Featuring:) Giorgio Veneto
She writes about Fall's beauty in the rain
The falling raindrops' dance ascribing thence
Bespoken verse that lightens her refrain
before the time they met - her steps commence.
She listens to the soft and rhythmic thrum,
her love turned to escape and cloudy string
Where nimbus mistletoe fell, tears to become
Their kiss of Autumn was symbolic ring.
The first light cotton mists with summer rays
While skyward cheerful laughs adorn the land,
their ceremonial dance diffuses grays,
affectionate embrace, where dreams expand.
Upon September's sky the raindrops gleam
With half of hidden Sun to laugh and beam.
Enjoy the FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
As precious stones are hidden and entwined
In minerals of ordinary worth,
They must be found, professionally mined
From common, rocky layers of the earth.
Extracted, polished, cut, they'll stand apart
As valued gems. Neglected, they will share
In earth's destructive force—erosion's art—
Dissolve away with nature's wear and tear.
Oh God, you are both mine and miner; strip
This soul embedded in your work of clay,
And let your tools of grace and fellowship
Preserve the gem of Love from life's decay.
Cut many facets that reflect and show—
The worth of gem and miner in its glow.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Precious Stones and Gems
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
She dances with volta do mar;
about her hips she swings and sways;
on currents of the seas for days,
she beckons sailors from afar.
Her mermaid song, it spins whirlwinds
about the deepest ocean’s gyre;
keep lit, the lanterns of desire;
of whispered lovers and trade winds.
On deck, attempts to navigate,
astern, the deadly shore and reef;
while men she did lure to their grief,
her spectral hand, did gravitate.
Her phantom tendrils now retreat;
revealed too late, their graves to meet.
the magnificent autumn-sun bursts at its seams
the icy october-wind blows her soft-cold breeze
one of the most impressive and mesmerizing teams
stumbling over each other making me warm and freeze
fragrances of fresh grass mowed for the last time this year
the muted-green foliage whispers with leaves drying out
the hidden dark-red blackberries wither behind protective thorns of fear
the last flight of geese flying over another scout
rare but visible some glorious leaves of gold
the cloudless sky colors the very rare whiter shade of blue
the bike trail I'am on partly covered with wet leaf mold
the passing summer is now really saying adieu
while the wintery wind and summer-sun bicker for attention
I'm overwhelmed by this whiter shade of blue's fourth dimension
Dutch composer&harp player Anne Vanschothorst wrote a piece for harp and recorded her version of "A whiter shade of blue"
The link to hear HER "A whiter shade of blue" under "About this poem".
Procol harum's "Whiter shade of pale"(I am that old- or young?) is on of the songs on my list of most played songs on my mp3-player.. when hearing this song on a sunny autumnal day I was inspired to add my color to the palet.......... I saw a new'kind of blue and wrote this poem..
Exquisite, this expectation as dusk
mellows each ruffle on her robe de style*,
warm her expressions, candid, unrushed
for lake waters return that sunny smile.
A hem trails the shore with tulles of twilight,
overcome, the hush of angels almost cries
at grace in upsweeps and poise held as night
steals her away with a sorrowed sigh.
Dark this vista til she yields her jewels,
moonstone and topaz, citrine and ruby,
all her wisdom to forever unfurl
in fireworks, a blaze of poetry.
Love left its mark, Heaven is now altered
by a flourish that brightens even the stars.
*** We will miss you, Linda Marie, but your poetry, light, love of life, will continue to live on... GODSPEED....
* A Robe de style is a long gown with a wide, billowing skirt
What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
And surging thrill of bouncing up again—
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau?
