Poem | |
Running through my mind,
Running through my veins,
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night,
Cool air beneath and above the sea.
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand.
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing.
Up ahead in a virtue distance,
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods.
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality.
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again.
Twilight, rain stranger than strange.
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture.
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"
Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow.
If I accept, and then decline.
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways.
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?
When I no longer value the values of the young.
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart.
They're the voices give and take from our health.
Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me.
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria….
YES UNITY! Fantabulously-fantastic!
Always, wanting more than love can touch.
We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup.
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips.
Prisoners and doers;
All night…. Too late for a treatment.
Lungs, decaying, evil rats.
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation.
Running through my lungs,
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________
Poem | |
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Poem | |
Half of my heart is not well
Please cup your hand to complete it..
Poem | |
we strive to make sure
each day enlightens us
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray
may we keep fighting
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul
and intense life lessons
meshed with stresses
may we persevere
turn off fear's song
may we stand firm
as we glide along
through shifty winds of change
that may cause things to sway
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for
fall for nothing
may stumble along the trip
may swerve at the wheel yet
do not lose our grip
because no one
can eclipse the sun
before they're done
Just when situations arise
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry
from ongoing cries
we may think
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending
we make sure
every day enlightens us
and brightens us
as each day takes its turn.
Poem | |
I love you just the way you are
(after they buff that awful scar)
and laser the tattoos over your heart
I'm sure we're destined never to part
Remember to tuck up that cute
and put those buttocks back where
Do ask about Lypo and
wax that moustache
and while you are at it get those teeth
A beautiful smile in no time they say
it Looks great and it seems such a small
price to pay
For love such as ours that
withstands any crisis
so while you are there just look
into the prices
of permanent lashes and
green contacts honey
and buy some new clothes
for it's well worth the money
a wig or a dye job will top
off the look
and get those new nails that
we saw in that book
I love you for you
but it's so plain to see
There's really a much better you
you can be
So call me next year
after all transformations
(I'm sure you'll exceed all of
Just fax me a photo
I'll show it with pride
But remember I love you
for the you that's inside!
Poem | |
She's dressed in freshly laundered scrubs,
a floral top and pants pale blue.
There for a moment to hand me a gown,
and tell me what to do.
As I'm getting undressed, she checks on a man,
he's in the room right next to mine.
He's crying in pain and begging for help,
I hear her tell him that he'll be fine.
A few moments later, the crying has stopped,
as she leaves she turns out his light.
Whatever she did, it's done the trick,
he'll be able to sleep tonight.
She's back with me now and with her this time,
she has her tools in tow.
It's 3 in the morning and she must be tired,
but if she is it doesn't show.
Thermometer ready to check my 'temp,
lift my tongue and tuck it under.
As she wraps the black cuff around my arm,
I watch her and I wonder.
Working twelve hour shifts,
three days off then four days on.
Has she a husband or any children,
who miss her when she's gone?
Does she like cooking or singing?
Does she paint or like to read?
The needle, she pricks me, with such precision,
I hardly even bleed.
My IV's in place, my medicine given,
she says goodnight with eyes so kind.
Just as I'm drifting off into sleep,
a thought suddenly enters my mind.
To this woman I leave my health in her hands,
a serious matter, this isn't a game.
It strikes me as crazy just how much I trust her,
when all I know of her is simply her name.
Poem | |
The function of a human hand?
Writing a message, making a bed,
Opening a jar, dialing a phone,
Putting on pantyhose,
Touching the face of a child,
Or a lover.
And in its absence?
Yawning space and phantom pain,
And an oddly-shaped bandage
At the end of Angie’s arm.
PFC Hernandez, home in El Paso,
Watches her family watching her,
Writing awkwardly with her left hand,
Brushing her black wavy hair,
Watching Dr. Phil
Wearing an old gray-green T-shirt
Bearing the faded words
“Proud to be a Marine.”
Gasping and choking,
She wakes from thick, dusty dreams
Of shimmering, endless sand,
Echoing hollow with hatred,
And the feared but half expected
Roar of fiery amber heat,
Breaking the angry stillness,
Searing through the night
And Angela’s right hand.
Poem | |
Somewhere deep within my being,
In a place that hides my soul,
Raging shadows, dark and fleeting
Angry demons take control.
Fear consumes me with a passion
As I race to catch my breath,
Raging shadows overtake me
Leaving me to beg for death.
Hopelessly I pray for solace
From the torment and the fear,
But loneliness is my companion,
Empty dreams, my only cheer.
I share this rare with other mortals,
There is nothing they can give,
I alone must face the demons
Where the raging shadows live.
Then I met a lovely angel
And in weakness, she I told.
Told her of the raging shadows,
Of the darkness and the cold.
My heart was heavy as I told her,
Knowing she would surely go,
No one wants to share the anguish
When the raging shadows grow.
So many times I’ve sought the comfort
Of others who may know my plight,
And they pretend to be my friend
Until the shadows of the night.
So why then would I think her different
From all those who came before?
Would not fearsome angry demons
Quickly show her to the door?
But she listened to my story
And when my sordid tale was through
She spoke to me, in angel language,
And this is what she said to do.
“When the walls come down around you
and your world is torn apart,
Reach for me, I’ll be there with you,
In your pocket, by your heart.
Together we will face the demons,
I’ll be there, and you will know
Nothing then can come defeat you,
When the raging shadows grow.”
So I took her gentle spirit
And tucked her warmly in that spot,
The place where she told me to keep her, -
In my pocket, by my heart.
Though the chance I’ll never meet her,
No greater love could one befall
Than knowing she is always with me
When raging shadows come to call.
(Written for a friend with bi-polar disorder. Scary stuff.)
Poem | |
There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener's so long it would stab ya'
but when it got little
his pills became skittles
until he O.D.'d on Viagra
© ~JSLambert 2011*****A classic "stiff" competitor, standing "firm" amongst other "members" in the "thick" of the competition:) hope everyone gets "a rise" out of it!
Poem | |
This year I turned the big ‘5-0’
And my body is acting strange
So I went to see the doctor who said
Not to worry, as I was going through ‘the change.’
“Is there anything I can take?” I asked
He replied, “There’s HRT
But I don’t believe in prescribing it,
Let’s try to deal with this naturally!”
You could have knocked me backwards
And I thought, all well and good for him
It wasn’t his raging hormones
Making him feel like a stranger within
He doesn’t get narked, by the little things
That before would go over his head
Or wake up at night, in a lather of sweat
And have to get up to change his bed
It isn’t him having palpitations
Which make you feel like you’re going to die
It’s not him, who feels angry one moment
And the next as if he could cry
He’s not lapsing in concentration
Or feels like he’s his losing his mind,
Because he put the milk in the washing machine
And it took him an hour to find!
It isn’t he who keeps feeling so crap
When a ‘monthly’ is missed or comes late
And I bet he never just has to look at food
In order for him to gain weight!
He’s not always taking medicine for thrush
Or constantly needing to pee
So I bet he’d be first to pop the pills
If it was him going through this, not me
So I looked at him and said “I’ll give it a go
But I don’t really hold much hope”
And walked out of his surgery, feeling as though
I could have hung him with some rope!
But off I went and months have gone past
Of getting worse doing - ‘naturally,’
So I’ve made an appointment with a lady doc
Who might take pity, and prescribe ‘HRT.’