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It's propped against the wall,
anxiously awaiting to be played
sometimes it takes week
but often just a day

When she takes it in her hands
and begins to tune it up
it wakes up from its sleep
feeling the comfort of her touch

As she starts to strum along
the flowing melody is found
her voice begins to rise
my heart smiles at the sound

Eavesdropping just to hear her
because she doesn't understand
how I'm overwhelmed with joy
and that I'm her biggest fan

It's not the way she plays
or how beautiful she sings
it's the humbleness she shows
and the serenity it brings

To have that kind of passion
without needing to be praised
my daughter's gift sent from above
gratefully received in many ways
MBJ Pancras Dec 2011
It’s not My will, but Thy will,
Let Me die on the cross for their sins,
And My blood pave way to eternity;
Yet My Soul is sorrowful unto death.
Abba, take away this cup from Me;
Yet if it’s Thy will, and not My will.
Father, Thy promise Thou made with the serpent
That Thou would put enmity ‘twixt him and a woman,
And I should bruise his head;
Nevertheless he should bruise My heel.
For this is Thy eternal promise for man
Who been formed in Thy image;
But been smashed himself with the deceiver.
Flesh is weak and tempting;
Yet the spirit is willing and godly,
For Me too passed thro’ the way of the tempter;
Yet cursed him with Thy Eternal Word.
Unfelt agony runs into My soul,
When I bear the sins of the world,
And who on earth knows it,
Except Thou and Me, Who are ONE?
Do men know Me, Who is in Thee,
And Thou in Me, hath stripped off Glory
And hath become a servant to them,
And made in their likeness with all humbleness
Carrying the cross of shame and abuse?
My sweat is as it were great drops of blood
And Gethesmene I pray turns red.
Who knows but Thou ought ought to reveal
That My blood be shed on the cross
Which is the symbol of the new covenant?
Father, in the beginning I AM,
And all things made by Me and for Me
Who hath come unto earth as the Light,
And I AM Thy Glory, full of grace and Truth.
My Father, here come My betrayer,
For his time hath come to strike Me
As he has to bruise My heel,
And I should then bruise his head,
For it’s Thy Eternal plan of mystery.
Here comes he with the spirit of darkness
Carrying lanterns and torches and weapons
Of unrighteousness and ungodliness.
Father, let Me finish Thy work,
But strengthen Me with Thy Spirit.
Now the betrayer hath sneaked  unto me.
Look, he kisses Me amidst the mob.
Am I his beloved for his kiss?
Yet he is My beloved.
He hath dipped himself in My cup of blood.
It’s Judas kiss bought for thirty silver.
He hath sold his soul to the roaring lion
Which devours the sons of Adam.
I made Judas My apostle;
But he  made himself the liar’s instrument.
The night I am put in chains in the realm of darkness
And I am left alone with none to share mine.
Where are My apostles, My disciples?
I remember Peter’s words
That he said he would go with Me,
And I know the rooster should crow
After his denial of Me thrice to go.
He is a mere man who knows not
That things written be accomplished in Me.
They drag Me, kick Me with their boots of sins,
I am chained by their unrighteousness,
And am whipped by their blasphemy of My Father,
For when I am rejected My Father is rejected
As My Father and I are ONE,
And who hath seen Me hath seen My Father.
My people spit on Me all the way
Where blood from My body sheds.
The thorny whips tear My flesh;
Yet I rejoice in My Father’s will,
But their sins sadden My soul.
I am dragged unto the high priests
Who’ve been awaiting My trial.
Even My disciples have forsaken,
And left Me alone, but My Father in Me.
Am I held ‘midst people of the law
Which was the schoolmaster awhile
Until I finish it with My blood.
Their trial with Me hath begun with bitterness.
And Peter is seen with a mob at the fire.
False witnesses spewed on Me, yet contrary,
Whose arrows stuck on My statement
That I will destroy the temple,
And in three days I will build one.
Behold, And they’re spiritually blind and deaf.
They spit on Me blindfolding My eyes,
And play prophecy of hide and seek.
Each spit on Me is a sin of  theirs
And their hurt in not on My body but soul.
They kick Me with their boots with spikes,
And the unrighteousness of My people bruises.
My soul bleeds not of Me but of their doom.
The father of lies mocks at My Eternal plan.
The liar can bruise but My heel,
And his head is already beneath My heel.
My people strike Me with the palms,
And they slap on  My cheek with prophecy;
Yet I hold peace to defeat the liar.
No man is found to paint the pallor on My face.
I am denied thrice as of My mysterious plan.
I am tried till the sun sinks at the horizon,
And I become the laughing-stock of My people.
I thirst, but not a drop of water I ’m offered,
Where found midst earthly meals the disciples of the liar.
To liars My Truth seems blasphemy
For professing themselves to be wise and godly,
They’ve turned scoffers strolling in lusts.
I’m ‘gainst the mighty liars,
Who’ve forgotten I AM Almighty
Having denied the Power of the Most High
Whose Eternal plan of salvation is for them
Whose trial against Me is vain;
Yet satan in disguise kicks My heel.
My angels were struck in pride in Heaven,
And so were drained off into hell
With their filth and lust in darkness.
They spit on Me Who is the Lamb.
The trial ‘ere Pilate take its roots,
And no roots of earth are of Mine,
For My Father breaks off every branch
That beareth no fruit in Me.
For they wear attires of pomp and pride
With no clothes of righteousness.
Hidden in the mask of flattery
Pilate hath no way to mark justice;
Yet it hath been the Eternal plan of salvation
In Me Who is the Lamb of sacrifice.
Who knows My kingdom is not of this world?
I’ve come down to speak the Truth
That hath made the governor question Me:
‘What is Truth?’
And who believes I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life?
For all have eaten the forbidden fruit
Which hath set free the son of peridition
Who is the father of lies of all ages.
And Pilate sets free a convict as is the custom
Which hath a way in the Passover.
Truth sets free the blessed souls from Death;
But falsehood sets free sinners from Life.
I’m whipped in flesh to bleed;
But I  am whipped in spirit by their sins.
I’ crowned with thorns and twigs:
The metaphors of sins and iniquities.
They throw around Me a purple robe
And cry against Me in sarcasm
That I would live long as the King of the Jews
Whose minds are darkened by worldly wisdom,
For My kingdom is not of this world.
They slap Me on the cheek with arrogance,
I remember Judas’ kiss on the same cheek
Who hath drowned in the lust of silver.
I make neither complaint nor not of repulsiveness,
For it’s My Father’s will to bear the cross.
Back to the porch of the palace
I’m made the season with withering leaves.
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who cried against Me riding on a colt.  
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who carried against Me riding on a colt,
They threw their cloaks of praise and shouts
Across the way I trotted upon on the colt,
They laid branches cut from trees,
And I knew they were clothed with filthy attires.
Their praises and shouts now turned to curses  and abuses.
I’m now thrown into the hands of disciples of the liar
Who is a like a roaring lion to devour.
Their faulty law plays in their hands
And laughs at My Father’s Rock of Salvation.
But I laugh at the liar’s defeated victory on Me,
For in My resurrection Death hath no victory.
Who knows death took its roots since first transgression
In Eden with the consumption of the Forbidden Fruit;
Yet in Me Life is sealed in Him to Eternity?
I’ve longed for Judas’ godly sorrow like the prodigal son,
But he was bitten by the serpent on the Tree
Where the betrayer tasted the Fruit and died.
He took himself to the tree of death
For the taste of the Fruit turned bitter to him.
Power of this world hath blinded Pilate’s conscience
Whose power hath been predicted over Me
With My self-will hidden in the Most High.
The Eternal plan of salvation hath tied Pilate.
Who washed himself in his self-righteousness
And throws Me out for want of  pomp and pride.
Now I’m in the arms of thorns and bushes
Laden with the cross of the world set out;
Yet My journey thro’ human darkness is for a while,
For the Reward of Eternity is awaiting Me
And the ones who are rooted in Me.
Each whip lashed on Me is the multiple sins of the world,
And the spikes of the whips tear My flesh,
And I bleed with the agony of lost souls,
Whom I’ve made for Glory with My Father.
Behold! A toll strikes this hour
When I hear the hellish roar at a distance,
And I know the traitor hath flung the silver
Which have no price for his destiny.
I shed tears for him but he’s lost
For his death is certain in My Eternal Plan,
And who could change it but Me;
Yet it’s all My plan of mystery in the Father?
They hit Me with a stick o’er the head,
And mock lat Me saying ‘Long live the King of Jews.’
A scepter of stick ****** into My palms,
A game of mockery is played  ‘gainst Me;
Yet I am as innocent as a lamb led to the slaughter,
As writ in the Scriptures with the design of My Father:
I’m oppressed, and afflicted down to death on earth;
Yet I open not My mouth to charge complaints,
I’m brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
And as a sheep before her shearer is dumb.
All the way I’m kicked to fall on the stony path.
Look! My knees bruised and torn for you,
Still are there moments of repentance from hypocrisy.
**! Here am I fallen on the thorny twigs.
Behold! My clothes are torn with blood flowing out.
They tilt Me with their pompous boots.
I try to lift Myself but laden with the cross.
Pity of sacrcasm plays in their hearts
And in turn a man from Cyrene is laid with the cross.
I carry the sins of the world for crucifixion;
But he’s made to carry the wooden cross behind Me.
Is it My Word that says unto you:
‘Take up your cross everyday and follow Me?’
Nay, but to forsake the world of sins
Be My doctrine with the love of My Father.
You cannot carry the cross I bear;
Yet you can carry yours beside Me.
Shouts of abuses thunder into My heart
Amidst the cry of lamentation across the way.
They hook Me up with scornful epithets
And the liar of the world bruised My heel;
Yet I walk the path of obedience to physical death
That My death on the cross shows Way to Eternity.
I hear the cry of My people,
Why do they cry with wailing?
Do they mourn over My trial on earth
Or o’er their sinful attires.?
Who knows, but I know?
They shed tears of emotions,
And who knows their sins crucify Me?
Behold! I hear the Nightingale’s song ‘cross the stormy breeze.
Is it the song of melody unto My people
For they murmur Nature too mocks at My trial?
But I know My creations are under My power.
They’ve painted the day’s sky with glooms
As their pilgrimage on earth smeared with sins.
Back on Me the cross is ****** and I’m knocked down,
And My face dashes ‘gainst rocks on the way.
The spiky rocks tear My skin to bleed,
I bleed and bleed till the last drop.
Little children kiss My bleeding cheeks
And they take the mark of My sacrifice.
The sun soars higher and higher
And each phase of My journey is of My Father’s plan.
I scale ‘gainst the steep hillock with lashes on My back.
The fiendish serpent laughs at Me,
And strolls with the exotic steps drowned in hellish dirt.
And I know he bruises MY HEEL:
But he ‘knows’ not I’ll bruise his head.
My disciples walk apart with arms tied,
For none can break the design of My Father.
The sun strikes the altitude and I reach the slaughter.
They drag Me unto the ‘place of the skull’.
Who’ve thought I would sleep ‘neath the grave
Which hath no future for death is once for all.
Their conscience is buried in darkness by the liar,
Like dried-up springs and clouds blown along by a storm,
Their thoughts and deeds lie in vain of glory,
All bundled in filthy rags of lusts,
Whose promise of freedom is spoken by the father of this world,
The mighty trap hidden with baits of freedom of slavery.
Who knows but My Father of My destruction of the Temple;
Yet be rebuilt in three days in glory?
Behold! They strip off My clothes to naked.
The serpent sneaks onto the Forbidden Tree
With a cynical comedy of errors;
Yet it bruises My heel with its bitten fang.
My Father drove out Adam and Eve from Eden
Who had turned unholy committed themselves to the liar.
Now the liar, he thinks, drives Me out into the grave.
But I will destroy him with My dazzling presence.
My garments  they part and share ‘mongst themselves,
And My robe made of single piece of woven cloth
With no seam found in it, thrown at dice.
Do they know it’s of the Scriptures foretold?
They lay Me on the cross down on the earth.
I recall My infancy couched on the manger:
How I was cared and nurtured by My human parents.
I was in the safe arms from bitter cold;
But now I lie sans comfort and in blood.
My arms are stretched across to be nailed,
