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Nat Lipstadt Aug 30
so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels

and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time

but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:

A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing


par example;

Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere

what a blessing!

Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.

Aman.

<>
nml
i poured half a grand
down the sink,
watched the bottles bleed
their amber and ruby
in the drain.
a sacrifice —
a promise
after a thousand lies
dressed in shame.

my world hears detox:
lemon water,
fizzy drinks.
not my veins
beating to break free,
clawing closer
to a single drop.

my husband says
i’m not what i think i am —
because i can stop.

as if stopping
wasn’t a war every night,
prayers whispered to a god
i’m yet to find.

but there’s a circle
where i can admit:
hi.
i’m an alcoholic.

in the half-light
their voices don’t press me
for whys,
or ask when i slip.
they don’t judge
when i wake again
struggling to hold
my coffee,
hands shaking.

i swore not to give it
any more room.
but i still speak of it,
and carry its shadow
to my secret crowd.

no one should be alone
when entering the fight.
this one is about the fight i write about, but never speak of.
Johnson Oyeniran Feb 2021
-A Psalm Of Johnson Oyeniran

Heavenly Father please rescue me with your mighty strong  right hand,

For my enemies which surround me are as numerous as sand.

Hatred has blinded their eyes and pettiness has tainted their mind,

Of all the people to tread your earth, they are the worst of mankind.

Oh Yahweh, you have said vengeance belongs to you and you alone,

So let not your servant be put to shame, strike them right to the bone!

Amen
More than the breath of a sigh —
I shut the front door, draw the curtains of my eyes,
turning toward a long prayer, and hoping for a sign.
I sign my name on a sigh, to dot myself in doubts;
quietly trying to align the stanzas of my life onto
these right lines.

For someone's booming voice rising in prayer;
you lift yourself as a public speaker, while I hide
my own voice in a speaker box, in the back of my car —
playing the music of these dreams only you can hear.

While the sunlight sinks into my skin, inhabiting me
like a parable. I live inside the story of another mystery,
a hidden teaching I pray I’m not just listening to, but also
one I'm slowly becoming.

We are creatures chasing the simplest endeavours —
where lovers fuse together when they find their spark,
to blow a fuse when nerves are frayed, and ride the same
fuse that carries a car forward; an engine humming with fire.

To love more than skin and bones,
to write the story of our lives — immense enough
to bring me to tears, where the full plotline goes unseen,
yet I pray to God I can at least follow all my lines.

And in all of it, this is a feeling of being alive.
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
And she takes the book waiting on the shelf,
smelling of milk, toothpaste and goodnight kisses,
it's pages cracked, worn thin with birthday wishes,
wearing wrinkles wizened by the layers of fingerprints
that traced the silk of mama's voice on every word.

She turns to find him all tucked up in bed,
head cushioned by a mop of curly hair,
arms clutching tight a tattered teddy bear.
His sleepy eyes draw her to his side
and she leans in another once upon a time.

Her voice kisses the curve of every word,
calling to life a world she has to see,
moulding reality to what it ought to be;
a place with swings, slides and just five minutes more ,
sighs breathed to birth a need held deep inside.

A land where all the games are fair,
with candy houses but no cavities in sight,
where all evil is banished by the light.
The winds of time are soothed and still
listening to the clicks of a clock that never stops ticking.

Her child's eyes flutter to dance in dreams of his own
and the bedtime lies shatter behind her eyes.
It's not her son longing for a land where no one dies.
Children are borne of pixie dust and shooting stars
to a world of wonder built for each alone .

Once upon a time is a prayer whispered by mama's at night
to restrain the hurts and horrors of the earth
with the soul wrenching fear she's felt since she gave birth.
See she has to believe in forever and a day
for her love for her son is growing all the while.

She has to believe in love and life and laughter.
She has to hold close the hope of
happily
ever
after.
Ellen Joyce Jul 14
You reached out your hand
I gave you an onion set -
Grubby and crisp,
torn from the land.
You cradled it in your arms and
though it’s layers stung, sang a quiet lament.
Gnarled and wild, its roots tangled,
mining salt, a sweeter scent.

Dirt smeared your palms
but you held tight, singing psalms
planting it in God’s rich earth,
patiently guiding it skyward when it slid back-
And it slid so often its sprouts screamed
as the maggots came forth, split at the seams.

Some days you came with parsley
Others with meaningful song -
Teaching green shoots to dance in the wind,
bask in the Son, trust in the Father, stay strong.
Praying the roots to anchor in tight
Chasing out darkness with glorious light.

I reached out my hand
She gave me an onion set -
grubby and crisp,
torn from the land.
I cradled it in my arms and
knew just what to do -
heart fixed on the Lord,
I whispered “Jesus loves you”.
For my spiritual mother who led me to the Lord, built safe foundations and loved me when I gave her every reason not to and prayed for me relentlessly and faithfully though I have given her too many reasons to pray. I can do what I do for others, in large part because of you.
Thank You, Lord,
For the wisdom in the words.

If You say
This is how I will manifest my art,
I receive it.

Amen.
anotherdream Aug 13
The waves are closing in
As I swim towards the finish line
I feel my claustrophobia settling in
My body swaying left and right

My eyes fixated on being first
Tunnel vision now my guide
I ignore everyone around me
If it means reaching solid ground

Medication's slowing down my thoughts
But I'm running out of time
How many times can I fall down
Before I cannot rise?

Before the water gives from under me
And my lungs let out a desperate cry
Screaming, "Save me Jesus!"
"These waves drag me down to die!"

"Why do you test My mighty power
When I have saved you every time?"
"Oh you of little faith
Rise up, leave your fears behind"

"Your sins have been forgiven
For I became a living sacrifice"
"Your soul has been made anew"
Jesus spoke, as He calmed the piercing tides

Now He carries my anxious burdens
When I'm losing all my might
Every day I get to know Him more
In the morning and the night

He guides me towards the narrow path
When I'm wandering from His design
He quiets my inner demons
Before I lose my mind

He reminds me of my identity
When the enemy whispers lies
He reveals His awesome power
When my doubt begins to rise

Only He can offer resolution
For these problems I face in life
He is my sole provider
Of my needs which come with time

So I urge my brothers and sisters
To call upon our mighty God!
For He will calm the stormy waters
And prove that He is Christ
girlinflames Sep 1
Maybe this is all
a great illusion of mine—
a dependent heart’s story
I tell myself
just to ease the ache.

But I have been praying.
And I want to believe
God is answering—
giving me wisdom,
guidance,
clarity.

That our marriage
still has a purpose.
That we
still have a story
left to tell.
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