In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
Does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
And only in imbalances we feel
The balance that keeps life on even keel.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Teeter-Totter: Balance the Load
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper - Judged 10/7/2014
five lightnings coming out of the blue
more black clouds hanging in a queue
life's reality is really stretching
loads of inner strength continuously fetching
thought for a long time I took it all
again being tackled and another fall
skydiving below former grounds
silences the cold killing sounds
inner strength the leading voice
not giving' in again a choice
fighting every single second
the only way to go on I reckon
life's so much more than sightseeing
it's all about the intense desire of being
(c) Elly Wouterse
At some point, my legs begin to converse
of time spent on the trail, rest now needed,
For like a horse's labors exceeded,
the strength mere food and water can't traverse
Beyond exhaustion, repose will reverse
Thus respite, backpack set down and relieved
of duties, containing my home achieved,
until such time as rested legs endorse
my return to trails, and onward I go;
Traveling far Appalachia’s way,
witness to wonders and all living things,
in far towns and altitude, well below,
where nature’s flora and colors bouquet;
To motivate legs that have become wings.
Written: April 25, 2014
for Craig Cornish's Miltonic Sonnet Contest
FLOWER OR WEED?
We seek out special flowers in the field,
That stand among the weeds in scarce array…
Quick pluck them from the thorns, a tiny yield,
Arrange them, stem by stem for our display.
Then serving on a table, shelf or sill,
Their fragrant beauty eases stress and strife,
While in the field the crowded weeds will still
Meander on in wild pursuit of life.
The weeds grow dense and tangled in their clime,
Drink deep of soil and live for sun and rain,
While full, rich flowers, giving of their prime,
Will sooner wilt, their goodness spent for gain.
What's best to be—a carefree, rambling weed,
Or special flower, plucked to serve a need?
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Encounters With Flowers
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
I look to the skies hoping to see a sign
A sign of a stars shining like diamonds
I toss the thoughts of you to the heap of stars
All the happiness dressed with flowers
I took time to remember you singing
A voice so sweet it turned roses yellow
I yelled to the gloomy mountains for you
And light shone like twilight in heaven
Through demons and angels my plea recognized
And I finally feast on your beauty like a vulture
Thou thoughts mingle in space and time
I remembered your dancing eyes with adventure
So keen to let the desires leave the dust
I saw you in the sky strolling like a queen towards eternity
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
the reflections of a surface
noticing what I missed without disturbance
focusing for a third look
not counting the silent moments it took
greenest duckweed curls around
darkest black circles crowned
with a mirrored picture
of a faraway sky and trees' tincture
particles of green parade
the space in between a shade
times frames of the place above
lightening gestures shove
a little pond in the park
a simple view life's spark
© Elly Wouterse.
© Elly Wouterse.
The story behind this poem @ "About this poem"
Life's waves washed me upon your Island shore
Tossed by rolling seas, a torn heart maroon
You found me, the sea and sand no more
Gave caring love in your sheltered lagoon
I had nothing, no jeweled treasure to share
No diamonds bright, rubies red, fragile heart
You clothed me in reason, a coat I wear
For this gift, a promise, we'll never part
My love though humble, is forever free
I place it well without reserve or fear
On your heart's altar, I leave a plea
And only ask, you keep it well my dear
Life had cast me from its brigantine deck
Now found, survivor of my heart's shipwreck
For the contest Islands
sponsored by Anthony Slausen
I want to say good night
But its night as yet to you
I can see darkness now
If maybe you never left
I have to say good night
Darkness has defeated me
Only your love can resurrect me
I am afraid to go now
But I have to go and live under the shads
Love me to my silent place
Good night when you see the moon
Flower me with roses from abandon garden
Cover me with what i was and be now
Good night sleep with elevated power
A piece of ocean next to trees and sand
Scattered across treated mahogany.
Across a face, and a ship now unmanned,
And rolling waves, fingers trip sloppily.
Splitting the pile into organized stacks
Here end pieces, there yellow, and here blue.
Out of nowhere a playful cat attacks!
Ocean falls like rain, every piece but two
The cat bounds away leaving destruction.
Scattered pieces, mangled ship thrown on beach
Nothing but a picture for instruction.
Marching forth, I took the puzzle by siege
Gradually the pieces come together
And are ready for your viewing pleasure
How does one know, they're on the right path?
We all take our chances, let fate do the math.
Understanding is key, when things don't seem right.
I know I will see, someday see the light.
Positive I am, no matter what happens.
Sometimes I still cry, could you pass me a napkin?
Nothing is perfect, no, it never will be.