Lost of strength My legs are pulled along.
My people watch the gory sight of crucifixion.
They nail My palms and feet ruthlessly.
How I healed My people from diseases
How I fed My people from starvation!
How I walked to listen to My people’s sorrows!
But they watch Me now lying on the cross.
Do they know of My death on the cross?
The nails are pierced deep into veins and nerves,
Streams of blood flow down unto My people;
But they kick My blood splashed ‘cross My face.
Unfelt agony and untold miseries crushed My spirit,
For they repent not of their sins but die
Forsaking My Father’s promise unto those who believe Me.
When nails are pierced Mine My Father strengthens Me.
I bear the pain for the promise of My Father.
They raise Me nailed on the cross.
Curses and abuses lashed on Me,
And they shout they’ve cut the root of the tree.
Alas! They do not know what  they do;
Yet My Eternal Plan of  these shall happen.  
I look at My disciples at the Cross
Whose darkened hearts I perceive.
Full of heaviness with a doubting hope
Of what will happen to Me and them.
They’re petals turned pale in the evening,
They’re the garden of Fall with no fruits bearing,
Like distant stars with faded light they look
My people fling upon Me mockery:
‘He saved others; let Him save Himself
Who claimed the Son of God!’
Not to save Myself is My advent to the world;
But it’s My Father's Eternal Design in Me
That salvation is for mankind in My Father’s likeness.
It’s written above My head of the Kingship:
‘This is the King of the Jews’
Who know not of My Eternal Kingship,
Not of this world, but of the Heaven.
Behold! The criminal on My left hurls at Me:
‘Are You the Anointed One?  Save Thyself and us!
Is he the son of Cain who turned a fugitive?
Is it not like “am I my brother’s keeper?
The convict on My right is another prodigal son
Whose sorrow of his filthy rags turns his blessed.
‘Lord! Remember me in Your Kingdom!’
My promise unto him hath crowned his a hope of glory:
‘This day shall you be with Me in Paradise.’
It is the prime of the day with beams of fire splashed across:
The sun is in its meridian lashing unforgiving rays.
Behold! The sun is darkened by the clouds of glooms,
It’s day but turns night as a premonition
What happens to the creation in My Day in Glory.
The temple of the city trembles at My Word’
And the curtain is torn in the middle,
Yea, Moses’ law turns unto rags with no price,
For I make the New and Eternal Law of love in Me.
Nightly day survives until My Last Cry’
Troubled with the heaviness of My people’s sins:
‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?
‘Yet it’s finished. Thy work on earth is done,
Father, here I commend My spirit unto Thee’.
Jesus Christ's ****** sacrifice for mankind!
To me eternity lies in thy eyes,
and thy rejection my demise.
If so but accept and heal me likewise;
whilst shun and stab my sore heart, otherwise.
Thou hath always been to me a surprise;
Though a doubtful, but sparkling surprise,
So any dejection of thine shall be odd,
And a thousand times bitterer than a cold rapid retort;
For thou art pure; and sometimes too pure and fine
As how thy immortal soul stayest still, and growest not old
And in toughness and roughness is to remain,
So long as thy dried flesh shall age, and afford;
And with such songs so prolific as prayers
By friendly laudations like bewitching storms
Thou shall forever stay, and newer grow fader
And in such coldness thou shall offer me warmth;
Beside yon raging fire, and about thy manly arms,
Thou shalt but lull and cradle me like a baby-
until sleep comes and whispers dreams onto me,
Thou shalt be far more tender and smart-
Unlike that ungrateful preceding heart,
Which claimed to be civil, but uncivil,
United but then left my unsuspecting heart apart;
So unlike thee, who is but a smart little devil
Thou who earnestly tempted my soul, and lured my blood
Thou returned my blushes, and caught away my heart
Ah, and now-whenever I thinkest of thee,
All pain and gloom shall revert to oneness,
But how still I know not, as whose days remain but a mystery
For everything in which is at times barren and colourless;
But when alive, they are just as simple
as those brief dreams of thine and mine,
With a love but too sufficient, majestic and ample
Delicately shall they turn troubled and unseen,
But caring and healing and blinding and shaking,
taking turns like oceanic birds which go about
swimming and singing and strumming and swinging,
like a painting of prettily sure clarity-but unseen,
or perhaps a pair of loving, yet unforgettable winds.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee towards whom my hardened heart-again, turns soft,
To thee whom my delirium is all kept safe and true,
To thee for whom I canst feel never reproach-and only love,
And to thee-ah, to thee, thee only-by whom
the grandeur of the blue sky shalt melt;
Ah, thee! And betwixt thy gaze,
All fictitious sunsets shalt perhaps become wet-
Just like those azure spirits in thy fair eyes,
Sometimes too indignant but unquestioning,
and too pure-as to whom even the Devil hath no lies;
To thee only, to whom this enduring love is ever assigned,
And forever, even its temptation be mine, and only mine,
Like unforgivable sins, which are sadly left unatoned
In its eternity standing still like a statue;
beside its wrathed, and bloodied howling stone
And to thee merely, to whom this impaired heart shall ever return,
As it now does, with cries and blows that makest my heart churn
And canst wait not 'till the morn, for on morns only,
thou shalt creepest down the stairs, and stareth onto me,
Often with eyes full of questions;
Questions that thou art too bashful to reflect,
So that turn themselves later on, into emotions,
Which withereth and dieth days after, of doom and neglect.
Ah, but still I loveth thee!
For this regret makest me but loveth thee more and more,
and urge my soul greater, to loveth thee better-than ever before.
For 'tis thee who yet stills my cry, and silences my wrath;
The one who kills my death, and reawakens my breath.
Thou on whom my love shall be delightfully poured,
A love as amiable as the one I hold for dearest Lord,
A love for thee, for only thee in whom I'th found comfort,
A comfort that is holier than any heaven, or even His very own divine abode;
Thou art holier than the untouched swaying grass outside,
Which is green, with greenness so handy and indulgent to every sight,
Thou who art madder than madness itself,
But upon Friday eves, makest my joy even merrier,
And far livelier-than any flailing droplet of rain
Showering this earth's clustered soil out there,
Which does neither soften nor flit away my pain
But makest it even worse, as if God Himself shan't solicit, nor care
Like any other hostile love, which thou might kindly find, every where.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee towards whom my hardened heart-again, turns soft,
To thee whom my delirium is all kept safe and true,
To thee for whom I canst feel never reproach-and only love,
And to thee-ah, to thee, thee only-by whom
the grandeur of the blue sky shalt melt;
In my mind thou art the lost eternity itself,
And by its proud self, thou art still even grander,
For thou makest silence not any more silence,
but joy, in return, even a greater joy.
Ah, thee, thou who the painter of my day,
and the writer of my blooming night.
Thou who art the poet of my past,
and the words of my courteous present.
Thou shall ******* flirty orange blossoms,
And cherish its virtue, which strives and lives
As a most sumptuous, and palpable gift-
Until the knocking of this year's gentle autumn.
Ah! Virtue, virtue, o virtue-whose soul always be
a charm, and indeed a very generous charm-
to my harmonious, though melancholy, *****.
Ah, thee; o lost darling-my lost darling of all awesome day and night,
My lost darling before starlight, and upon the pallid moonlight,
My lost darling above the reach of my sight, and height;
Thou art still a song-to my now tuneless leaves,
and a melody to their bottomless graves,
Thou shalt be a cure to their ill harmony;
Thou art their long-betrayed melody.
And even, thou art the spring
my dying flowers needst to taste,
fpr being with thee produces no haste;
and or whom nothing is neither early, nor late;
And whenst there be no fate, thou shalt be
yon ever consuming fate itself-
And by our inane eyes, thou shalt makest it
but adorable and all the way strong,
For thou, as thou now do, nurture it better
than all the other graciousness among;
Thou art the promise it hath hitherto liked; but just
shyly-and justly refuted, for the bareness of pride,
and often inglorious resistance-all along.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee towards whom my hardened heart-again, turns soft,
To thee whom my delirium is all kept safe and true,
To thee for whom I canst feel never reproach-and only love,
And to thee-ah, to thee, thee only-by whom
the grandeur of the blue sky shalt melt;
Ah, thee! Even in undurable haste, thou art still like a butterfly,
fast and rapid flowing about the earth and into the sky;
Thou who art grateful not for this earth's soil;
Thou who saith 'tis only the sky that canst make thou feel.
Thou who cannot sit, thou cannot lay,
but on whose lanes thou always art secure,
as though from now thou shalt live too long
And belong to this rigorous earth
to whom our mortal souls do not belong.
And as to its vigour, death cannot be delayed,
and words of deadness shalt fast always, be said.
Ah, yet but again, I cannot simply be wrong;
for thou art immortal, immortal, and immortal;
To death thou art but too insipid and loyal;
that willing it not be, to take thy soul into its mourning,
and awkward prayers so scornful and worrying.
Thou who needst not be afraid of death;
for breath shalt never leave thee, and thou shan't breath.
Unsaid poems of thine are thus never to remaineth unspoken,
and far more and more thoughts shalt be perfectly carved, and uttered;
Unlike mine; whose several mortal thoughts shalt be silenced, and unknown
And after years passed my name shalt be forgotten, and my poems altered.
But thou! By any earth, and any of its due shape-thou shalt never be defaced,
and whose thoughts shalt never, even only once-be rephrased,
for thou art immortal, and for decades undying shalt be so;
And to life thou remaineth shalt remain chaste, and undetached;
as the divine wholeness whenst 'tis all slumped and wretched,
and white in unsoiled finery, whenst all goes to dirt and waste;
For grossness shalt escape thee, and stains couldst still, not thee fetch.
To every purity thou shalt thus be the best young match;
Ah, just like my mind shalt ever want thee to be;
but thou art missing from my sight-ah, as thou art not here!
Our paths are far whenst they are but near,
and which fact fillest me still, with dawning dread and fear
Unfortunately, as in this poem, my words not every heart shalt hear;
And to my writings doth I ever patiently retreat, the one,
and one only; whom to my conscience so dear.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee towards whom my hardened heart-again, turns soft,
To thee whom my delirium is all kept safe and true,
To thee for whom I canst feel never reproach-and only love,
And just to thee-ah, to thee, thee only-by whom
the grandeur of the blue sky shalt melt;
How fate but still made us here and meet,
That clue shall never makest me blind, and forget!
Now blighted I am, by dire ungladness and regret,
for having abhorred, and slighting thee too much!
For should I still cherish thee before my mortal death,
and be bitter and testy not; much less grim or harsh.
For fate is what fate is, as how love is just it looks;
and God's doings cannot be wrong; and true and faithful
as words I found crafted, and deciphered in old books.
Ah, and God's blessings are to arriveth in time,
and to taste whose due I indeed needst to be patient.
Be patient t'wards the love on which I climb,
ah, as for me-and whenst the right time cometh-
thou shalt be my sole wealth; so dear and sufficient!
And so for thee, no matter how thou hath my heart now torn,
Still I canst, and shalt reward thee not-with scorn;
for thou art my fate, my path, and my salved destiny;
For of which I am assured, definite, and convinced-
with all my degrees of humble pride, and vivid certainty-
Ah, darling, and thou art my humbleness, but also too many a time-my vanity;
For whom I shan't go and venture but anywhere-
As long as thou stayest and last-verily and for yon whole eternity, by me.
Westley Barnes Dec 2013
Bright windy November
with the slap of cold sun sending frowns
and the absent rain not beating down
choleric substitutes of alcohol withdrawal
and spatial omissions of home fires stoking
empty remembrances of faded potential and
misplaced amorous regret
Haunted by the lingering smell of the souls of
last night's GUINNESS intake staying swell in
the nostrils which is in reality the gulf breeze blowing
gullshit down the river Liffey giver of life.

