but now his appearance is like that of
the gods who dwell in heaven. I should like my future husband to be
just such another as he is, if he would only stay here and not want to
go away. However, give him something to eat and drink.”
  They did as they were told, and set food before Ulysses, who ate and
drank ravenously, for it was long since he had had food of any kind.
Meanwhile, Nausicaa bethought her of another matter. She got the linen
folded and placed in the waggon, she then yoked the mules, and, as she
took her seat, she called Ulysses:
  “Stranger,” said she, “rise and let us be going back to the town;
I will introduce you at the house of my excellent father, where I
can tell you that you will meet all the best people among the
Phaecians. But be sure and do as I bid you, for you seem to be a
sensible person. As long as we are going past the fields—and farm
lands, follow briskly behind the waggon along with the maids and I
will lead the way myself. Presently, however, we shall come to the
town, where you will find a high wall running all round it, and a good
harbour on either side with a narrow entrance into the city, and the
ships will be drawn up by the road side, for every one has a place
where his own ship can lie. You will see the market place with a
temple of Neptune in the middle of it, and paved with large stones
bedded in the earth. Here people deal in ship’s gear of all kinds,
such as cables and sails, and here, too, are the places where oars are
made, for the Phaeacians are not a nation of archers; they know
nothing about bows and arrows, but are a sea-faring folk, and pride
themselves on their masts, oars, and ships, with which they travel far
over the sea.
  “I am afraid of the gossip and scandal that may be set on foot
against me later on; for the people here are very ill-natured, and
some low fellow, if he met us, might say, ‘Who is this fine-looking
stranger that is going about with Nausicaa? Where did she End him? I
suppose she is going to marry him. Perhaps he is a vagabond sailor
whom she has taken from some foreign vessel, for we have no
neighbours; or some god has at last come down from heaven in answer to
her prayers, and she is going to live with him all the rest of her
life. It would be a good thing if she would take herself of I for sh
and find a husband somewhere else, for she will not look at one of the
many excellent young Phaeacians who are in with her.’ This is the kind
of disparaging remark that would be made about me, and I could not
complain, for I should myself be scandalized at seeing any other
girl do the like, and go about with men in spite of everybody, while
her father and mother were still alive, and without having been
married in the face of all the world.
  “If, therefore, you want my father to give you an escort and to help
you home, do as I bid you; you will see a beautiful grove of poplars
by the road side dedicated to Minerva; it has a well in it and a
meadow all round it. Here my father has a field of rich garden ground,
about as far from the town as a man’ voice will carry. Sit down
there and wait for a while till the rest of us can get into the town
and reach my father’s house. Then, when you think we must have done
this, come into the town and ask the way to the house of my father
Alcinous. You will have no difficulty in finding it; any child will
point it out to you, for no one else in
tread May 2011
Osama bin Laden is dead.
That pretty much sums it up right there- the tag-line to the War on Terror we've all been waiting for;
The adherent doctrine dealt out like a decoration to add decor to the death and destruction distributed so freely like health care should be,
But isn't because Fox News and the Tea Party see it differently;
"The only thing that should be free is the freedom to spread freedom against the wishes of the oppressed by utilizing force of arms to instill upon them a will to fight what we see as their evil sheikdoms,"
Stage 1 in a dramatic ensemble of violence all directed at the elimination of human toil in pursuit of the spoils of unjust construction,
A naive assumption based on silly presumptions against Islam in conjunction to the real world.

Osama bin Laden is dead.
A euphorically jubilant crowd applauds outside the steps of the White House,
And I listen with incrementation as the news station sponsors discrimination to add flames to the hate machine,
And I wonder;
Can we not just cut the cake? Clean the slate of the human race just to cut to the chase and reach the release we sought in world peace in the first place?
Probably not, as it is our woes that have brought men from silver to gold, modest to bold, caring to cold, and 'on sale' to 'sold' in this system.

And I can't accept that.

It would be a different case if my sad face brought a poor man back to first base in terms of sustaining the ability to remain within the mile-high club that is the human race,
Or if my woes brought all poverty stricken panic from financial rags, to spiritual riches,
Instead of all this **** where people are paid to dig ditches just so, in turn, they begin to build bridges over said ditches simply to stimulate an abstract mathematical construct a few inches further from rock bottom.