Life is unpredictable, compare life to the sea.
Sometimes it is calm, and other times so rough.
Stay afloat, get over it, swim under it, suck it up!
Down where the Camelia blossoms blood red
In the heart of winter, when others rest
Poverty is stamped out and all are fed
And red-breasted Robin has flown the nest
Few left to struggle with a cold winter
And family farms have disappeared from view
None left to tend the fires' dying embers
No inheritance left for children to accrue
Will the Robins reappear bringing spring
A rebirth of values and self-esteem
Planted fields whose great harvest brings
A wealth of values, wisdom that beams
Poverty still planted where blossoms red
Values disappeared, disrespect bred
Sonnet: With 10 syllable count and rhyme
scheme: abab, cdcd, efef, gg
Called an English sonnet....
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.
They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.
There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off. Who knows?
For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.
I wasn't able to cross oceans
too much not available
with explanation incapable
because of halting motions
I'd chosen every single flower
my bouquet with emotion
crossed the immense Atlantic ocean
didn't reach your happy hour
nobody kept his or her eye on
despite the asking once more
complains sent as unwanted encore
where have all our flowers gone
since everything withers in total muteness
I long for renewed daydreams and healing bless
(C) Elly Wouterse
About the RE-POST:
Posted yesterday the wrong version :-( - apologizing for bothering readers earlier on with and posting the (very) wrong (today updated) third stanza...........
Each time she wears her Emerald necklace,
reminds me of our eternal embrace.
On her wrist sits a Serpentine bracelet,
giving her inner peace without regret
Round your ankle you wear Yellow Jasper,
a sign of happiness that will prosper.
Those purple blue gemstones of Tanzanite,
calling your Guardian Angel to unite.
She loves her Rubies and her black Opal,
for Crystals she will take her search global.
Best is the Sapphire eternity
ring that flashes truth and sincerity.
They say that Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,
from knowledge, ladies this notion transcend.
Written By: Ronald Zammit
Contest precious stones and gems
it flows unrestrained
flavorless if rained
from clouds' overarching dress
it adapts to landing spots
surrounding colors mirrored
coincidence draws lots
rising and falling scents of its Spirit
between cold and cool
beyond warm or hot
water's curse or jewel
dried up or a too wet shot
fragrances of worldly water message
transparent presages about future's usage
(c) Elly Wouterse
Arise, you song birds sing in morning dew;
The flow’ry host to colour fields and furrows,
And sap of Spring runs gold in willows veins;
As tender leaves unfold to speak of birth,
Fresh mountain ranges iced give life anew—
While waters melt and stream through cricks and borrows
The gleams of light will melt the winter strains
Though spills of oil have quenched the songs of earth.
The corporate sting of greedful revenue,
Has bankrupt natural wonders—greedy farrows
The eagle has no pow’r to save her eggs,
Tall forests fall and crush the robin’s hue
When flow’ry petals change to black on yellow—
The spotted fawns arise with warbled legs
Why can’t you just be evil? Like my mind
wants you to be: Unfaithful, shameful.
I want to hate you! But you’re too kind
and no matter you are always thankful
of me and my song of desperation
for pain and its un-winnable future.
I know! A heart’s betrayal may come
disguised as death bringing this return
to memory of past regret, unyielding
regret, this plan of me my only way out.
Understand unending and what may be.
Believe in the certainty of two hearts.
Trust in the flesh and the way it feels
on fingertips, lips... Trust love—it is real.
Reinvent, Reimagine, Revamp!
Poem chose “Knock, Knock”
You say I'm old enough to know better;
But I am still young enough not to care--
So I'll compose another love letter
To shake up your world, my dear lady-fair.
Your kiss still goes to my head like champagne.
(I should have built a tolerance by now!)
They send me spinning around and again...
I can't get enough of them anyhow.
I may not chase as fast as I used to,
Nor do my passions carry me away,
But my heart's embers still smolder for you-
And they prob'ly will 'til my dying day.
Our love matures like the finest of wine,
Whose bouquet piquant endures for all time.