...And here I am Dublin pillaged and funded
en route to the hour-rate slog
shiny white commerce bleaching out of
windowsills distracting from rooftop
Chiaroscuro  serenading a sky
which old ****** forgotten Sons and Daughters
will die under.

Boots tapping mock-goosestep to the ground
past a girl who speaks on her IPHONE to someone
who presumably not only wants to be seen speaking
to someone on their IPHONE but who also cares enough
to listen as the girl announces to all-and-sundry
human dodging on Bachelors Walk this fateful morn
that "I realised what my problem is Now! People
think i'm saying N when I'm really saying M!"

.....quite an existential crisis you got there, EH DOC?

("This girl's SITUATION belongs in a scenario in the TV show GIRLS which young
Woman Europe-wide have embraced as their spiritual saviour in an era of Consumer
impulse control. By placing the mundane generalities and perceived social failings
interpreted by young American female comediennes as instead representing a means of
self-forgiveness and attempted new-wave soft-core feminist self-celebration young American
actresses are inspiring a new generation of young woman to speak openly in a more in-depth level about everything that usually happens to themselves or some girl they know"-From "The Post-New Male Gaze: Interpreting Critiques of Stereotypically Feminized Pop Culture in Westley Barnes's "Notes on a Rant: The "Took Me Up To Dublin Where It's Famous" Notebook
:2013
)

This is the new white noise.

White Irish Male Critiques perceived socially-announced problems of White Irish Female over White Technology on a white morning in a grey city.

A grey city which subliminally stinks of shame and left-over guilt and of spending too much money on tecno-toys and new-improved nullifying debauchery and even rent during a significantly rough stretch of fiscal years. After a lot of years of white nonsense, really.

But this is where I took myself, and this is what happens once you take yourself here and this is where its famous for it.
Dublin,
Once Monto-based FUNDERLAND for the rich and royal turned over-waxie infested tenement slum district and second city of an industrialised economy waiting for the rest of the world to pay its way.
Dublin,
capital of green and squeaky saviours of the third-world who made some money and forgot about everyone else they used to know back home. Mr Poverty, Mr Humbleness, Mr Sense of Catholic Shame.
Until the rents got too high and they had to move home again.
Dublin,
no matters what it achieves, always putting itself down.

But I can adapt.
I've lived in Rathmines and Portobello before living in either was a
really hip decision to make.
I can find somewhere else before its gets gentrified
(after I find some job that's not worth complaining about
or I eventually leap into becoming to middle-class
to complain about it.)
enough that its a headache living there, too many men wearing the same winter
jackets. Too many packed restaurants and your local actually preparing the tables
in the run-up to the Rugby game on Saturday.
The less of all that, the better for me.

I used to day dream about all of the above, honestly, but I
somehow managed to regain my innocence by living through it.

