"withstood" poems
A dart of a glance
Felt across a crowded room.
A playful bantering
turned to something darker, deeper.
A smoldering gaze
lasting just a second too long.
A hesitant hand
pushing a stray curl into place.
Coherent thoughts
turned into an unlikely jumble.
And that one question
is answered,
using no words,
except the ones in the language
that has withstood millenia of human existence,
the language of seduction.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
What is my motherland?
Is it the dust that ravages my lungs
Or the bones of my ancestors
Humming softly the old and forgotten
What is my motherland?
Is it where I was born?
A piece of land, a group of people?
Or is it the place where
It's mothers are graded
In layers
Where some wombs only give birth
To sub humans
Where some wombs are scarred
Born from the ashes of a thousand dreams burnt down
I'm a survivor
Of all they could throw at you
Of all their insults
The predicament
My mother's womb that withstood all it could
And some more
They tell me this is my land
That it is my mother
The birth giver and sustainer of life
I spit on their faces
My motherland never was this piece of land
Or the people who **** on its soul
Each and every day
My people lived in a different world
On this piece of land where we were worse than animals to you
Where is my motherland?
I have none
Robbed of it since my birth
Where is my motherland?
But in the hearts of all who are like me
Set in stone
Yet defying gravity
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow.
Bathing.
It must be this one.
The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time.
The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green of the future.
I bathe. Calm; breathing air of the present but living in the past.
The light flickers.
I flicker back.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am a fortress.
I have withstood wars that should have broken me.
Burned down and decimated by the mindless,
I rise up from the ashes.
I stand with my body, eternally.
I am strong.
My thighs are battle grounds trodden down three times round
and they're blooming new flowers,
mending from those who fought over them far too long,
my thighs have super powers.
I am soft and sultry sweet,
full of vulnerabilities.
Nature proves if anything that this will never make me weak.
My eyes once snuffed out are blazing brilliant brightly now,
rivers of tears have been filled in,
replaced by peaches and cream and skin.
My arms are solid protective forces,
my hands, tangible whispering caresses.
I wear my broken bits on my *******
puffed out chest with pride,
for I have nothing to hide.
My feet take me to and from all the places I've ever gone,
and my mind,
my mind, it tries. It tries so ******* hard,
and my heart cares so much that it shows
in every scar and battle wound,
in every mark that was ever taken as a flaw by boys who never saw
that without the storms I wouldn't glow the way that I glow,
every boy who told me to 'go with the flow'
like I couldn't learn a **** thing for myself.
Still, the lessons people preached did teach me a thing or two,
just not what they usually intended,
my face doesn't face up to face value,
belief is most beautiful when suspended.
My eyes see lies better than my thighs do,
yet resilience sees to it that both are mended,
but if there's anything I've ever learned that's true,
you should never leave anything open-ended
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
*
I am talking of fearlessness
"Fearlessness..."
The same fearlessness
Shown by Christ on the cross
The same fearlessness
Shown by Gandhi
For his non-violence
The same fearlessness
When Mansoor said "I am YOU"
Was lynched & cut piece by piece
The same fearlessness
Of Meera who sang for Krishna on the streets
When she was humiliated, ****** made fun off
The same fearlessness
When Radha danced for Krishna
Even after Krishna left Vrindawan for Dwarka
The same fearlessness
With which Hussaiyn Ali
Martryed his life at Karbala
While trusting someone
The same fearlessness
Of Sita when she withstood
The tests of Rama's accusations
The same fearlessness
When Bahi Taru Singh
suffered governor's brutal torture
The same fearlessness
When Mirziyaan gave his bow & arrow
To Sahibaan knowing that
The tip of his arrow may be blunted
Leading to his death
The same fearlessness
When Romeo drank the poison
And Zuliet stabbed herself with a dagger
The same fearlessness
That made Layla fall sick & died on hearing that
Her Majnun is roaming mad in wilderness;
Later on hearing about Layla's death
Majnun died near Layla's grave
The same fearlessness
When Rabia wanted to
Cease the fire of hell and
Set alight hopes of paradise
The same fearlessness
Of Rumi who guards
The divine light of LOVE
The same fearlessness
When one is compelled by
soul energy to LOVE BELOVEDz
That is the fearlessness
I am talking about
"The fearlessness of LOVE"
*
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.
Clearly you never heard that.
Or maybe you just don't care.