The Captain of the vast cruiser
handed out his inconvertible crip
This Captain a self declared only end user
for the first rescue boat of his ship
The Captain of the vast cruiser
sent all passengers a brief letter
This Captain a self-declared bruiser
not offering anything more or better
The Captain of the vast cruiser
had such a hard time watching the disaster
This Captain a self declared non-looser
speeding up his rescue boat leaving even faster
This Captain in his private cabin cruiser
sang a selfish song while abandoning his ship
(c) Elly Wouterse
This poem is based on
* a documentary about the tragedy with the "Costa Concordia".
The vast cruise ship "Costa Concordia", with Captain Francesco Schettino at the
controls, .grounded into the rocky shore of the Italian island of Giglio on Jan. 13,
2012, 32 people lost their lives.
* there are Captains of ship and planes, Captains of industry, Captains of small or large companies.....and people who t h i n k or pretend they are a Captain... I do hope you haven't met "your" colleague' of the Captain of the Costa Concordia in your life...
during recent days frustrated.
done the math beyond all doubt
facts and fiction separated
Achilles' flogged soul felt the knout
showed self-imposed artificial tranquility
the unknown an insignificant mystery
driving on the road of inability
the past declared ancient history
ignorance drowned in absurdness
pouring pain fed wild frantic grounds
virgin era in balanced roundness
replaced stellar silenced sounds
Achilles' pained heel cured
future's solid foundation secured
barefooted on the beach
listen to the sea's preach
water waves softly caress
from toe to top wiping stress
wind offers a cool breeze
sun and clouds gently tease
in blue and dots off white
heaven shows her arc-light
evening sky paints dreams
sunset's cooling down beams
waves whispered their song
while dreaming I could walk along
disrupted lifetimes are out of hand
dreamed steps not longer printed in sand
(c) Elly Wouterse
Floating black ink drifts away in my mind
Thin strands caught in trembling winds of thought
Winding through realms my body will not find
Climbing like vines on words my mind forgot
Within its blackness, dreams are surveyed
Rendering thought with a weathered disguise
Reason daunting, illusion conveyed
Imagination flows from formless dark eyes
Hiding in caverns deep in the mind's cave
This black ink rushes through, covering me
Exposing my soul, whose eyes I'm a slave
And captures the truth, before it can flee
Can I find a word to light my soul's wall?
Will I lay silent, with withering scrawl?
Is my life not tortured enough for you to see?
I am broken as can be.
My heart is torn.
My tears stain these perfect floors.
Why are singing with glee?
Why do you not care about my every plea?
I am trapped in your arms.
I am the hopeless moth.
How did you pick me?
What is it that you see?
A girl untouched by life?
A flower blooming in the desert?
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.
When you hallucinate our unknown fear, In the act of offsetting the oracles.Therefore Forworning ownself from its sacrosanctity shear, Subsisting off at the expense of the rescissive cycle, & It is risked to be answerably clear of the recidivistion, On our ragout heads would yet behest fairer? In the greegree region, If the unbeknownst boko were only so tinder, Would not its saracenic harem stoke. So they shorn in the allotments of massive alopecician , As trying tardy in some doubtful spoke, Men left out in its tincture realms, spun in
the air like a coin to come to face the faced,Grappling with the Hecates seeing an unkingly estranged from what had besought men engendered.
on my antique oak bedside rests
a gem like box with a pearly lid
never shown to any of my guests
my private treasury since I was a kid
picking it up with my open hands
I treasure every pearly inch
in the light of the sun a miracle lands
my eyes in need for a squinch
wary unlocking of the fragile split antique caps
my mother's crystal angel displays
my guardian angel's light and love wraps
around my heart and soul in so many ways
a crystalline entity perpetual blooming in my eyes
in heaven her sparkling crystal clear star still flies
©Elly Wouterse (not native English but so proud to be native Dutch)
For years, I walked through my garden of excuses,
beautifully laid out, symmetrical and abundant.
The tapestry of seduction and deceit, fertile ground
for my field of illusions, with new growth ripening,
under the constant warmth of the gliding sun.
Blissfully, I tended that site, accessible to no one,
ritually, I covered my tracks, and gave nothing back.