As for the girl who discovered self-realisation on her (through her?) IPHONE?
She'll be alright. If that's how she starts wading through the floodwaters of relating
herself to the world, misunderstood syllables, name-fails and all, this time in twenty
years, she'll be laughing. Don't worry yourselves, she'll adapt with the times.
Sure, Dublin's famous for it.
kirklefrance Apr 2013
No such thing as friends..blood brothers stick close..whether truth or fable Cain killed Able..it happened on a farm..****** jealous over fruits for table..reverse the grave to a cradle..yet the ****** gave birth in a stable..don't watch nothing like cable..life is sweet like a girl sippin syrup maple..gum beating ****** in the street with beef never signed a label..maybe one day there'll be peace God willing as He is able..else we see defeat at the feet of babel..learn to connect with each other..y yall tink we gat navel...its a link..get online and get over yourself..humility servitude and humbleness..yet only amongst brothers can i feel this bliss..sticking with blood rejecting the Judas kiss..cause a ***** been cross ever since ever since a ***** been criss..if u know what im talking bout u be like this.... uhh huh uhh huh
(in my coutnry words such as ***** transcends race as long as your a man in the Bahamas u a *****...just how we talk lol)..the racial strong tower really has no basis here so as long as u a male in this world and we kool u my *****! lol no pun intended.
MaYJa Jul 2014
. . . I have been seeking a new kingdom to call home and your heart, like a castle hides behind great walls,
where both the strong and weak share embarassing flaws.
Unlike just any castle, yours is not on top of a great hill,
nor in the midist of a forest beyond where the waters chill,
its right infront of everyones face who decides to pay attention,
funny that many by pass it because they never seek it, but are ever seeking attention.
Unlike in fairytales, its guarded by pride, humbleness, care and a huge ego,
it rages against anyone who tries to love and care for it, but when it loves back, it never lets go.
Like any castle out there, forcing yourself in will hurt both you and those in it,
the hours you'll take destroying can not be compared to the years you'll take rebuilding it.

So I made up my mind to stand at the gates of these great walls, perfectly built brick for brick,
to proclaim my honour and loyalty for you,to make a promise and stick to it,
because I would rather help you guard it, than play pirate to break down your walls.
So Knight me your majesty, as I report for duty to guard and protect everything that lays behind your great walls. . .
. . . let me make it my new home. . .
Emanuel Martinez Mar 2013
Wake Up Wretched World,

I assert my Indigenous heritage
I self identify
With the ancestors of my continent

Identity afraid to articulate
Culture, unknowingly belonging to me
Cycle of shame now shattered

Product of love, hatred, lust, and desire
europeans plundering my mother Latin America
In chaos and violence, my skin's pigment
Has been engineered through the mestizaje
Of my Indigenous forefathers

How could I not forget my lineage
When the historical legacy of modernization
Has been to massacre the consciousness
Of where my people really come from

Erasing indigenous pride
Making Paisano and Indio
Synonymous with poverty and alienation
Insulting the humbleness
State of hunger you've left us in

Original lineage within me disturbed
So you push me to ambiguity and embarrassment
Not white, not indigenous?

Pure indigenous brothers and sisters silenced
Not an exploitable consumerist market, not in your campaigns
Not benefactors of your philanthropic development tactics
Bodies too costly to abuse, no reason to bring them
Into the neoliberal multinational corporate circuit

Constantly driving them off productive land
Because they choose to assert their identity
Live in collective communes, not owing you nothing
Waiting for them to make barren lands productive
So you can take those lands too

Not capturing an obscure history, these are not colonial times
This is the legacy of the european presence entering mother Latin America
21st century still defiling Indigenous cultures to civilize and modernize
March 14, 2013
Daniel Feb 2013
People whom take pictures called "selfies"
are too easily dismayed.
A person who has true humility
wants not their image displayed.

Someone who has to put themselves
out into the world,
across the screaming gulf of the internet
really makes me want to hurl.

A true person with humility,
humbleness and jest.
Let's someone to capture their image
unprepared, and not at rest.

A true person's form
comes not from a mirror pic
but from friends and their smiles
preferably not when they're shick.
Harley Hucof Aug 2014
No justice nor equality
How to live without envy?

No money nor security
How to live without greed?

No motives nor prize
How to live without sloth?

No accessibility nor satisfaction
How to live without lust?

No pleasure nor satisfaction
How to live without gluttony?

No logic nor sense
How to live without wrath?

No compassion nor humbleness
How to live without pride?

Words of Harfouchism
A Rock there is whose homely front
    The passing traveller slights;
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,
    Like stars, at various heights;
And one coy Primrose to that Rock
    The vernal breeze invites.

What hideous warfare hath been waged,
    What kingdoms overthrown,
Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft
    And marked it for my own;
A lasting link in Nature’s chain
    From highest heaven let down!

The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
    Their fellowship renew;
The stems are faithful to the root,
    That worketh out of view;
And to the rock the root adheres
    In every fibre true.

Close clings to earth the living rock,
    Though threatening still to fall:
The earth is constant to her sphere;
    And God upholds them all:
So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads
    Her annual funeral.

                * * * * * *

Here closed the meditative strain;
    But air breathed soft that day,
The hoary mountain-heights were cheered,
    The sunny vale looked gay;
And to the Primrose of the Rock
    I gave this after-lay.

I sang-Let myriads of bright flowers,
    Like Thee, in field and grove
Revive unenvied;—mightier far,
    Than tremblings that reprove
Our vernal tendencies to hope,
    Is God’s redeeming love;

That love which changed-for wan disease,
    For sorrow that had bent
O’er hopeless dust, for withered age—
    Their moral element,
And turned the thistles of a curse
    To types beneficent.

Sin-blighted though we are, we too,
    The reasoning Sons of Men,
From one oblivious winter called
    Shall rise, and breathe again;
And in eternal summer lose
    Our threescore years and ten.

To humbleness of heart descends
    This prescience from on high,
The faith that elevates the just,
    Before and when they die;
And makes each soul a separate heaven
    A court for Deity.
Abimael May 2016
Today is world, it is so corrupted.
But he future is decide on our children's.
Teach them humbleness,
And their future will be better,
Than our sadness times..
Budding Rose
building pressure,
pursed and ready,
meeting the threshold
with preparatory
anticipation;
quivering.

Blooming Rose
opening with elegance,
breaking from tight enclosure.
a fragrant, companionate aroma,
inviting, an unfoldment,
spreads of flourish;
exquisite grace.

Dying Rose
with humbleness
in bowing stem.
letting go,
petal by petal.
richer reds,
darkening,
decease.

Cyclic Rose
coming, breaking
open and shedding;
a transitory
ephemeral beauty.
teaching the natural
art of being;

in bud
b  l  o  o  m
& death.
saranade Apr 2015
My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***.
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.
creating the existence I am in and changing it for nothing
Austyn Pierson Jan 2013
Slow walking,
This ghost, it sighs when I sleep.
**** not I, but you and they.

Lies and betrayal are all I know.
Tilt to the sky they say,
Hooks grapple me to the stone.

Breath, take this legs and walk.
Then swivel humble over your tongue.
Humility, a virtue not mine.

Better version of me,
Climb and sit, stars tell stories.
Choices, good day or a bad one.

Where did I learn?
On my own, without a face to say hello too.
Night walks when everyone is sleeping.

I can't live within my head
Pretending they're besides me.
Plains of desolation.

Close your eyes and let him find you
I'm lying to myself, still Austin.
Child stuck in a mans body.

Don't worry child,
Look into your fathers eyes.
Be your own king in a gold throne.
Be one with yourself.

Take these wings of the hawk,
My father said,
Heaven has a plan for you Casey.

Take a hold o Casey,
Say goodbye to Austin.
My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops is troubled visage, full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hates loves, and pride becomes his worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
'Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
Every single madness is in my soul,
and fires like t'ose of a tempestuous sea-
are but raging within me;
scratching and tearing
t'is faith of mine so badly
Behind t'ese livid; and torpid
Dull afternoon airs.
Ah, stupid reasons, please go away-
and stun thy own flimsy day
But leave every one of thy bright promise
about thee;
Oh, just here-yet eternally-
everything t'at is as superb
as t'is often-hated hysterical world.
But only th' ones with humbleness!
And before thou retreat-imbue my soul
with silky greatness once more;
As I shalt salute thy carelessness
No matter what shalt happen
But steal not my love out of me;
let him stay like t'at and sleep by me
Until our tales come and greet
Unmarred evenness
And I; dare to spread my sore heart lazily
Under yon distant umbrella
of our oblivious heavens.