Either way, you've made a large mistake.
Because now all the anger
That I've been saving all these years,
All the fury I've been hiding-
Finally has release.
Every single person
That's ever done me wrong,
Every last wrong doing
That I have withstood,
Now falls upon your shoulders
Along with what you've done,
As if your own actions
Weren't bad enough alone.
They say that you should never
Push a loyal person
Past the point where they don't care.
But maybe now you've guessed
That it's far too late for you.
Because I'll smile and I'll laugh
I'll be pleasant around you.
You'll think that all is fine,
You'll fall into false comfort,
And when you try your games again
You'll fall flat upon your face.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
We thought we had the vampires done,
Cornered as we raised the stakes.
The fiends were caught against the font,
An end to this for all our sakes.
How foolish to believe
That the stake would push itself,
How blinded must we be
To think we'd help ourselves.
We fell back in confusion
As their eyes lit stars of blue,
Our fiery brand burned red in fear
But the flames sputtered out on cue.
We faced the devils in their line
But they withstood our empty threats,
And took us off one by one;
It was time to pay our debts.
They laughed at our misfortune.
And gave us back our forks,
They pointed at our dampened brand
And sent us back to work.
They drank from tattooed necks
And supped from elder veins,
And bled the middle dry
And fed upon their brains.
They tore up all our rights
And placed death upon a throne,
Who drove out justice in the night
While Liber's throat did moan.
They sold us all as slaves
To merchants draped in skin,
Cut from children's backs
As the devils slowed their spin.
So now we work until we drop,
Exhausted in our penury.
We're fed from blood banks on each street
While we think that we're still free.
The vampires grin within their church
And play at pious once a while,
And watch with glee as all they cut
Divides us up in our denial.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Fingers tapping, one, two, three,
A slow rhythm drums in my chest.
The words on my screen blur and fade before me.
The world slows as we are put to the test.
The streets, barren and eerily silent,
Darkened windows, chairs on tables.
Places once filled with noise now absent.
Are we now living in one of God's fables?
Perhaps, then, we must stop and listen,
Listen to the lessons He is teaching us all.
These drastic measures, so brazen,
Yet we are close to the edge, were we to fall?
See kindness and beauty,
See all that is good,
As Mother Nature breathes freely,
Tired from all She withstood.
Laughter and bored games,
Brought together by distance,
Whilst the air, the water, She reclaims,
No more waiting, no more patience.
Yes, waters clear as emissions drop;
A truly beautiful consequence.
But we must not forget - take the time to stop,
Extend our minds to at whose expense.
Unemployment creeps ever higher,
Many lives are lost.
For those a dark and terrible chapter,
Enduring such a saddening cost.
The good that lies within,
The beauty of humankind,
Rainbows, clapping, togetherness underpin,
Our world, our people, our priorities realigned.
So listen we must,
To our animals, our rivers, our Earth.
Look to your nearest and dearest,
Use this time to recognise their full worth.
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 6:12 PM UTC
Mysterious death! who in a single hour
Life's gold can so refine
And by thy art divine
Change mortal weakness to immortal power!
Bending beneath the weight of eighty years
Spent with the noble strife
of a victorious life
We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.
But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung
A miracle was wrought;
And swift as happy thought
She lived again -- brave, beautiful, and young.
Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore
And showed the tender eyes
Of angels in disguise,
Whose discipline so patiently she bore.
The past years brought their harvest rich and fair;
While memory and love,
Together, fondly wove
A golden garland for the silver hair.
How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
When every pang of grief
found balm for its relief
In counting up the treasures she had left?--
Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time;
Hope that defied despair;
Patience that conquered care;
And loyalty, whose courage was sublime;
The great deep heart that was a home for all--
Just, eloquent, and strong
In protest against wrong;
Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall;
The spartan spirit that made life so grand,
Mating poor daily needs
With high, heroic deeds,
That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.
We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
Full of the grateful peace
That follows her release;
For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.
Oh, noble woman! never more a queen
Than in the laying down
Of sceptre and of crown
To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen;
Teaching us how to seek the highest goal,
To earn the true success --
To live, to love, to bless --
And make death proud to take a royal soul.
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Here I stand so shaky, as I begin to walk
Learning from Mom, learning to talk.
The examples I see will shape my way
The decisions I make, will shape my day.