Until the weather changed. My labyrinth garden,
my identity came under siege, the wind and the rain
washed it all away, exposing the broken bedrock below.
My barren soul, rootless and drained, drifted into dark
shadows without a trace. Freedom claimed me,
Illuminated me, called me home. My watery eyes
and fragile, pounding heart became my throne.
all year long six days a week
delivering his morningpapers
printed in big bold black
06.30 he always causes a creak
before dawn starting his triple-round
when closing soft but firm the rickety fence
today bringing along so much more
being the messenger of such a different sound
during this daybreak-bike-ride
he noticed he'd never seen before
the presence of a surprising muse
while the moon was shining incredibly bright light
in the dark moonlight's clearest arrow
on the streets his own moving shadow
© Ellie Daphne
A tribute to all newspaper deliverers and one in particular
Stretched out in India, sifting through my thoughts,
Alone but not alone, floating on the inside,
Digesting not just the food, but working through
The scents of Istanbul, the sweat I left behind,
My karma was aroused, or was it just conjoined?
It’s nothing I can touch, but still I know it’s there…
A sitar and a flute, together and apart,
Sounding out a song, helping my thoughts along,
An oasis in the desert, that was no mirage,
The princess of the Spa, Mecca for the strong,
Those Cleopatra eyes, softened the encounter,
And then that moment passed, into a thousand (s)miles…
Stretched out in India, transforming my despair,
Tomorrow I’ll pack my suitcase, folding up memories in there.
raised my head
turned my eyes towards the sun
felt so weightless
instead of the heavy lead
watched the blue sky
absorbed the heat from the the sun
felt the warmheartedness
instead of the usual necktie
impressed by the touch
getting used to the intense sun
moved by its presence
instead of another double dutch
such an overwhelming impact
trough a renewed optic tract
never forgotten events and objects of the past
all together their future's foundation
times and memories individually glassed
with the experiences and wisdom of earlier narration
items of a bygone youth birthing familiar rear views
stored and boxed yellowed dusty old stuff so beautiful
through the front screen all looked exiting and new
including the impression of all still being mutable
mirrors and screens always in need for upkeep
thorough cleaning for a more specific and clearer picture
or sun protection avoiding a light- blinded peep
balanced procedures achieving the perfect mixture
holding on to what really belongs to valuable few
getting rid of what feels outdated, wrong or too brand new
(c) Elly Wouterse
TRESPASSERS SHOULD BE SHOT
Your own computer, where they should not go,
'tis your own place, your Heaven or your Hell
All sacred are the words they should not know,
Nor spy upon, some things you'd never tell.
The scum of life know secrets to the lock,
They play among your bits, yes ev'ry byte.
And troubled nights, not sleeping like a rock
You'll laugh it off, as just imagined plight.
But know you well, conspiracies they thrive,
from cyberspace, they bring you false alarm,
Intimidation keeps their cause alive
Their snooping's meant to bring you naught but harm.
If you've uneasy feeling someone's there
Then know you well, they're with us ev'rywhere.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
the wind pumped her speed
the rain poured down like dynamite
the air filled with more than one meteorite
I'm wandering away from what I desperately need
the earth shook on her foundations
the time ran also away from me
the space strangled intensely
I'm lost and hostage in former homely nations
the clouds just colored black above
the light vanished in the dark
the flow transformed in a bench mark
I'm desperate looking for your love
the 8th plague just one too much
I am longing for your soft touch
© Elly Wouterse
First 'just'(..) a verse - today 11-3-2014 extended into a sonnet.
O God, the pangs are crushing body, soul
And spirit—working deaths where sunlight fades—
My arms are trunks of pain and taking toll,
While tortures, stings, and sickness hauntly raids
To close the Gates of Hell to shut me in,
And heaven bows to greet while Hades seeks
To send The Reaper with his failing grin.
And illness ruins lives while havoc wreaks
The squalored throes of daily living on—
While body wastes away and breath remains
To sing your dirge while I still carry on…
Like trampling cattle trodding broken frame,
I live between the sunshine and the grave—
Like flowers cut and dying in the vase
Here is he stuck, within an icy skull.