I hath the volition to touch th' stars,
And perhaps dream, dream highly
all over again
Of regaining thy love,
and rolling suspiciously
about and into thy waiting arms,
under our liberated celestial blankets
of clouds and its surfaceless haze.
Which might now and then smirk at us;
But before our ignorance rigidly
retreat away; and vanish pallidly into
its own threads
of prim; but unforgivable vanity.
Ah! I shalt but forever dream again
of all yon awesomeness,
and insist on devouring th' tasteful
Ye' immortal madness of thy princedom.
I imagine thy touches-and t'ose feverish scents
of thy fingers, and lavish hands
Free of boredom, but tainted with wisdom
And being sunk deeply in thy justice
Which insofar as it hath been enabled-
been hovering deafeningly in and about me.
Ah! I shalt be th' first one, and maiden
Who maketh thy irresoluteness decisive,
and turneth thy doubtful precisions
once more submissive!
I shalt become thy torch, and lips,
and guiding star!
I shalt bear thy ******,
and be thy own earthly phantom;
Be with me shalt be thy candlelight;
which is as strong as envious daylight
and by whom I shalt remove thy fright
As far as my dreams go with th' night
And visit and fend for thee
In thy portrait
and thy invigorating dreams.
I shalt be thy surprise;
and be a companion to thy delight
As how I shalt seek
and glory in thy pleasure;
Be lost in thy pride
and feel merciful to be thy treasure
I shalt deprave thy greed of its life
and make to thy grave,
one most beloved, and conspicuous wife.
Ah, thou art too striking!
Thy stunning voice fills me with madness-
and shakes my spines from head to toe,
But kills my sorrow and burns my sadness,
cleanses up my sins and blesses me anew.
Thou befriendeth my pride;
and my atrocious passion;
thou listeneth to my heart
and rinseth tears off its horizon.

Ah! So no wonder now
My madness loses its pride-
Overriding pride, t'at at times
becomes pregnant with such arrogance
So t'at despised it is, even by divine spies
sent down to t'is earth by majestic Lord.
What a delight within me it is to see thee-
and watch another brimful
of thy laughter-ah; thou art as captivating
as a little red-cheeked boy
Who sanguinely greeted me
Down th' farms
With a flow of madly auburn hair,
and smiles as agreeable
as t'at morn's bashful sunny air.
Ah, thou, who art even more adorable
than t'is lurid poem of mine;
stained with th' red colour-as it is,
of my own madness-and a tenacious judgment
of my senses,
T'ese merry dreams of thee are but too vicious
As they make me sweet-unbearably sweet,
in th' entire course
Of yon upcoming flirtatious night;
and tease me most whenst I'm awake
with loving chills so painstakingly crafted
about my face.
O, my lover!
My equanimious, long-sought, and
Sagitarius lover!
Thy naive, but sweet-spirited soul,
is as cheerful and frank;
but troublesome and scanty still
And within one terrific; yet ubiquitous
blink of th' hungered eye
Thou shalt sweep and slay away again;
my rigid; whilst disconcerted, charms.
And so how is at heart I am dreamily-
ye' desperately dedicated to thee;
Though far I am from thee-
as how thou defiantly-from me;
And so never may we sing-or argue in unison;
To utter neither choruses; nor grouped ballads
of marriage;
Dreams are but our sole tower and maze;
And morns all over th' earth, our single haste.

And such! Such a gaze of thine
Is addictive to me like white whine
For 'tis forever my melancholy tyranny;
In my selfish world-full of picturesque indignation
And its dearest remorse
and tranquil superfluity.
Birds t'at never fly;
And lilies t'at might not die-
ah, so after all cautious,
but in every way immortal-like thee;
Snoring and aging in thy deathless foreverness;
In which there art profoundly thou and I-
And I with my repentant dead soul
Unfreed yet of its cherry-like buds
Reeking of fascinated; yet disheartened
Longings; and horrors t'at
Unrevealed love canst soullessly take
Out its mortal mouth and sunless tongue-
From which my dissatisfied spirit
ain't bound ever to jump and awake.

Ah, but after all-all t'is suffering
and disruptive madness,
My corrupted freedom all along
shalt find justice
And whole confidentiality
In thy soul;
So t'at let me feel lethargic on thy shoulder
And rest my dishevelled mind for a while.
Perhaps, thou could let me sing t'at silent song
Whilst our dear God fixes everything
t'at hath gone wrong;
and imaginations and joy
t'at have been thrown away
shalt find every single way back of theirs
Into th' secure cage of love, within our souls.
Ah, and betwixt thy indolence
Shalt I laugh again;
For th' at length victories and images
so startling,
and pictures I am thankful of;
for they were formed so adequately
by thy stupendous name.
Ah, and immortality-yes, so which
shalt always be thy name;
With such frame and glory
trapped so idly within whose frame-
Like an odd; but fruitful summer game;
Within which I shalt ever thrive,
and civilly flourish;
Just like in thy love I shalt grow and live
And to our very last breath, rejoice.
Living on borrowed time
Decision at drop of a hat
Down an empty vandalized street, I walk
through the horror of silence
and silence of serenity
perdurable pathway of life

The ghastly sights
and the rustling gates
scattered people with unknown tastes
emptiness in their eyes, anger in their words
void is profound
down the perdurable pathway of life

Bifurcated roads upfront
my perception, one to hell and one to heaven
the other end of roads, a mystery
I stood there comprehending, while
my mind harks back to before I came
down the perdurable pathway of life

Endurance of a toiler
Stoicism, a rare trait, out of gratitude to employer
pain and suffering he undergoes for common good
loyalty to his master, inspire of hardships
sincerity and humbleness of the bloke
will inspire me, down the perdurable pathway of life

Deprived of education
desolated on streets laboring
disparate from parental love, subject to father's fury
fractious relations but still ignores himself, for family and domicile
The kid's love and determination, will inspire me
down the perdurable pathway of life

Spurn love took her down
Her heart wrenched and pushed her beyond limits
killed herself, leaving her parents to sore reality
not a wise choice, but courageous
I ponder upon courage, rather than cowardly suicide
Death is not an option down the perdurable pathway of life

Happy faces around taunt me to do simplest
Reality speaks otherwise
Reckoning on past, the pathway is wrought
conscious and hard choices right ahead
The bifurcated roads to heaven and hell?
I've seen it all, down the perdurable pathway of life
Anna Sep 2016
Its not your face that
pulls me towards you
Although you're the prettiest thing i have every seen
Its not your voice that makes me love you
Although no tunes can compare it
Its not your charm that makes me think about you all day
Although you can conquer anyone
With just a smile

It's youre humbleness for every being
Your kindness
Even for those you don't know

That makes you beautiful
Char Blackmon Jan 2019
Patience is key
So gentle so kind
Takes over emotions
Takes over time
A good woman is hard to find
Blinded by the obvious signs
Prayed to the most high today
Please send that one into my life
After years to come, triumphs n pain
I knew my prayers were heard
That day I laid eyes on u
Palms sweaty
Clammy n cold
Falling over nothing in the floor
That star that twinkle in your eyes
I’ve never seen
Gazing at anyone
Patience broken
Taring into humbleness
Things said undone n not true
Patience asking for another chance?
Me too
Start from the bottom
Only way from here is up
Patience to the bad
Impatience from hurt
Clouds rolls over the good
Still fighting til that day come
Patience is kind
And a lesson to learn
Progression is success
My backbone you are
No need to explain
Pun intended
Patience, humble, n new
Grace of serenity
I’m blessed with a friend
Levels beyond understanding
A forever better half of me
Patience is key
But progression is the journey
That will lead me to you
My angel and world
Tied all into one
Patience mold me heavenly
Cause i know mama
You’re my one
Patience of a GOOD WOMAN
D.S.W(SharChar)
BT Sanders Oct 2010
A valiant woodsman of God’s green earth,
An ever gentle soul,
Treads nobly through the forest’s edge,
To conquer hill and knoll.

Morning chill, punctuates warm breathe,
Condensing on cold steel,
A rising sun greets a friend of old,
With beckoning appeal.

The singing birds, call quick to arms,
Warning to those that hear,
The woodsman’s made his presence known,
To this they must adhere.

The ageless warrior nestles down,
A clearing by a brook,
From iron sights, he takes a bead,
A short but lasting look.

Ten points in all, the target grunts,
And directs a gazing eye,
A trigger’s squeezed a slight indent,
The woodsman breathes a sigh.

A crack of thunder, a flash of light,
The beast is crashing down,
The woodsman offers praise to God,
The forest makes no sound.

A resounding victory born this day,
Upon much hallowed earth,
And from majestic creature lost,
Does spawn a sacred birth.

The woodsman leaves, more quiet than came,
In humbleness and awe,
To tell a tale of conquest sought,
To share of what he saw.
Elizabeth Kelly Jul 2014
An Old Soul, you said. What does that mean? My Soul's not old, it's gently used, like that song that was a hit a couple years ago, you heard it on the radio and you can't remember the title but you can hum the tune. That's me, a hummable tune with no title cruising the electric air for a million miles right to your ears.

An Old Soul, you said, like it was a compliment that my Soul has yet to succumb to the withering humbleness of that great equalizer, The End.

How do you know? You don't know my Soul. Souls have shapes, and shapes don't get old. Mine's shaped like a ******, kind of like an open flower, like that last hour before bedtime when you sneak that sliced orange even though your dad told you NO, but your mama gently scolds, "just one more" as she (soft as the comforter she tucks in around you all
singing that song that drips like molasses in the gathering dew), and she winks at Dad, who's pretending to be mad like the rain that's pouring and flooding the gutter.

It's a kid who stutters who has mastered Bach and has moved straight onto Brahms, while across town it's beer and people singing along.

No one these days to wants to sing to Brahms, but that's okay; she loses herself alone in its sparkling and prefers it that way.

My Soul (well not just mine, it's in heart of the hum, the mirror firmly reflecting our collective soap ****), is a kind of Boo Radley in his broke down joint and his sad soap dolls in the tree, in the knoll. Shut in an old house uncertain of who he was or where he belonged or what he might even one day become, he built a world for those kids the only way he knew how.

Drowning in a lonesome sea, where the only moments of freedom behind the pecan tree were a broken stopwatch full of frozen moments and some hand whittled soap and some gum. Boo Radley, no he was the shut-in son. Better than that inside-out drainage ditch who still walks the streets with the air of a rabid ***** who was shot at and missed by The One and Only One-Shot Finch. In the dusty 30s, in that vast, hot expanse, Poor Old Tom never even had a chance.

Now Scout, that kid is my kind of gal, all smart within and smart without. THOSE are the ones with the curious minds who stay young forever and laugh at time, who find gum in a tree and call it sublime, who worry about freedom and all it implies. Yeah, man. Jean Louise. And she'll never get old.

So don't you dare talk about what you don't know.

I've spent my short life knowing that god isn't the goal.

It's the dead dog in the street, and the man walking free, and a dying old lady who can't help but be mean. It's the girl with her ears and the kid with his orange and his mom singing softly as she closes the door.

It's the song that you heard, you don't know the words, but you sing in the car to the telephone poles.

There are so many roads to the idea of "whole." I have so far to travel, such long way to go, there isn't any certain number for the rest of my days. My Soul is eternity.

I'm still making my way.
If I had an old soul, this world would be more like a fishing hole: lazy and long and peaceful and calm with a beer and a friend and miles of comfortable silence to spend.
1.  The things that you have experienced are not your fault.  

2. Recovery requires humbleness and humility. Cast aside your pride, your ego; and accept the help given to you. It might not be the help you want; but it will set you free.

3. There is a difference between supporting others and carrying their problems for them. You are not Atlas. Do not try to hold up the world for other people. Their burdens are not yours to carry.

4. Blaming yourself for what has happened is for naught. You didn't bring this madness upon yourself; and there was no way of knowing or remembering. In the grand scheme, it doesn't matter. You are here now to recreate your life and soul.

5. Memory is a fickle siren's song. Do not forget what this ordeal has taught you; no matter how badly you want to burn it from your brain. Yet do not lose yourself to the past completely. It will only end in misery.

6. Einstein's definition of insanity is the paragon of addiction. “Doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” Remembering will be excruciating at first, but it shall save you.

7. Asking for the help of others does not make you a burden. The twisted sense of pride and self punishment that makes you believe that you must conquer your demons alone will attempt to devour you, but only if you let it.

8. Living in recovery requires resilience and flexibility. You will find a balance and acquire a new normal for your life.

9. Always remember: if you have done your best under the circumstances you are given; you have succeeded. No matter the outcome.

10. There will be days when you want to let go and fall back into the abyss. Do not give in. This fight shall endure eternally; but you will learn how to harness your light and resilience as strength and stamina to carry on.

11. To love unconditionally is to embrace the purest form of yourself.

12. Be gentle with yourself. You are struggling. You are surviving. You are growing. The divine music in your heart will guide your way.

13. Your experience, this life, and the universe are ineffable. You can try to explain it as best as you can; but it is impossible to capture it fully. This is okay.

14. Learning to be okay with the unknown is a difficult battle. Yet it is necessary for your recovery and mental health. As human beings, we crave understanding, yet we are unable to comprehend everything. Learn to sit in silence with this realization and go on living this cosmic dance.

15. There will be people who do not; cannot understand you. This is okay. Let them go and wish them well. You are a rare creature that not everyone can understand and appreciate.

16. You are worthy of unconditional love. Do not settle for anything less. Do not paint yourself as deserving of watered down, tainted attempts at love.

17. This life is a paradox. We cannot fully comprehend it. Once we understand this realization; we are open to wisdom.

18. Be mindful of who you open your heart to. Love everyone; yet only allow those who can love you unconditionally at your most naked and vulnerable a place in your soul.

19. You cannot change other people. If they cannot see your resplendent soul and love you wholly, free of conditions; let them go. Along your journey, you will find your family: the flames that burn in perfect synchronicity to yours.

20. Existential anxiety is part of the human condition. Recognize and accept it for what it truly is. This requires a balancing act: embracing these truths without ignorance, yet not diving deep enough for it to swallow you.

21. You will never not be broken. This, despite how painful it can be; is okay. Life is a cycle of annihilation, rebirth, stitching the pieces back together, learning, growing; and shattering once more. Ad infinitum. Yet in time, you shall learn.

22. Find a balance between the cynicism and overwhelming awe you have for life. This universe is perfectly paradoxical. Understand this in depth.

23. Sometimes, the best healing and recovery comes from being able to laugh at yourself. Humbleness and humility are key components. If you can laugh at yourself, you can heal.

24. Turn your experience into something positive. Giving it meaning will assist in boosting your resiliency and ease in coping, growing, learning, and healing.

25. There will be days when you'll have no idea how everything will work out. Do not let these days end up dragging you back out to sea. Instead, learn how to dance with the unknown: it will strengthen your resilience and confidence in fighting through the fog.

26. "No" is a complete sentence. End of discussion. Do not feel like you must rip yourself open to please other people.

27. You have a beautiful soul. Do not feel like the act of declining to take care of/help other people in order to focus on your own mental health detracts from the radiance and kindness within your being. Humans can be like black holes threatening to **** you dry. Taking time away to nurture your own wellbeing doesn't make you any less of an altruistic individual.

28. There will be times in this life where there isn't an answer, a quick fix, or any single solution. It's hard to come to terms with, but sometimes the best thing is to simply have a support system that loves you unconditionally and will listen to the tempestuous song in your heart.

29. True, genuine empathy is simultaneously the most sacred gift to possess and the most mentally exhausting curse. Learn how to balance both sides so you don't burn out like a dying star.

30. There are only two certainties in this life. The first is death. The second is that nothing is ever given, promised, guaranteed, or certain. There will always be a touch of existential anxiety around this realization; but it gets easier to process with time and wisdom.

31. There will be days where you find yourself back amongst the circles of hell. It will be painful, infuriating, and exhausting. Keep moving forward. You have learned how to walk through the flames; so let your resilience guide you. Your tour abroad will end with time.

32. Learning to sit in silence, stillness, compassion, and neutrality with the dawning comprehension, surrender and the willingness to be vulnerably honest with one's soul is simultaneously the most difficult and purifying tasks to endure. To do so with love, stillness, and compassion elicits the catalyst for our true growth. Healing commences once we remember to bloom; embodying humility and stillness.

33. There is Divinity within the fabric of One's Soul. Embrace and embody this, releasing all which does not serve one's continuing growth.

34. Understanding stems from experience. Knowledge is obtained by integrating the lessons gleaned from understanding. True wisdom occurs through allowing neutral compassionate silence to flow through the soul when faced with that which wounded you from the start.

35. Self care is not selfish. Taking time to water the seeds of growth and unconditional love does not insinuate that one is egocentric or self absorbed. We may only truly uplift others by granting ourselves the same compassion.

36. This life is absurd, full of moments which test our resiliency and development. Occasionally, one will shatter from these bewildering shifting pauses. This is okay. It does not signify weakness or failure. Pick up the pieces, rebuild and seal the cracks; and learn to greet true absurdity with humor and compassion.
(to be continued. I have so many glowing, golden insights that I have lost all the words to find them.)

kalica delphine ©
Allison Neal Dec 2009
Yes, I see you.
You like to make your presence  known.
It’s in the flashy, the gaudy and the uncomfortably fake humbleness that  you  project.
The wealth  and championed successes you stuff into your smile and plaster across your face.
Yes, I see you,
You exude materialism with each closing swagger .
Insatiable appetite for your own procurement.--Your “driven”
You’ve everything one might acquire.
Yes, I see you,
I’ve known you in many.

  
As you walk by you politely nod and look away.
And inside my stomach swells until a small smile cracks across my face.
The irony.
You measure your wealth in commodities
and assume I’m envious of  your riches!!
  
Yes, I see you and am moved…
You know nothing of wealth.
Lerin May 2014
In the eyes of the girl who sat laughing in the corner of the room,
not worrying what the world thought about her,
captivating the world with her sincere personality,
unfolding her humbleness,
letting her guard down for all she could offer,
building no walls of defense..
letting the world watch her and clench their lustful desires on her ,
mesmerized by her inner beauty,
you quench for more of her delicateness,
sparing no innocence for her cries,
violently abusing her fragile soul,
Now what's left of her is an endless vulnerability to fear and hatred,
Traumatic  nightmares, permanent scars,
The worst part is you live everyday of your life with no slight regret,
not a glimpse of guilt,
Now she's left only with bits of herself, drying her tears every night as she pick up her leftover faith she has to painfully move on in this cruel world, without a single justice of her suffering...
PS- Inspired and written for all the innocent **** victims around the word. Their cries were never heard.
I love how you go after the things you want.
2.I love how you strive to be better person,daughter,sister ,friend.
3.I love how you don’t allow fear of the unknown to go after your dreams.
4.I love how I don’t have to explain myself, but you listen when I feel like I need to.
5.I love how you are the most non-judgmental person I know.
6.I love how you can quote historical facts without provocation.
7.I love how you love music, and you get it when I love it too.
8.I love how research and how detailed you can be when you plan.
9.I love how dedicated you are to doing well in school.
10.I love how you remember things, in such a detailed way, in a way I never could.
11.I love how much you care about your family.
12.I love how you respect life and try to cherish every moment.
13.I love how you love me, even when I don’t.
14.I love your cute little hands and your little fingers.
15. I love how you can type so fast. I've always envied that.
16 I love how you cut through verbal garbage, especially when its mine.
17.I love your quiet wisdom. It helps me in life's storms.
18.I love how even when you're right, you stay humble. You never say I told you so.
19. I love your humbleness, even when there is so much you could be proud for.
20.I love your offerings. How whenever you're around, you are intentionally present in mind and you are bringing everything to the table to help or contribute just to make the person know you care.
21.I love how you can remember actors I know nothing about.
22.I love how you love me enough, to ask what I want.
23.I love your generous spirit, giving and giving and giving, not only to the people you love but to people who have hurt you.
24.I love how you ask me questions and LISTEN to my answers.
25.I love how you inspire me to be a better person. To do my best and to give more of me.
26.I love how you get so interested in things I never thought would be exciting. (sorry. History. I can’t remember half of it which makes it hard to get interested in it.)
27.I love you and how you have been through so much but haven’t let it steal your joy.
28.I love how we can sit in silence and not need to fill it.
29.I love how I don’t have to talk  but you know how I feel.
30.I love your style, and your beautiful hair.
31.I love how you aren’t afraid to wear what’s comfortable to you.
32.I love how freaking adorable you are in grandpa sweaters.
33.I love how comfortable you are with yourself.
34. I love how honest you are even when it doesn't benefit you.
35.I love how you’re not afraid to let me see the emotions you feel.
36. I love how real you are.
37.I love how you don’t sugarcoat things,how you deliver truth with grace.
38. I love how you  make sense of things I can’t even begin to understand.
39. I love your strength and how you help me to be strong.
40. I love your courage to try new things.
41. I love how you become an advocate for the people you love.
42. I love how you try to understand things that others are unwilling to acknowledge.
43. I love how you think so much, and how thoughtful you can be.
44. I love how hugging you feels like home.
45.  I love how you are shamelessly devoted to pop culture trivia.
46. I love how smart you are and that you are confident enough to show it.
47. I love how passionate you get about the things that interest you.
48. I love how you are so loyal.
49. I love how you listen to my fears and don’t laugh or try to placate me.
50.I love how you support me and continue to encourage me to find the way to my dreams,.
51.I love how you intentionally go out of your way to include me and others into your life.
52.I love your determination to live this life in this best way possible.
53.I love how detailed you can be.
54.I love how organized you can get.
55.I love how you can plan and execute things so well.
56. I love your truthfulness and honoring our friendship with honesty.
57.I love how you are so patient with me when I don’t understand.
58.I love how you believe the best of me.
59. I love how you work so hard for the life you want.
60. I love how you can discuss two sides of things without forgetting how you stand.

and you don't live near me anymore,
we go weeks and months,
without talking,
but I love you still,
and I always will.
Sorry its not a poetry, but I needed to get it out.
Alex Hoffman Nov 2015
I didn’t want to face the harsh, true words of The Voice or put the energy in that change required. I wanted to drown in my ego. I wanted to flip through my social-networks, my validating Facebook page and perhaps consult better advice from my mother. But I knew that he was right and what needed to be done and I was prepared to do it… I think I was. But a good friend once told me that writing is painful and I believe now what he was saying more than ever. In order to succeed I needed to **** the part of myself that for whatever reason believed that I already had. When you cut off your willingness to learn, you cut off your fuel source for which to produce. It isn’t humbleness—no, humbleness suggests that you have produced good work that you must now be gracious and small rather than tower over the meek peasants that grovel below you. What a ***** word. No, you have to know you’re bad. Push each key down with a sweeping uncertainty that flows forward in effortless delight and carnage. You have to be bad. You have to not care, not what they think but what that chattering, high-pitched buzz of ego and “sensitivity” thinks about you, and especially what it thinks about your failure. You’ll have to get used to that. You’ll have to do strange things that are not quite immoral but resemble something close to opening the gates to a dark alleyway of confusion of despair, then going down it on purpose. Sitting down in this alleyway, among the muck and rats and denigrated newspaper, this is where you do your work. So long as the words flow and the mind continues to unravel, you will have the patience and satisfaction to make this your home. Cold, dark and ugly—it’s your life and it’s beautiful. Some see it as a selfish pursuit, but what a funny opinion that is to see from down here in the dirt. I’m sure in some ways it is. But it is also a sacrifice, the offering of a letter written in blood and shards of broken spirit and signed off to the bleeding youth of tomorrow’s heroics. They’ll be the one’s to save the world, they will think as we thought and they will be driven to make sacrifices of their own. But not without a little word of advice from the now stinking-bodies piled against the dumpsters in the alleyway soaked in the fog of time. Not without my advice—or at least this was the thought that kept me burning. Perhaps also why some choose to draw razors across their arms, to cut to the source of life and un-dig the hidden meanings and answer a few of the questions that keep us alive. Even if the answers are not buried here, and we know it. It is enough to dig, and find the bones of other diggers that have died in the sun of their own hole, their skin melted off and liquified but absorbed by the sand. Having their company is enough, in a life of strangers. It is a friendship that extends through time because it is timeless. It is The Voice in your ear that tells you to keep going, and knows that somehow it is worth it anyways.
On writing.
Inkyu Kim Jan 2012
Take my life,
Take my everything.
Strip me of my rights.
But give me one thing.

Give me a paradise!

A paradise of brotherhood,
and sisterhood.

A paradise where violence does not exist,
a paradise where nobody commits a crime,
a paradise where people are not afraid to openly confess their sins.

Give me a hope.
A hope that at the end of all these troubles,
there will be peace, love, and humbleness.
Where Greed is no more.
Where men do not need guns.

Give me a city.

Give me a city,
where doors and locks are no more.
Open seats at dinner tables for brothers to join.

A quiet city,
where children run in happiness,
where a new generation lives happily,
where the old generation smiles.

A beautiful city,
where evil is no more,

Give Me Paradise.
Land of abundance.
Land of peace.
Land of brotherly and sisterly love.

Give me a land,
a land where people different by culture,
different by background,
different by skin,
different by family,
can unite as one.

Give me a land where there is no sin.
Give Me Paradise!
jeffrey conyers Mar 2013
It is, what it was?
Filled with memories.
Filled with lots of love.

Filled with many friends.
Filled with many kins.
Yes, the days of my youth

Standing, beside the grave.
I could only reflect back about you.
The things you taught me.
The way you guided me.
During, the days of my youth.

When people look at me?
They mainly mention you.
Cause in me, they see you.

In away I represent you.

When glancing at photographs.
I cry amongst the many smiles.
To think.
Yes, to think I once was that little child.
During, the days of my youth.

Whether playing hide-and-go-seek.
Or Simon's says.
Or one, two, three red light.

Or simply hanging out with my friends.
The days of my youth was fantastic.

I'm happy.
I'm proud.
The days of my youth as a child.
Was more than I could wish for.
Especially, when it came to Christmas.

Things of wealth that's important to some.
Can't replace the humbleness of your love.
Anasmalik Sep 2019
It's a big mistake
That we do ..

We always remind himself
Every thing has a replacement
In whole life ,we  heartily learn this lesson...

"Lesson of replacement "

Any person ,any desire ,any thing have a replacement in itself

If you failed to get a some precise thing
Replace it ,into one more thing

If you failed to fulfilled any desire
Replace it ,into one more desire

If you can't  achieve any goal
Replace it into one more goal

But
I must say
It can be a good timely formula
To betray himself

In the recycle of replacement ...

There is no replacement of every thing

Love ,respect kindness ,
sensitivity, care ,attention,
humbleness , sentiments...

Yes
Our emotions don't have any replacement .
Look upon the shanty town of plenty town
where 'those'
people live and those who have will
seldom give,
In shanty town we  barely survive on
humbleness and outright lies.

Look,
now comes the infantry,
marching three by three.
What is it that they see ?
but more and more,
they've seen it all a
thousand times before,
poverty in every doorway.

No gay hussars ,these infantry,
they come not to set 'those' people free
but to shoot them down.

The don in his board and gown may
be bright and know a deal
but this is the place where his
hypothesis is real and lives are at stake.

In Oxford where they take a break from studies
which the privileged make their own,then
go home and make some English tea,
I guess that's being free, for a fee, but
we don't want no chi
We
Just want a chance to fly as high as others ,who
in shanty town would want to do the same?

From Belize or from Tobruk,Brighton,Glasgow
we don't give a flying... tuck your
wings in guys and watch the bullets fly,
watch your dreams die
hear your kids cry
nothing's changed except
the rules.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2013
Everything, the Fruit of the Spirit is.
You are.
I know it.
Seen you show it.
Temperance, you have it built in.
Meekness, is the humbleness of your heart.
Faith, you adapted to it to a tee.
The kingdom of Christ means a lot.

Everything, the Fruit of the Spirit is.
You are.

Your goodness.
Your goodness comes from your caring soul.
You placed it, as everyone goal.

Your gentleness, shows in your kindness.
And when longsuffering comes to you.
You shows your patience in dealing with it.

I just know.
You are everything the Fruit of the Spirit is.

Ask to describe joy?
I point to you.
Even when simple words would do.

Quiet peace, is your ability to avoid conflicts.
Or let others get you caught up.

And since you love me unconditionally.
I know, you are love.
I see it in your eyes.
And feel it in your love.
Nine qualities that laws can't govern.

But others can apply.
Rone Selim Aug 2021
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder..
That's only skin deep though,
what's a common rock to someone,
is another's treasure.

Beauty is the light that shines when you talk, when you walk,
when you do what you love.
Beauty is the way you express yourself,
beauty is loving and accepting yourself
for who you are
and making the best version out of yourself.

Beauty is self love,
self care,
self discipline,
beauty is self respect,
self worth,
self improvement,
beauty is good manners and behavior,
beauty is your hungry mind,
your loving energy,
beauty is the way you view the world,
beauty is knowing when you're wrong
and knowing when you're right,
beauty is honesty,
beauty is humbleness,
beauty is authenticity.

Beauty isn't just one certain type,
beauty is the diversity in mankind.
Beauty is so much more than
just a canvas to change colors and fabric on. Beauty is meaningless if it's just an empty shell. A shell found on the beach is beautiful;

because it holds something precious inside.
Andrew Rymill Dec 2018
does everyone
know you
are a swine?
she sweetly asked.

no i oinked at her
keep my secret safe

my wings
confuse her
as
i flew
away
like a weightless
poem
with a simple ring
of humbleness
secured

on  the snout of my nose.
Adam Childs Nov 2015
I am the beautiful brown bear almost
golden, I wonder richly in contentment
around my mountain.
Like a monk I have humbleness and
touch my inner boundaries softly like
head snuggling a cushion.
I hold around me almost gingerly
the perfect blanket as I know the
importance of comfort.
I am the forever revolving river of time I
the the body of Vilvaldi's four seasons.
As I role cycle within cycle cog within cog
push against me you push against the
whole of nature.

I am not a strong soul but a weak as
I peep shyly through tiny eye holes
of my body.
You may know I am the master of cosy
cuddles and sleep for there is a reason you
give teddies to your children.
But cross the boundaries of my body and
you will find me as ferocious as a Lion
As you do not disturb me when sleeping
as you would not wake a volcanic mountain.
I am the deepest darkest cave as *** and
survival live some where on the outside.
Place your weapons by the door as all
defences are discarded as you drop
into this black silky bed.

I am a tiny mouse living in a great castle
a little pea rattling around a giant body.
I am a feather caught by the mighty wind
a drop of water in the oceanic sea as my body
always over powers me.
I surrender meekly one tiny white flag in front
of a huge ragging army.  
It is as though the night had a hand and with a
flick of a switch I am turned swiftly off.
While a heavenly goddess rolls sweetly into my
mattress.

I am the servant of my body who in turn is
the pupil of the mountain the assistant of
mother nature ruled by almighty God .
Las tin line I have humility as I know obeying
my body is also obeying God.
So I maybe last into the world but I am also first
into heaven.
As I show tender love for my body with my
observance she responds with her sensory
comforts.
We love and closeness to my body I receive
the perfect partnership

And when spring time comes my body palpates
and draws me forward itself dragged by a nose
ring the smell of salmon.
And when the body decides to attach I am in the back
carriage as wild horse gallop forward.
As I sometimes find I water ski through the summer
off my bodies collossal energy.
I love natures four seasons as on the dance floor I spiral
with my partner.
As we rush with excitement into spring and gently let go
into Autumn, like a pebble dropping down a well into the
winter fall.

I am a creature so intimate with nature my soul
can sometimes not tell the difference between
me and the mountain.

There is so much to learn from the beautiful bear
who lives gently with nature like a blanket and
sheet they lie perfectly together.
Djs Jun 2013
I wish I could capture the moment
We exchange glances and smiles
     Creating sparks,
                     and fireworks,
                                   and fireflies.
Admiring you for what seems to be an eternity
Captivated by your face and beauty.
How the sunlight adds a perfect glow to your skin
     Defining each curve,
                     and each lines,
                                   of your face and body.
Unconciously staring at you in just pure adoration
Unable to fathom your perfection.
How the dead silence brings yourself out perfectly
     Hands in your pockets,
                     your lips sealed tightly,
                                   dimples showing slightly.
Mesmerized at your sweet, kindly, innocent acts
Is there anything that you lack?
How your flaws makes you as perfect as can be
     Postured restlessly,                    
                     beauty mark on your back,
                                   messy hair swaying swiftly.
You're soft-spoken within such a great humbleness
Doesn't change you nonetheless!
How unawareness effortlessly makes you perfect
     "Angelic-like music,"
                     "striking like static,"
                                   "scars are beauty from tragic,"
You see the good in everyone me being one, yet-
You don't realize how beautiful you are
And that's what makes you perfect even from afar.

*-djs
Every saturday, I see this boy at church, and I'm always a few seats behind him. Every time, I wish I could just put the moment into words, and now I finally have. Maybe it's the atmosphere, or his unawareness, or the fact that he doesn't know someone's admirably looking at him. It's the little things like how he's unaware of his perfection, and that's what makes him perfect. Humbleness is beautiful.
RILEY Oct 2013
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed,
Thinking to my self
That falling off of it was much better;
I picked myself up
And threw myself back into the bumping walls of life,
Thinking to myself
That not picking myself up was much better;
I opened my eyes to a father’s concerned eyes,
Which reminded me of how wrong things are going,
His vocals in twine with the air he’s blowing
Shattered the rhythm of a morning
And scratched the record of a sunshine to give a beat
In the back of my head
Heading towards the doors of my anxiousness,
Opening the gates
For yet more things to wait,
Like the sat scores that never come
And for the first time I actually want them to…
Thinking to myself
That bumping into the vigorous walls of life was much better;
I walked down the street,
Tapping my feet to the concrete
Figuring out that the solids of our creations
Belong to the solitudes of our nature,
And creatively I wrote it on the back of my hand
For there are alotta things that I wanna write
But I just forgot how to,
Alotta things to fight for
But I can’t seem to figure out where to start;
And I am falling,
I am falling through the new beginnings
That open up a door of ambiguous smiles,
Walks down iles
Of a mind that spaced out for a while;
Cups of warm coffee with just enough water in them,
Pens that wrote poetry
That had just enough imagery in them,
Women that wore beauty
With just enough humbleness in them;
And I hold on to those thoughts
And I keep holding on to the invisible waves of hope
That keep crashing my sunrises,
And crushing my heart,
And crucifying my objectives,
And circumstancing my dreams,
And crunching the little crumbles of unattended paper
That I once wrote on,
The poetry that I can no more write
Because I stopped feeling
So I should go back to learning how to;
But loud enough as I speak
My feelings stay silent
Vibrating through my veins just to make sure that they still exist
But she made sure they ceased to
And they did
And they did.
Thinking to myself
That  listening to the manly morning voice of my father
Was a lot better;
Shape shifting from thoughts to spots
And corners that burn
With the acid memories that turn
Round the tables and square the chairs;
The cigarette buds that now exist
On a once so holly place
Mock my words
And word my mockery,
Reminding me of how wrong things are going;
Reminding me to stop
Because I am running out of breath;
I am trying to lift the weight of the world
And the weight of my figure
And figure out the depth of her soul
Aligned with the depth of her eye liner
Now fully covering the beauty in her eyes
Because that’s how she runs from the world,
Jumping over social obstacles
And exes exiting her doors from the walls,
So every time someone walks out of her life
She has to renovate the bulwarks  of her heart,
Skipping through side conversations
Because causality is fatal;
As I skip through the words jumping over stanzas,
The poem that wrote itself
Wrote itself-
And I shall let it be,
For if it wasn’t personal enough for you
It ispersonal for me,
And if you couldn’t find a savior in my words
An enchantment in my lines
Then maybe poetry wasn’t made for me to save you;
Maybe it was made to wake you up
And maybe I could wake up as well
And this time on the right side of the bed,
For the sheets are strangling my neck
And the woodwork is creaking
So as I tried to fix it
A voice in the background booms
Like the sound system of a teenager
Saying
“This cannot be fixed my friend
This can only be enjoyed”
Axion Prelude Jun 2014
what drifts between the mired lines of fate and dreams sets free the sorrowed wakening of the harrowed heart.

in cold rapture, time stands still with every word exposed and seen through touching, gazing eyes

each moment gone before begets the forward, eternal march unto dawn

the good bestows lawful effortless bounty of what was always meant to be

two hearts beckon upon each other in torment and rapture, anxiously seething one another

patience values the faithful wrought with time and humbleness

— The End —