Here I stand to begin, in life’s early hour
I’ll test the limits, I’ll test my power.
In the terrible twos, the decisions to come
Are made by the hand, and shaped by Mom.
—————————————————
Here I stand at the dawn, the edge of the day
With decisions to make and prices to pay.
The choice is mine and mine to make
The decisions I choose will make or break.
Here I stand a teen in the prime of life
A time of joy, a time of strife.
I stand at the crossroad as I start these years.
There is the road of honor, the road of tears.
—————————————————-
Here I stand to choose again and again.
Do I choose to loose or do I choose win.
One road I see will cause me pain.
The other I see will grant me gain.
Here I stand at a crossroad, to choose this hour
The choice I make is in my power.
To choose the wrong or choose the right
I will set my course, I will set my plight.
—————————————————-
Here I stand as I marry, the Love of my life
Become one with her, to be my wife.
The vows we say, the promise we make
Are made forever, we will not break.
Here I stand by my Love, our daughter’s first hour
Now Mother and Father, with our delicate flower.
The example she sees, the example I live
Is the greatest gift, a Father can give.
————————————————
Here I stand at the bedside, my mother’s last hour.
She withstood the storms, of time and its power.
Though times were rough, she withstood the test
Her love sustained me, she gave me her best
Here I stand in awe of the example she set
Of truth and honor, I’m in her debt.
The decisions she made were examples to me
Helped mold my life, in what I could be.
—————————————————–
Here I stand as the evening, of life draws near
I’ve tried to follow the paths found dear
Paths of love and honor, from examples I see
From those before me, that I strive to be.
Here I stand did I, make the right choice?
Did I follow the loud or the still small voice?
For I now understand, the power of love
It’s the power given by the God above.
————————————————
Here I stand to survey my life today
I began and will end, on the edge of the day.
The choices I made, He was always near
His Grace and Mercy has brought me here.
Now I kneel in His presence the race is run
His grace has sustained me, the journey is done.
He brought me through, the dusk, the night
To a brand new day, what a wonderful sight.
——————————————————
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 9:11 PM UTC
So familiarize what having to swallow this pill is like
It happens all the time, they take your heart and steal your life
And it's as though you feel you've died because you've been killed inside
But yet you're still alive which means you will survive
Although today you may weep because you're weak and
Everything seems so bleek and hopeless
The life that you're seeking, it begins to seep in
That's the only thing keeping you from leaping off the motherfreaking deep end
And I'm pulling for you to push through this feeling
And with a little time that should do the healing
And by tomorrow you may even feel so good that you're willing
To forgive them even after all that **** you been put through.
This feeling of resilience is building.
And the flames are burning quick as fire would.
Through this building. you're sealed in
But you're fireproof, flame retardant, you withstood it.
And as you climb up to the roof, you're just chillin' and you look down
'Cause you're so over them you could put the heel of your foot through the ceiling.
As time passes, things change everyday
But wounds, wounds heal
But scars still remain the same
But tomorrow today's goin' down in flames
Throw the match, set the past ablaze
So feel the fire beneath your feet
As you barely even perspire from the heat
Exhale deep and breathe a sigh of relief
And as you say goodbye to the grief
It's like watching the walls melt in your prison cell
But you've extinguished this living hell
Still a little piece of you dies, you scream..
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk
to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just
“weird consistency”
(which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light
in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and
3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our
plates wasn’t even there this time it was
hiding underneath slop
and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves
(who asked?)
of our next-table neighbors’ lives.
You made a sly remark about seconds to catch
a glimpse of youthful ****
She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices
to put in her salad maybe
(who knows? who cares?)
Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like
something to you. And you
described them to us when you sat down again so
the slop would taste like something to us
(there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and
(congratulations)
we had the faint impression of
some sort of
****** there, but
we didn’t tell you
(it’s easier that way).
A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed
our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night
like any, so her ******* led us to talk
of women, and women led us to talk of
love
(and the blooming one for the poor *******
as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of
an addling ****** very different from
the first.
This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found
were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at
the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed
lonely couples, and the fortunate friends
huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying
the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before
they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning
when they safeguarded a
zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to
use, in Soviet Russia.
(So you see?) We have to slump on the couch
when we return like lifetimes
have passed before us.
No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them
strewn on the floor like
dead wooden boxes because
Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever)
is already in the living
room. Any
bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist
(any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will
tell you that.