Osama bin Laden is dead.
For the past ten years, what ground did he tread?
Not a lot; at least in comparison to his pursuers who tread streets full of hot lead and ****** head's, each still scarred with a lingering dread left unsaid;
And so vivid, is the anger, so vivid the hate and horrors of war, to the point that one is beyond asking 'what is this all for?' and simply hits the floor as rockets **** by like angry boars, and bullets shatter walls and **** at a pace that a pill couldn't heal your soon to be charred corpse,
And life looses all meaning;
War is no longer a late-night TV show screening, it's men and women screaming with their guts spilled and steaming,
And the tears don't suffice, as everything cuts deep like a knife to symbolize this endless strife,
The trial and tribulation.

But, don't fool yourself.
Osama bin Laden is dead, he was shot in the head, now all the men and women can go back home to their countries and back to their own beds,
To night terrors instead, as they realize their sanity is caught on a thread,

But the truth still remains quite complacent;
As it is the truth that is adjacent to the lies of news stations and corporations looking to make a dime off the fall of a nation,
All caught in a frenzied impatience at how long the castration of the Haitians is taking to make a dollar towards their next Palm Springs vacation,
And all the concentration, under-the-radar conversations or over-the-top public declarations at anti-capitalist demonstrations, whether in New York City or the Appalachians,
Goes unheeded amidst Wal-Mart's new decorations, or the Palestinian deportations, or Quaran desecration's carried out by ignorant delegations filled with a fundamentalist generation of observations,
So we're blind.

Amidst all this truth, we are blind.
And to this day, my head still sways at how insane we make this world with our memes and the capacity of our brains that go unharnessed in our head,
But none of this really matters, does it?
Because Obama said Osama is finally dead.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2018
Why can't I find the flames that once burned beneath skin?
Changed from warm to cold and dark
Reality's breath blew out the fire deep in me
Transformed my core into coals black, chalky, and dark


Attempting to force a glimmer of hope in my eyes
Ignite carefree wonder with a spark of belief
Then I could be unharnessed and rile passion
That scalds any unwanted lingering grief

Beyond these pages is genuine pain
Still alive though my heart won't beat
A hundred perfect words could not replace
Sought-after inferno, world devoid of heat

Head hung low in debilitating  failure
Dragging feet with purposeful defiance
Mistakes resting their weight on my back
Hunt for embers in half-hearted compliance

One candle lit to awaken misplaced zeal
Eternity tried silently stealing away
Sunset has the right shades of Orange and red
But lacks love it used to invoke each day

I am overanalyzing this
Eventually find the ecstasy that died
Don't care if It's a person, place, or idea
Something out there will rekindle lost feelings inside
I am currently at the start of an arduous journey of self-discovery and the first step is to figure out what I need to be happy
Mara W Kayh May 2015
It came gently,
Like a leaf
undulating
after a gust of wind
breaks it loose.

An ebb and flow
As step by step
it became crystal clear
this long awaited tryst
Would not take place.

Like a delicate leaf
gracefully spiralling
to its resting place,
I took defeat in stride.
head high,
my pride not arrogance,
but an appropriate
Ladylike shield.

You were perfect..gentle
and a man.
That is, after all, why
though dry to the touch
I hold a flame to you still.

You placed me gently
on the bed
where other casualties
of love and fantasy
turn to dust
through time's
compassionate touch.

Yet hope I harbor
in my hardened veins still..
gentle like a hummingbird's heart beat,
pathetic as a defeated gambler,
that this affair will revive itself.  
That the let down,
final for now,
Is not forever.

Until then I heave a restful sigh
And bid you well, secret love.
farewell!  
farewell fragile, unharnessed dream.

Crunch!
Please bear with me as I try to dribble this scenario out! I felt it was getting sappy in the end, so I ended it with some humor. This is one of those real life events... But of course laced with just a dash of fantasy so I don't give too much away :)
is the lady kosher
when she talks on the subject
of integrity
that is a bit rich
for some to ingest
surely she must think
they're not onto
her falsehood crest
honesty pays
when dealing with folks
yet on many occasions
she's unharnessed
its yoke
her principles were shredded
by the things she did utter
oh for her lips
to convey
the proper
taste of butter
city of flips Aug 2019
pretty words for pretty girls