His cooling core yearns for the warmth of sun.
He sits and sees the snowflakes blend and dull
The rocky walls that trap the frozen one.
Does he succumb to numbing apathy,
Or fight winter, a battle for the daft?
December flowers wilt like his decree
To break the walls with fists and stabbing shafts.
His shaking fists make weapons hard to wield.
The beating turns his wrists to rigid casts.
A golden ray leaks through the wall that shields
And gives a glimpse of brighter sunshines past.
Always his arms grow weak, his strength gives way,
But still he tries again another day.
An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.
As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.
But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!
Am battling myself
Fighting my thoughts
Trying to get things right
Regretting my past
Am on a depression
Can't see the future
Its too dark
They is no sign of light
The way is thorny
And am on foot
I can't take a step
Am stack in the middle of Norway
Will never be found again
They is cries every where
And I will raise again
July 31, 2013
Holy Holy Holy I must say to all.
Long day hard day I am with you.
Hot day cold day it is for me too.
Days months or years you I call.
You have displayed my visual doll.
Multitudes of truth seeds you grew.
Spoken for as spoken words abrew.
I grant you the light in that dark hall.
Never say never!
Never look back!
I am yours forever!
I am with no lack.
I am always the hands of filters,
Observing my Kingdom Builders.
(C) Copyright 2013 Ann Rich
sliding through the slot
sound of a stocked envelop
messages old fashioned on their way
containing a lot
impatience a poor counselor
all out of my hands
anywhere or somewhere
during the last month of summer
I yearn for the echo
I cannot wait
time should tell
until then dreaming of its bellow
autumn leaves are already falling
the waiting is so appalling
© Ellie Daphne
You dislike poetry
because you think
you do not speak it,
because you cannot see it down in ink.
You’ve not heard your honeyed words glistening,
but I have heard you
speak in meter sweet
and metaphor and simile sublime.
To walk in verse,
you needn’t count your feet,
nor is it necessary all lines rhyme.
You disown your words
and deny your tongue
to say you have no interest in verse,
ignorant of the images you’ve sung
and of your own soul’s music
(which is worse).
Poetry’s no academic notion;
its function is to express emotion.
fourteen lines make a love sonnet
for both ancient and youthful alike
passionate love lines gushing upon it
putting feeling to page, like tonight
by the time that the fifth comes up
the flush of hot lust reigns full
yet already arched at its apogee
by eighth line fire starts to cool
love's fireworks blaze so beautifully
duly perfect in its dual dueling flight
yet fourth from last line seeks immunity
as ardent passions come crashin' to dislike
yet who among would not strike that match
to fire that work skyward for Eros' catch
© Goode Guy 2013-01-12
Love, love, love, what is love?
Love soars and fears no height;
love is joy and feels right;
love's god-like, from above.
Love softens the stone heart
and pierces the dark night;
it releases Christ's light
and stays, to ne'er depart.
Love loves you at all cost
and gives eternal life;
love saves those dead and lost
and kills Death with God's Knife!
Love's God's divine, free grace,
his love for the human race.
Pulling teeth seems more appealing
than the squeaky reeling, the howling
experience, of the flogging date
I had with you; like catfish to bait.
Cracked my skull wide open.
Can’t think, can’t explain the straight pin
lobotomy I received from a kiss,
which, at first, brought cosmic bliss.
I thought my rocket expelled
into love space rather than Hell.
Had I known what I know now,
I would not have kissed the cow.
(A metaphor for the U.S. involvement in Iraq.)
O nature's Babel towers here 'bove all
Sloping upward with her dense rugged wall
Blue and luminous in her misty dress
She suckles a city at her bright breast.
Yet the laborers are not found that built
The massive frame that brings worship to you
Goddess of the healing spring. We would wilt
Like plants suck dry without your shining dew.
And yet I looking up ponders now still
What volcanic art inspired set your will
In massive metaphor of stones? What fires
Poured out the rivers: opposing desires
From which the Liguanea unrolled?
Beneath your summit still you thrall my soul.