So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable,
(at least we’re trying!)
feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices.
Because we don’t need
to hear this that.
Not right
now. (Not right
now).
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
*Once upon a time,
Not so long ago...
There anxiously lived
A lovely lady,
Who was now in the know!
You see..., her inspiration
Was taken away from her,
Forcing her lively spirit
To slowly die.
Her heart had broke,
Beyond repair,
When she finally uncovered
That love
Was nothing but a cruel lie.
Her kind, gentle soul
Was tortured,
And forced into virtual recluse,
For it had withstood
Unbearable amounts
Of mentally painful,
Emotional abuse.
She learnt
That the more one loves,
The more one feels the pain,
A very sad ending to her fairytale;
One that happens to many
Innocent, loving souls,
Leaving them all,
Never to be the same!
By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
The night was passing, and the Grecian host
By no means sought to issue forth unseen.
But when indeed the day with her white steeds
Held all the earth, resplendent to behold,
First from the Greeks the loud-resounding din
Of song triumphant came; and shrill at once
Echo responded from the island rock.
Then upon all barbarians terror fell,
Thus disappointed; for not as for flight
The Hellenes sang the holy pæan then,
But setting forth to battle valiantly.
The bugle with its note inflamed them all;
And straightway with the dip of plashing oars
They smote the deep sea water at command,
And quickly all were plainly to be seen.
Their right wing first in orderly array
Led on, and second all the armament
Followed them forth; and meanwhile there was heard
A mighty shout: "Come, O ye sons of Greeks,
Make free your country, make your children free,
Your wives, and fanes of your ancestral gods,
And your sires' tombs! For all we now contend!"
And from our side the rush of Persian speech
Replied. No longer might the crisis wait.
At once ship smote on ship with brazen beak;
A vessel of the Greeks began the attack,
Crushing the stem of a Phoenician ship.
Each on a different vessel turned its prow.
At first the current of the Persian host
Withstood; but when within the strait the throng
Of ships was gathered, and they could not aid
Each other, but by their own brazen bows
Were struck, they shattered all our naval host.
The Grecian vessels not unskillfully
Were smiting round about; the hulls of ships
Were overset; the sea was hid from sight,
Covered with wreckage and the death of men;
The reefs and headlands were with corpses filled,
And in disordered flight each ship was rowed,
As many as were of the Persian host.
But they, like tunnies or some shoal of fish,
With broken oars and fragments of the wrecks
Struck us and clove us; and at once a cry
Of lamentation filled the briny sea,
Till the black darkness' eye did rescue us.
The number of our griefs, not though ten days
I talked together, could I fully tell;
But this know well, that never in one day
Perished so great a multitude of men.
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I look down at my feet,
toes adorned with chipped nail varnish,
a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole,
and I grimace at the
purple marks, reddening blisters,
cicatrices of stories long forgotten.
The ***** of my feet are thin and worn,
my heels rubbed raw from
shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested,
faded scars from childhood accidents.
I have aged hating my feet,
the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses,
my throbbing, wrinkled soles.
They have grown with me,
from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus,
to wide, long size 7s.
My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that,
freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries.
They’ve been battered and bruised
repeatedly,
victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect.
I have punished them
with verruca socks and freezing ointments,
pin ****** small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and
not once
have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise.
These feet have walked me up mountains,
aided me in athletic championships,
withstood six inch heels on weekends,
ran me through marathons,
enduring my never-ending physical torment and though
they may buckle,
with weeping blisters and aching pains,
dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles,
they will recover,
rebuilding the scabrous skin.
Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years,
whether I am stranded on a deserted island,
or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own,
my feet will always,
undoubtedly, lead me to safety.
And when I am old
and withered, an exhausted heap of human life,
with my last dying breath,
I will thank my durable, reliable feet.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
all of my toys.
a parallel universe of
marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!
i remember my cheap svelte revolver
back in 1998 bought from
the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.
i used to run off into the sunset
toting my gun high with pride
shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
over my rendezvous.
now my gun has withstood the
tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
brokenness as it yearns to
be retired early in the peak
of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
it to unsheathe the grime
of the unspoken stucco concrete.
i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
of a santan over the fields
where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
and intricate.
i heard my black revolver went
somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
caught within the heaviness
of all things that mean greater
than all other joys,
no other days could ever
surpass how
i made
a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
that i keep.