courageous caress of a send key pressed,
after practicing  
speechless up to the assumed,
up to assured point of perfect,
flawlessness, visible in each invisible breath,
pauses full of poignant stories unspoken
but eye cleared visible for seeing the future


pretty words for pretty girls

intuition incorporates superstition,
unending, intending infatuated moon gazing,
but not pagan worshiping, no it is love worshiping

your hiding cave places are moon apertures dark spots,
impenetrable to my eye’s naked telescoping,
but heartbeats spring my unharnessed love poems to you

me and millions whisper in full certainty of our
lost but beloved presences, moon stored for us,
my darling dares the light shine upon my bay,
here to me, our path, a moonlight waving hand
provides on many nights, a clear direction to follow,
pseudo-thrills of continence that my vision uncovers,
but my body knows is but a poor substitute


pretty words for pretty girls

my disease has a diagnosis.

your body attacked,
your body reacts,
defeats the infector,
remembering the next time
that disease comes round
how it got beat prior
and how to do it again



so how come I’m falling love once more?
Briana Nov 2014
They look at me
through their worn down features.
They've got lines
all over their faces
each a mark of frequented emotion.

Their suits are cut to perfection,
or else they haven't showered in months.
It doesn't make a difference,
this type of man...
are all the same in their bones.

They want my freshness,
the smooth touch of my skin,
the soft curls and curves
that haven't yet been worn rough by age.

They want the twist of my smile
my brightness, my beauty.
They see
untamed, unharnessed, naiveté  
sparkling in my eyes,
and they want it.

They want me to make them happy,
and through our word play
I can see it in their eyes.
The longing, the lust, the belittlement.

The twist of my  smile slowly drops down,
The sparkle in my eye sizzles out.
But my brightness?
It burns hot.

I am not naive, I know that you want me.
I am not yours for the taking.
My brightness burns hot,
and I will scorch you to your bones.

(Parents, raise your sons right)
We've been evolving with music,
ever since our mothers heart beats,
special and different,

terminally unique,
flabbergasted freaks,

trapped,
poverty stricken and weak,

little *****,
unharnessed potential sleeps,

forced into a corner of naughty
left handed niche,

never gonna be right,
no matter how hard we tried to please,
surrounded by subterfuge ,to fool we,
And force us to be,
other than that which is 3,
oppressed with an Iron fist ,

that was planned ,pummeling,

our creative needs,
like bricks in a washing machines,
Never get cleaned,



Discombobulated,
Artiste,

wearing our souls on our sleeves,

it's not like we never told you,

What WE wanted to be,
Traitors sounding dis-eased,
somethings never gonna change,
best believe,
they just wait and become more vague,
and strange and displeased.
The only escape and coping mechanism sufficient

4 1 2 survive,
and preserve the real we,

Alchemists? , Magicians? thieves?

thrive
and get a life

ub3

and feel alive,
Our duty to share and express

our majesty

and universal given creative talents!
aka

" Balancing heavy burdens on bended knees"

the most precious ancient currency
Deep in the concrete jungle,

amongst all kinds of ******.
Only dead fish go with the flow!

And never stumble

Just their for the ride

with ease,
swimming upstream,

brings light

providing us with,the fortitude and spiritual stamina,
to stay alive &survive;

for the streets,

that is required,

in order

4 We 2 b 3

and able to
keep on keeping on,

no matter what's gone on,

Got 2 B strong
by any means necessary,

suffering
through these astonishing catastrophes,
written in stone,

war and peace,
4 what doesn't ****,

hones and

must make strengths increase,
as out of the darkness comes the light,
like a beast to a priest,


That we are still here to share,

no matter what!

express ,believe and receive,
creating, creative, creations...

exposing the woods from the trees

WE big people ,

have to bend,

and ponder,

and weep.
MPalmer Mar 2013
Talk to me hold me.
Tell me what u feel .
My heart yearns for your touch,
Your laugh it runs through my veins,
like a drug,
my addiction is
unkindled, unharnessed, unbelievable.
I want to know your name,
who you are
But for now i wait in silence for you,
my drug my addiction my nameless face and faceless name
Julia DeFoor Nov 2015
The sadness creeps beneath my skin.
Shards of glass in my veins.
The unending grey seeps in through my pores.
Consuming me slowly.

A shrill sound with no reprieve.
The shouting behind my eyes.
My psyche tears like the fiber of meat.
Ripping ragged edges.
Deterioration.

Memories like fabric.
Ripples like silk.
Unlocking sealed vaults.
Excavating the contents.
A landslide.

Immense pain.
Like a fork against your molars.
A pinging sensation.
A jolt to wake you in the night.

Theres no reprieve from the ache.
The feeling of being crushed.
A rubber band around your ribs.
Your bones beg.
Crack.

Bone marrow replaced with sadness.
Too much to contain.
Pressure against the confines bone.
Snapping in two at any second.

Any bit of intelligence has been ruined.
I'm strung out in my sadness.
All thoughts are electric current.
Unharnessed.

An itchy soul.
Yearning for space.
Desperate.
Waiting for the skin to split.

Fire beginning in your fingers.
Flames licking your lungs.
The underside of your muscles burn.
Swallowed whole.

Pressure against my skull.
Fluid and mass.
The seams may split.
Spilling out.
Boiling over.

Needing peace like water.
High noon in summer.
Your throat betraying you.
Begging to quench it's thirst.

Slamming my fists against the ground.
Pulverizing the flesh of my knuckles.
Screaming into the darkness.
Praying to the gods.
Begging for mercy.
Geraldine Taylor Sep 2017
Aaran: Let sleeping lilies lie, come what may
Each season has its time
In a field of gold blossoming, promises of spring
Of quality delights, yet but one is mine
Selected at their prime
Time is of such essence, render my heart s-t-i-l-l
Enamoured by this quest
O’er craggy hills, set on high
A myriad of mountains, piercing the sky
Through valleys of low, sifting through the land
A humble search within, of untold promises
Of whom is it I seek?
With the choicest picks of many
A fresh vineyard of plenty
Of room for such bold gallantry

Pearl: If nature tells a tale, is it such truth that I will seek
Of incomparable promises, adoration from above
A sacred lavished love, freely unconditional
Let righteousness prevail
A redirected ship sets sail
To steer towards his ways
Lest I avert love’s true course
A freewill field of freedom
With the choicest picks of many
A fresh vineyard of plenty
Yet a tarnished trail, leads to solemn ruin

Aaran: With renewed clarity, I’ll endeavour to please
Yet only one can appease, unwholesome ways
Bless my earnest days
In seeking you
Of desiring truth
Draw me back to you
Present wonders and clues
Yet of whom could fathom
Of my own understanding
Dare I leaneth not
To acknowledge truly the king of kings
Yet will my offering be pleasing to thee?
With a patchwork of progress
Yet to digress!
Misguided in the mix
Would thou now fix
To so fill a void
Of actions mistimed
Such an opportune time
Yet in this vineyard of plenty
I have selected not

Pearl: With vivid retrospection, beyond a quick glance
To recapture redirection
Choices not to my betterment
Such steps lead to a
F
A
L
L
A calling forth to consciousness
A gentle quiet voice
To hasten towards unfolding arms
Re-establish the connection
My Sovereign protection
My keeper, my guide
Of unharnessed energy
Be rechannelled set me free
No longer captive, twas lost – now found
Now replanted on solid ground
Such land is lush, fertile for growth
The gift of grace, bestowed on me
Yet interlaced with love for me
Search my heart
Explore the depths of my soul
Of a contrite spirit, a new heart in me
A catalyst for change, rearrange my compartments
Renovate from within
With purposeful living
Let it be so declared
Replanted in the vineyard
Encircled in care

Aaran: Where is my equal, of mirrored completeness?
Rare unwinding roads, let me venture to find
With cascades of choice
Yet a still small voice
Calls me back to thee
To search so diligently
Of the selection
Beyond our protection
A compromised yield – from a field of choice
Of qualities unqualified
A diminished light
Yet captured in your sight
I could run ahead, but a thousand miles
With aims to hide
Strayed from the path
Yet you would find me!
Like whispering leaves – you follow me!
I am your child
“Draw back to me”
Such energy spent
A tent of retreat

Pearl: If I am yours and you are mine
Here engrafted into the vine
With offers of replenishment
Drawn towards a living well
In essence to thirst, for a fragrant spring
From the wilderness, lest I return
With all that I yearn
I give to you!
There are no secrets hidden from view
You know my thoughts
You know my ways
You have carried me through all of my days
Sunlit rays of hope shines through
A maker of all things new
Apart from you – bereft of truth
Of magnitude
In wondrous awe of all you do
I surrender all to you



Aaran: Let their be none of me, but all of you
Without your workmanship – I build in vain
No substance of change
Effort exhaustion
To bear no truth
Outside of your will, no perfection of peace
Fruitful production will cease
Of majestic wonders, your sovereignty reigns
Your craftsmanship unparalleled
Emboldened tower of excellence
Such is your wisdom, of invested time
Creations of the divine
On the heights of love
Exceedingly above
All created things
Exhibited signs of majesty
Concerning me, you tend to my case
Casting all of my cares
Of honourable justice
Cocooned in compassion
Love unending
Continually the same
You reign on high
There is power in the name

Pearl: Soulfully renewed, with a sound mind
Confine the spirit of fear
Wash me with blessedness assured
Cloth me with sacred strength
Direct thy paths
Of intrinsic value placed in me
Keep me hidden and close to thee
Blossomed fruits of maturity
As a living vessel
Radiate your royalty
Of such a season as this
Rested beneath your wings
Guard my heart
A time of preparation
Be formed and refined
Yielded to the master’s plan
I shall seek your face
Of sovereign splendour
A veil of grace
In the midst of your shadow
For your appointed to find
Of your perfect timing
Of your perfect will
A laid foundation
A covering of silk
A precious pearl
A virtuous call
Of standards to surpass
With favour from high

Aaran: Instil in me, due diligence
To plough the field in solitude
Exuding excellence
In the accomplishment of a purposed will
Restorative rest
From tests and trials
Of requisite skills and character
Create room for special providence
A shadow of insight
Of your wondrous works
Let the vine be preserved
In season, to make the acquaintance of
A significant love
Of help to protect thee
Righteously reserved
To enlighten thee
A time of revealing
At a distance awaits
Preservation of patience
In your image created
Promises belated outside of your will
Of futile attempts to evade your plan
For I am not my own
There is help in you alone
Presented cares at your throne
In your presence may I stay

Pearl: One cannot underestimate motives established
In opposition to
For outsiders of the recognition
Of my true valuation
Let them locate me not
With casted lots they can but ill afford
You know my worth
You have me preserved
In safe keeping
Until an appointed time
True justice is thine
Let your kingdom advance
Counterfeit collectors
Of no business in here
Adorn me with your covering
Glory be to you
With humility and honour
To seek your truth
There is none like you
Blessed be the temple
I have been redeemed
For he is my keeper
Let me return to thee
A prized and treasured purchase
Such gems are rare
As a living sacrifice
Be pleasing to thee
Honour you in worship
With mindfulness take heed

Aaran: There is a ruler in the land
Of covenants and commands
A mighty love
With jealousy, of mercies that endure
He reigns forever more
Of the future and before
Of granted seasons
In spirit to discern
Of faithful steps where I am tested
To stretch established trust
“Will you walk with me, to a place that you know not”
With former ways forgot
A courageous look ahead
In spirit and in truth
Let me follow you
Every facet of my being
Awesome depths of knowledge, wisdom and understanding
Of paths to pursue
On ahead we shall go

Pearl: Do they possess your righteousness?
Were they sent in your name?
They have not your likeness
Conflicting with your plan
They bring no completeness
Disharmony abounds
With such fruitless planting
Upon rocky ground
Yokes of inequality to establish not
Presenting common gifts to exclusivity
Of access unauthorised
Of acts to displease
Claims of validation
Such will be disproved
Of a different team they are
Of their travels from afar
Of which of these can be after your own heart?
To see beyond the shell
Where favour cannot reside
Cast away their pride
Return from whence you came
Patience is a virtue
Let my life exemplify
With your gardening of reason
Of true love amplified

Aaran: To trust in your timing
Let your ways become my ways
Recharge my focus
The potter moulds the clay
A rebirth of integrity
A calling forth to lead
Of due responsibility
Opportunities embraced
So I shall arise
Evolving ever wise
Symbolising service
Blessed to be a blessing
Gracefully equipped
Faithfully serving
With reverence so aligned
Of seasons placed on time
Of suitable design
A man of the divine
A vessel of virtue
A good thing I will find

Pearl: An objective of order
Contemplating eyes
For whatsoever you find, that is unlike you
Be extracted, be removed
Reestablishment be loosed
One appointed master
Of obedience to you
Old ways be overturned
Of varied lessons learnt
Refurbish and restore
Bring your authority
Be the head about the door
Brought beyond brokenness
Restorer of joyfulness
Complement contentedness
Companion incomparable
Character in confidence
That of transformation
Faith in the intangible
Supernaturally sure
Intentional living
All of which I strive
No desire to arrive
Countering complacency
His bold divinity, will enhance my days
Divine provider of wealth
Of spiritual health
He stands in the gap
A bringer of true balance
His care is unabridged

Aaran: At such an appointed time
A climate of change
I will recognise my dearest
With opened eyes
Like the dawn of sunrise
I will be drawn to thee
Of natural beauty
He will spiritually advise
To have found the one
In accordance with your blueprint
Of events orchestrated
Of joyfulness elated
How precious is thee!
Seemingly hidden from view
With devotion to development
That our paths would cross
To begin our journey
In one accord
Of such blessings to afford
To one day so stand before
Our maker
Declarations of love and commitment to thee
Of such a blessed vision
One day realised
For until such a time
Let me wait upon the Lord
To seek first his righteousness
Before our holy covenant
I shall wait on thee

Pearl: As events unfold
Let all that you touch upon turn into gold
With wonders of mystery
Bold miraculous signs
Nature’s seasons ever changing
Truly divine
With no division of time
Of cares undivided
Due attention to you
Reveal to me your truths
As I soulfully meditate upon your daily word
Lest I depart from righteous ways
Lead me all of my days
May I cling to you
Love’s loyal devotion
Blissfully lost in your word
You guide me as light
By day and by night
Enlightened watchtower of constancy
Exalt you in your sanctuary
For you have created a work in me
For your word shall not return to you void
In you I shall prosper
Accomplish I will
Of promises spoken
Shall come to pass
Let your divine order take precedence
Let my cup runneth over
Bring wholesomeness
Your blessed investment concerning me
Left not alone
You called me as your own
Selectively sought and set apart
To kneel before you with humility
Your goodness washing over me
How much greater can this be?

Aaran: A creator above all
You catch me when I fall
Of whom could match the wondrous treasure I have found in you
The sacred gift of your beloved son
For my salvation
With victory already won
In fellowship with you
So to feast upon the bread of heaven
My daily fill
You are my strength and you are my shield
A fortified fortress that stands on high
There is none like you
No tower could be built, that could surpass you
Of whom could reach you with earthly hands
Or overrule your divine plans
To fathom the works of your mighty hands
Truly appointed before my formation
You laid the foundations
Of which to create
Blessedly ordained
For your holy purpose
Qualified
I will embrace
Thou art is divine......

To read the remainder of the poem please purchase on Amazon
Jenni Apr 2014
I like songs with rough edges
   Ones that sound like they were created
in the dusty corners of someone’s garage
    Songs that were recorded with ancient
                                  and ailing equipment
          That play back fuzzy and distorted
            Songs that are raw and unfinished
             Songs with unharnessed emotion

They aren’t mellow or soothing
They offend with every beat
They have corners and sharp spines
They cut and tear with each chord

                    I like songs with rough edges
Because they can pierce through my skin
                           My shields are powerless
       All defenses are rendered ineffective
                                          I am left exposed

I like songs with rough edges
Because they force me to feel
        The things I had locked out
        The things I have been so afraid of letting in
        The things that remind me that I'm only human


                   I like songs with rough edges

                                                         That match my own
Amanda Kay Burke May 2018
Winter flakes fall, alive, alone,
Bright like ivory, cold like bone,
Peaceful and silent, they ride the wind,
Brushing snow-swept faces, chapped, skinned.

Icy sidewalks lay and stare,
Smooth glassy pathway reflecting brisk air,
The sky quietly murmurs a shade of bluish-grey,
Clouds block the sun, dulling this December day.

Trees stripped bare by merciless freeze,
Unwrapped, they suffer, nobody sees,
A lifetime of labor hangs from every limb,
Waiting for Summer to begin.

Mountains far off watch in greif,
For greenery's sake pray for relief,
Blistering rage unharnessed, free,
Is a predator gobbling all it can see.

Winter's love and hate collide,
As unpredictable as ocean's tide,
Moment by moment, fading away,
The beginning of tomorrow, end of today.
I think a poem about Winter is a nice refreshing change from all the summer poems about sunshine i have been reading.
Peter Feb 2017
A sparkling afternoon
with a veteran of the slave ships.
Our careless liberty.
My hands on her hips.
Adrift on the water
and ending too soon.

Last night we walked the salmon run,
and spoke with our eyes.
Her honeyed tounge
Numbing my deceit.
Like a Colombian curse.

With her in the tower.
Laid bare to addiction.
In the hot moisture of our fusion.
Dew drops from her salty skin,
indulging each exquisite sin,
unharnessed.
Bound for daybreak.

Once I might have had the nerve
to sabotage the Polar Star.
With a road flare in the engine room
or an auger bit below.
But time has torn the spine from me.
And groomed me for humanity.
I've bent my knee to smoke and fear
And now I know the lash.

When winter comes I'll hit Cordova
and find out where she keeps her dogs.
So that I might lay beside them,
with my gentle hands upon them,
and howl for her return.
maureen Feb 2020
“love isn’t easy” they say;

but it seems to go smoothly when you’re falling
free and unharnessed,
into pools of love
where smiles naturally find its way
and everything feels right —

until gravity shifts and tides change
and trust is lost and the pain remains
realizing your hands and chest are empty,
when there’s nothing left but that sinking feeling
that never leaves.


and they were right.
Weighed down by the heavy cloak of depression
And his tormented brain
He searched for the answers in a bottle
He reached the bottom and sank even deeper into the pit

Senses intoxicated
Clearly not on his right mind
He fumbled around in the medicine cabinet
Seeking the ultimate way out

The pills were calling out to him
“We can free you”
So he swallowed the lot, washed down with yet more liquor

The chemicals began to dance through his veins
Releasing their deadly poison
He was overcome
Unconsciousness set in
Contorted and convulsing he buckled and slumped to the floor

She found him this time
Like the time before
Out cold, black mucus running out of his mouth
His ‘guardian angel’
She dialled 999

20 years later
And history repeats itself
This time he phones her to confess
The cycle resumes
Frantic calls to the authorities
Interminable waiting
Can he be brought back from the brink?

Yet again he is saved
But not cured
A ticking bomb free to wreak havoc
Upon his blood ties
Unharnessed rage and anger
Eluding the ‘system’ once more

A life saved
But a life sentence imposed on his ‘loved’ ones
When will it ever end?!
Alyssa Nov 2023
never closer the whole rest of our lives
than that night we caught celestial lies
flaming comets cryptic and precise
appear in sequence through the sky

we made a satellite our home
and named the galaxies we formed
with unharnessed disposition you led me on a space walk
turned around, let go of my hand
closed the sputnik hatch without looking back

the Pleiades gleam jewel-wise against the softest black
extending a thin thread for me to grab
glittering as I float in the vastness unafraid
of what I never saw on Earth

stranded forever in space
like a Russian cosmonaut of the canine kind
paralleling a bark and a sigh on our last orbital sunrise
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2019
Poetry is different
  when spoken than read

The words more musical
  outside my head

No longer imprisoned
  or held on the page

Their freedom unharnessed
  —the voice of an age

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2105)
Pegasus soars with a golden bridle:
imagination unharnessed.
He performs aerial feats
with composure and grace
high above the buckled clouds.

Pure white scion of Poseidon,
he ascends to the heavens.
Lightning and fire flash
in his wake. His flight
lights the world in silence.

Untamed by mortals,
he metamorphoses into
the constellation that bears his name.
Stars spread across the sky
as his pasture; ambrosia
overflows his jeweled feed bag.

The great winged stallion of
Greek mythology, he struck
the earth with his unshod
hooves and purified
water sprang forth.

He irrigated the cosmic mind,
soaked the bone-dry soul.
Those without wings must
continue to search for his
inspired springs of grace.

Rapture of the imagination,
disciplined by the gods,
he paces Zeus' stable,
free of the weight of
humanity; ridden only
by Olympians.

As he prances among
the coiling clouds,
a solitary feather falls
to the earth.
Look for him in the dark.
Onoma Jan 2020
derma seconded--

aware of more, as

it moves as you.

death-feed of an

unharnessed life--

informing shocks to

constitution.

the curious cusp of

******--haunted

by the feeling something

knows you better than

yourself.

— The End —