good ole black revolver, 1998.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
A delicate crimson rose endures
The snow and winds of winter's grasp
And closes up and wilts a while
Until Summer sun it finds at last
In this world of unrighteousness
Where brutes and ogres' egos roam
And selfishness abounds like weeds
She exists in shattered form
With silent seething disilusion
And saddened, unrequited love
Maddened by the unjust acts
of those who advertized their “love”
A vain and self-indulgent god
Did sieze himself her mind and oath
Presiding as the demons do
In hidden acts pronounced as gross
Enduring the madness of matriarchs
And the hostility of tribal gang
Where smiles of familial welcoming
Turned into savage, jealous fangs
Yet though the bitterness seeps through
And anger permeates her skin
Sweet dignity she still retains
And devotion stll resides within
Her adornment incorruptible
Her spirit mild and resolute
Did not return evil for evil
But stood and conquered it with good
Happy is she who has endured
And in mild subjection did remain
Showing honour to a painful degree
To bring honour to Jehovah's name
And though she stumbled in despair
Yet withstood for righteous sake
Her loyalty, the beast could not sever
Nor divine concsience could he break
For like the rose at winter's end
That bears a striking sharpened thorn
Her petals still are soft and pure
And her soul with beauty still adorned
For the righteous one who sees all things
And whose love she yet retains
Will never for eternity forget
The love she showed for his great name
And should she reach out and beseech
And trust his salvation once again
She would know with certainty
He has never let go her hand
(For my precious daughter, Cheryl, who has been to hell and back)
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
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...Here a man stands accused--the pellucid jury
of his peers come to themselves in their life's arms
through him.
He wails upright...a shadow continent wedging
The Flood.
Timekeeping horseflies besmirch his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consume
time till the singular advocacy of he withstood.
The imperturbable essence captured itself, as so
at the height of its powers there's interplay.
Ease culled from tribulation...countenance slackened
by degrees...overwhelmed by awareness.
Kingdom come Kingdom--shoring space of grace
that is freedom.
As if Everything centering of itself, fawning over itself...
polar opposites in conjugal bliss.
Here a man stands accused...of being--fit for steely
juxtaposition...the murderous implement of will, or
salvation.
Envision him post-Flood, waist-deep, the living Face
of the Deep...look upon him!
Timekeeping horseflies besmirching his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consuming
time till the Singular advocacy of thee...look upon
him!
An encounter of pitless ramification: fear or love...be
it the last man upon the earth.
Look upon him--O jury of his peers boasting billions...
pellucid unto one another...look...The Hour is radiant!
Won't thee come to thine life's arms through him?
For he is Everyman.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
The days passed slowly in a drunken haze
As this sleepless delusion was set ablaze
My limbs weakened with the rising sun
While the spiders in my head began to run
Spinning webs beneath my sunken skin
Piercing my veins like deadly sin
Yet through it all my bones withstood
The war taking heed within falsehood
By words of Truth I found my sanction
Even as my spirit dies in such a fraction
And like the dead become living grass
My flesh will live again like sandy glass
But as for now this life consumes me
And I will work like the honey bee
Until the bitter taste on my tongue
Becomes the flavor of the purest young
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
The air is brisk, all the leaves the color of flames,
as they send off sparks to incite the heat of desire.
Watching as they sway like lovers dancing in the wind.
The sun reflects off the pond as if sprinkled with glitter.
Ducks swim amongst the flickering lights as if they
were a ballet that never tires,
A path leads to a magical gazebo that has withstood
the hands of time. Etched into its body are the words
of lovers written in rhyme. What wonderful secrets
this old wood must have heard told. All the kisses
and whispered endearments of lovers so bold.
Stolen kisses, forbidden embraces, anger, frustration,
laughter and tears. this place had to have seen it all,
in it’s many years. Touch the wood and feel all the warmth
of love and desires it holds. Each grain protecting a memory
of one of many in its fold.
So come with me my friends, walk along its trodden paths.
Stroll with me into the Realm of love and fantasies.
Listen to the winds of change, dancing through the leaves.
If you listen close you just might be able to hear, a lover’s
soft laugh or maybe the falling of a tear.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
I chased down the bustling road
when I caught a glimpse of her walking down.
Today I stand, impatient;
my finger thumping a pithy tune,
as she climbs down the stairway,
one step at a time.
*Time capsules are concealed
in objects that we rarely see,
and only notice when silence visits
and sits in the middle of the room,
unpleasently.*
Today was on such day,
when my foot accidentally brushed
a tea cup that had bravely withstood,
the anomalies of my childhood,
and leaning back on its broken handle
took delight,
on my sudden emotional plight.
*After years of unrelenting boundaries
the yearning to jump over,
turns into the ultimate goal.
Definace, with a vengence,
and fury so grave,
mars conscience by its senstaions,
makes it depraved.*
Forgone was the leap
that bound my heart with rules
of love, loyatly and frienship,
for it now only understood,
the twinge of ache it gained
whenever it recognized,
a then familar face.
*In a world fantastical,
there is order and right.
And mistakes are begotten
to only be forgotten
and set some memories aside.*
I held my hand out,
on the last stair, she looked up,
and in brown eyes, just like mine,
I saw days that now defined,
our relationship,
as mother and daughter.
*We talk of far shores and setting sail,
with our two feet firmly rooted in the bay.
The anchors aren't pulled, the rigs aren't checked,
we are rarely ready, if ever,
at our fancy's behest.*
In the seconds that she took to step down;
seconds in which I re-lived a lifetime,
I ran down the same road,
the bustling street with the same goal.
I held my mother's hand
and let go.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
Call me queer, call me **********
But is my ****** life really that important to you?
I don't call you cunt-cuffin, ***** eater, nor hetero freak
So why must I be insulted for my *** life while you remain unscathed?
Call me ****** all you want,
But let's be honest, my life isn't easy
But I'm still here
My heart still beats
I'm still strong
Call me fairy to your little heart's content
But answer me this, could your heart bare the abuse of every kind for almost a decade?
Could your "holy" self withstand standing alone in the dark without so much as a friend?
I'm a "sinner" and I've withstood all those horrors and still came out strong
Call me a disgrace, an abomination, a freak
But answer this you pretentious *******
Who's the one cursing people, condemning, hating, discriminating them for being nothing more than who they are?
That's right, you, not me
So think again, who's your god going to punish?
People who have done nothing wrong but be themselves?
Or the ignorant fools who think they are God and condemn others?
Call me ****** call me queer
I know who I am, and it's someone strong
Call me ********** call me fairy
I'm the one who will survive
Call me all you want,
It won't change who I am
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Dedicated To My Loving Daughter SUZANNA CHRISTY
On her 12th Birthday (08/09/2015)
Days rolled on; moments of time trotted; Waters changed shapes;
She walked with His Grace; smiled with His Mercy; grown with His Love.
Eleven nautical miles she hath crossed; might be twisted with ebbs and tides;
Yet His provident Arms have carried her in tender and glorious ways.
I see her seated on the banks of the stately throne with scepter of innocence,
My heart is thrilled with her mother’s heart of her child-like majesty
Envisaged across the firmament with the rainbow colours within.
Each of the rainbow shade dappled with Heaven’s Glory to glow.
I have drawn her in the sky of my fancy with figures of speech in colours,
She hath become a poem in my kingdom of poetry in pageantry.
We’ve been dreaming of her splendor glowing in His Presence
And pray unto Him no blemish shall taint her soul till the day.
My heart perceived sweet smiles on her lips translated from her within:
Every smile is His Blessing showered on her heart - gratitude to HIM.
We planted a garden and ‘ve grown the seed of godliness to grow like His Son,
Our hearts rejoice in the growth of the seed beside the sweet flow of His Love.
She hath grown through lightning, storms, showers and withstood with His Grace,
She’s been God’s Gift’ conferred on us late but in His time mystifying to mankind.
It hath been His Eternal episode that she ought to be in our arms crawl.
And God’s Gift is in His Image to grow in His Shade and fly under His Wings.
We are instruments to lead her in the way of Eternity, and her soul is precious to Him.
All have souls and all have Eternity, and have to choose His Son hung on the Cross;
Yet earthly affinity hath no role to play in His Kingdom, for He is Spirit,
And all His children ought to have His Image ever to reign in His Glory.
We perceive Truth of Eternity on her child-like countenance each day.
She hath stepped on the twelfth way of life and hath years to walk through.
Our prayer unto Him is His Providence be showered on her soul till the time.
She hath awakened us to share the Truth of Eternity in my simple verse.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC