Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
My love is light (a fairy kiss?)
Like the pressure of sunbeams on your cheek,
Ineffable, and yet capable of changing lives…
Darkening skin to a more attractive hue,
Pushing spaceships to distant stars (given time) ,
Even causing cancer given sufficient lack of love for self.
For love is not about just getting needs met by another,
No, love is more like a laser's coherent beam….
For in reflecting back a portion of what is given,
The power of what is being created grows
Until it can cut through the hardest steel
And span the gulf between galaxies.
Poetry too grows through the cross-fertilization of newborn lines,
The lines of this poem insist that I record their birth.
Each new line grabs me by the scruff of the neck,
Forces me to hit the brake, grab my pen,
And claim it in my family bible…
My only children, clamoring to be set in ink.
As these Voyagers' pass into the present state of my art
(Some that I barely recognize in their profligate parentage
Of older verse's new verse's newer verse still) …
Somehow still carriers of my own genetic code.
They press my design against the blank page
Flying in search of, homing on… your heart.
My love's intent is simply truth (do you want less?)
Would you have me downplay
The warmth of our connection
Because it is complicated by here-to-fore
Unacknowledged passion, spiritual connection,
And the remnants of former relationships
(Even those still gasping for breath) ?
Or feign a lack of attachment to it's denouement
In a solitary attempt to feel safer?
No matter can restrain the effects of gravity
On the orbits of other bodies in its field of influence,
Gravity that binds us all in deep wells of space-time.
Your kiss of greeting…
After so many years of imagining such a possibility,
Imprinted deeper than even my memory of our first meeting,
Our moonlit shadows touching as we soaked naked
In the steaming waters of a volcanic mountain spring.
This new conjunction of souls occurred in God's clear view,
Without artifice or scheming on our part
And rocked my inner core to it's depths,
Organizing molten currents of confused turbidity
Into a magnetic flare of such intensity
That iron flew to my spine
Inspired me to finally declare my love
To acknowledge your impact on my life…
And after a period of gestation
Gave birth to this poem of celebration.
Back to Nebraskan reality and a new mystery…
I pass an overturned car,
Its wheels tied by yellow police tape,
A metaphor for my life perhaps
'Damaged but still salvageable.'
The windows are broken out,
The occupants removed to a distant hospital somewhere
(Hopefully arriving alive) ,
Their odds and ends of life scattered like garbage
On the inverted ceiling of their car.
The explanation, perhaps, is the water still standing
Several inches deep on the road side near the wreck?
A sudden orgasmic release of cloud in a desert….
The car tops the hill to find the highway
Buried by a lake of dimensions only God can know.
Who would expect such a thing in Nebraska's sand hills?
And what does it say about me finally
That I am so drawn to distant objects,
That the two women given access to my heart are
Both still tied to failed marriages
By dark chapters I am not part of
And innocent children who need their love?
And at our age where is the partner without a past?
Is this all that God has planned for you and me,
That we 'just miss' every thirty years or so?
I know there are times I am afraid to trust another's love,
Cannot even hear words of genuine affection.
Perhaps this explains my attraction to women
Whose availability might really be in question?
Maybe I'm afraid to let a real lover in?
Is the simple dream of love a better choice
Than the chance of finding real love anew
(Even love with an expiration date) ?
I think I'm more distrustful of my own heart's passion
Than I am of women being unreceptive to my love.
Do you struggle with similar feelings?
And is it my lot to only remember passion like this in a poem
While you spiral away to unimagined rendezvous'?
The coldness of space is not after-all
The simple absence of heat…
No, in human dimensionality it is more the absence of others…
Others who both shine life force toward us
And reflect our own light back to us,
Who collide with us physically and emotionally
Altering our pathways forever,
And who crater the façade whose design
We imagine belongs to us alone.
The void of human space-time is a true 'black hole'
Sporting only star death fragments of the 'Big Bang.'
This is all I really know…
I treasure the memory of our 'fly-bys'
Even if that's all they ever are.
And if I'm lucky this joy,
This celebration of your existence,
Will continue to pour out of me in songs and verse…
For your ears always (if I am so honored) ,
For God's heart (as I was born to honor Him) ,
And to the stars alone if I have only them for company.
This poem, like 'A Walk Near Blunt, ' began during an actual drive from South
Dakota to Oklahoma and then took on a life of it's own. These 'real life
narrative' poems are part of an attempt on my part to give precedence to truth
and content over form and rhyme. For readers with an interest in science, I
hope you also enjoy my attempt in this and other poems to bring my love of
Physics into the world of poetic imagery.
Long poem by
Glenn Johnson | Details |
Little eyes search a new world . . .
The gaze and suckle for food, body and soul.
A tiny heart tuned to the glow and tone of love.
Compelled to bond . . . drawn to the love gaze
Mother . . . Father
Chosen in soul’s life quest
Spiritually . . . what was known
now obscured by soul’s desire to be flesh.
How was I conceived?
An act of love, desire, need, lust, passion?
Unconscious of my own conception
The invisible participant
Life’s mysterious ménage a trios.
In the beginning was the word
Your sounds in my mind and mouth.
Coo and babble.
The ancient celestial winds swirled in my lungs.
The divine conductor orchestrated the mystical moment:
ma ma. . . . da da
Did you truly hear me?
My hands on a chair . . . the letting go . . . timid steps into the great void
wobbling legs, diaper descending, butt naked, I toddled
pudgy arms reached to you.
Were you there?
Being born oblivious provides no insulation
when delivered into the acetylene torch
crossed and frayed wires of bitter parents.
Explosions of rage . . . too sudden for small and toddling legs to escape.
Tender senses scorched.
Mind’s burrows dug deep beneath the conflagration
Huddle and tremble
Await signs of fire storms extinguish.
A fearful crawl to the surface
Deciphering the face of mother then father:
Eyes, searing embers.
They trudge through rubble
charred corpses of words
shouted . . . threatened
hearts guarded, armored.
Words the mistaken enemy
Instigators of continued marital strife
Silence a simmering refuge
Frost bitten eyes of evasion
Shielded, scorched hearts
Tolerated phantoms they
An endless cold war in a place called home.
. . . Love . . .
A mere obligation to a vow?
. . . Love . . .
A mere arrangement of consonants and vowels?
A child’s confusion:
Mother . . . Father
Did I lose the magic to enthrall?
Did I fail you?
What did I do to lose your love?
Still the yearn for the joy that welcomed my birth.
I was your precious one
Your bright eyes
My joy of your joy
My delight of your delight.
Vague memories of enfolded fondness
oneness of a we.
Time and again . . . the fearful crawl to the surface
Decipher the face of mother then father
Vacant gazes to anywhere but each other
Mutual strangers carving a frozen asylum
Indifference their drug for festering wounds.
You . . . phantom to phantom
become my phantoms.
Your vacant stare my vacant stare.
The need and want of love:
How can I rekindle your love?
A desperate search for fuel.
I gather kindling in all that I do: school, sports, honors
The ritual marches to deliver pleading offerings.
A love shrouded in absence
I look down at my accomplishments:
Mere twigs and sticks, decayed dead wood
food of ungrateful insects
Burden and tears fall to earth
Healing is a foreign and alien place
The decision final
Never again return.
A youth’s anguish:
I hate you for bringing me into your hell.
I know my place . . .
Mind’s burrows dug deep beneath the carnage.
Isolation . . . the numbness of drugs oblivion.
Miracle of Miracles
Transformation . . . Before my eyes!
Girls all about me . . . beauty.
A bolt of lightning, a direct hit, burrow piercing radiance.
Wild scramble to the surface.
Drawn to the love gaze
a boy . . . a girl
chosen in soul’s life quest to love, be loved.
You . . . I
Our limbs and hearts entwined
Ethereal blazing stars
Creator’s gift in deed.
Born of wounded hearts
Witnesses to love's rebirth
A solemn vow
Spoken man-child to woman-child
In all our imperfection
In times of anger, hurt and fear
. . . No matter how difficult the task . . .
. . . No matter how great the challenges . . .
. . . together we will stand . . .
. . . arm in arm . . .
. . . embrace to embrace . .
. . . heart to heart . . .
. . . soul to soul . . .
. . . Learn what we were never taught . . .
. . . Give each other the words and touches that heal . . .
. . . Our togetherness a true labor and gift of love . . .
Long poem by
Vic Pister | Details |
When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
Yoga in Poem A Novel Approach Step 6
Brahmari Pranayama or Humming Bee Breath
IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes
of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try
to restart Yoga in Poem at a later date…
How to do Brahmari Humming Bee Pranayama
Sit in Sukhasana (Step 1) or in Padmasana in the morning hours, if you have achieved easiness to sit in Padmasana or else sit in Sukhasana. It is important that while performing Brahmari your stomach should be empty and bowls clear. Sit erect while practicing Brahmari in a neat and clean, quiet and calm place preferably an open place.
Raise your both arms and bring your all four fingers as a screen on your eyes. Now close your ears by the tips of your thumbs in such a way that your index fingers are touching your eyebrows and the middle finger the inner corner of your both eyes and other two fingers rests on the slopes of your nose and face joints gradually.
Take a deep breath and fill your lungs with the fresh air and then exhale slowly from both the nostrils while creating a humming sound. At the time of doing this do not open your ears and keep pressing it gently so that your humming sound gets more clear and it create vibrations in your mouth, throat, ears, eyes and even other parts of your body ( this stage would come when you practice this exercise regularly )
Try to creat the humming sound continuously as loud and clear as possible for you.
IN PRAISE OF BRAHMARI PRANAYAMA
We all know and accepts
The miracles of Sound
On everything which
We live, we love, and we work
We play and we laugh
With one or the other kind of sounds
We become harsh or soft
Even we weep and sometimes
We hate with some or the other kind of sounds only
These are all the effects of
Which make us
What we are and what
We become as a man or woman in life
Kind hatred or benevolent
A lover or a hater
A teacher or a Poet, a writer or an artist or a Musician
A leader or a preacher
A dictator or a Don.
When sound comes
From a serene source
It binds the hearts
And we began to love and adore
That sound and even that source
And keep it as a source of energy and joy.
But when it comes
A biased mind and selfish source and
Tries to destroy our peace
And began to dictate us
We feel fed-up
To bear that sound
And then we try
To get rid of that source or sound.
Brahmari or the humming Sound
Is one such elegant self-music
Which opens our heart and mind
With its vibrations
To fill life in those dead or sluggish
Nerves and spine
The Melody not only
In your voice but also in your heart and mind.
Restore your love and even your confidence
Bringing your beloved more close to you
And you to your beloved
Becomes a soft target of differences
Age effected unnoticed deeds and actions.
Brahmari gives you the boon of
Music and melody
Even when age has taken you
On the withering heights of life
You often find yourself standing alone
Looking for someone to
Restore your energy and mind.
The miracles of
Humming bee sounds
Brings an instant coolness
To your otherwise
Anguished mind and heart
Which began to enjoy
The colors and moods
Of Love and Life
A peaceful mind
Is the dwelling place of heavenly gestures
And even of God.
The regular practice of
Balances your hormonal secretions
Invigorating the thyroid gland
And thus increasing your metabolism.
Even Brahmari balances
Your blood sugar and helps
In our body and
It completely removes the causes which
Leads to the curse of human body
By giving you the joys and comforts of
Relaxation which ultimately
Soothes your Heart to pump more actively
The fresh flow of blood
To your nerves and mind
Thus making your pressures
To work happily
Without crossing the limits
Unless you have done some extreme wrongs.
It’s a boon for those
Who suffers from Diabetes and heart problems
And a real gift of God
For those who are in pregnancy
As its wonderful effects on
Human nervous system
Effects the pituitary gland
To balance the growth and control
Of hormones in our body
Thus the practice of this wonderful
Pave way for easy and trouble free
Child birth or delivery.
I often ponder
What a treasure of blessings
Yoga has given to the world and
In these simple and wonderful
To make every human being
More befitting and joyous
To enjoy the blessings of Nature
Thus elevating the human body to absorb
The Beams of the Light and Love of God.
Kanpur 4th Aug. 2013
Duration: Not more than 3 to 5 times in a day in the beginning. Maximum 10 to 12 times only in a day without any force beathing or straining yourself.
01. Never perform this Prayanama while you are lying down
02. If you are having any ear infection do not perform Brahmati till your ears get rid of all infections.
03. Do not hold your breath while doing Brahmari and Heart problem persons should do it under a trained instructor only.
04. Do not perform it when you are not empty stomach and try to perform it preferably in the morning/evening hours only.
05. If for any reasons you do not feel comfortable stop it and take few normal deep breaths
IMP. NOTE: Temporarily I am stopping new episodes of Yoga in Poem due to personal reasons and will try to restart
Yoga in Poem at a later date…
Brahmari Pranayama is a boon for human being
brought mainly in the lime light of the world
by Swami Ram Deoji about 20 years back.
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions,
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar
than those receiving undue benedictions.
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.
Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.
While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent,
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.
Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
As sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.
Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage,
art resists validity, upsets stone walls
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego,
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo.
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal.
but curtailed are epics that still implore
like the cusp of dream long after you wake
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.
* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O.
About this poem
This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time!
These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.
I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this. I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows?
Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!
Long poem by
Stacey Brown | Details |
Mary was a virgin girl:
With big dreams and aspirations!
An angel came to visit her:
With honor and salutations!
Troubled by his sayings:
She did not know what to think!
The angel said to Mary:
My dear, no need to shrink!
Mary you are favored,
Blessed among all women!
Ye shall bring forth a child:
A Son whom God is given!
You shall call his name JESUS!
To his kingdom there’s no end!
He will reign forever:
And from heaven he will descend!
Mary said to the angel,
How shall this come to be?
I have not known a man,
And with that he did agree!
With God’s nothing impossible,
So Mary did reply:
Behold I am God’s servant,
And his will I won’t deny!
To be so compliant;
Is just amazing in itself!
The disgrace of an unwed mother:
Could knock Mary off the shelf!
Her fiancé’ may leave her;
And her family may disown!
But Mary did not worry:
About who may cast a stone!
Seeing that she was chosen:
One might think her life was smooth.
But oh’ the lovely Mary:
Needed God to gently soothe!
From the birth of our Lord Jesus:
To the time he was crucified:
Her journey was very bumpy:
And many tears she softly cried!
Starting with a quest:
From Nazareth to Bethlehem!
A summons to pay taxes,
They set out, both of them! (Joseph and Mary)
Now Mary was great with child,
And her time would soon arrive.
With no place to deliver,
They would both have to contrive!
In a barn full of animals,
Hay, dung and fears!
Mary will now give birth,
In blood, sweat and tears!
Meanwhile, in a pasture,
Where some shepherds work a field!
Angel’s came a calling,
And our Savior is revealed!
Glory to God in the highest:
Angel’s sang, when baby breathed:
On earth, is peace, goodwill towards men!
The shepherds now perceived!
The angel’s ascend to heaven,
Yonder the shepherds go:
In her heart Mary pondered:
Of the things which God did show!
Just try to imagine:
Laying your baby in a trough?
And then fearing for his life,
While the king prowls and scoffs!
Well that is just what Mary did:
In that time and place:
When they had to run:
For baby Jesus, King Herod chased!
A king to rule over him:
He would not accept!
He killed every baby child:
As their mother’s wept!
I just cannot fathom:
What Mary must have felt.
Joy for her baby:
Yet, with grief she must have dealt!
Traveling home from Jerusalem:
After feast and celebration!
Mary lost her precious boy:
She could not find his location!
When he was discovered,
Frantic she did ask:
Son why did you leave us?
In sorrow we did bask
Every mother has known:
The fear of losing a child!
Mary was no different:
For three days her fear compiled!
I am sure there was weeping:
Praying with despair!
While Joseph tried to calm her:
With love and tender care!
She couldn’t apprehend:
What his life would turn out to be.
But, Mary as his mother:
Felt free to go and see!
She followed with his brothers:
And listen to him speak!
He spoke about family:
His family, he did critique!
Sisters and brothers:
And mothers we also see!
Are not bound together:
By a family tree!
From our Father in heaven;
Families are made!
Now, did Mary understand?
The price she had paid!
Mary’s little boy,
Was no longer her own!
He belongs to the people:
And as kin he is known!
Gripping at her heart strings:
Affliction had to arise:
As a mother of a son,
That might feel like my demise!
News of his capture:
Must have brought a scare!
How did Mary deal?
Did she run straight there?
When Jesus was beaten:
Did she watch all alone?
How did she refrain?
As he was whipped to the bone!
A crown of thorns:
They pressed upon his head!
He was dripping in blood:
His flesh was bright red!
Nails were deeply driven:
Through his hands and feet!
Crying out he said:
My God, why so discrete?
She stood by the cross:
And watch her baby die!
She pondered in her heart:
For the reason why!
Is it worth it?
Did Mary dare to ask?
For the love of God:
She must complete her task!
Yet, it pleased the Father:
For him to suffer!
To give his life:
To shed his blood:
Would only prove our WONDER!
JESUS gave it all:
Our sins to cover!
As my heart is wrenching:
I can’t help but wonder!
Did Mary even hear?
Those sounds of thunder!
The earth was shaking:
The rocks did rent!
The veil was torn:
And Mercy was sent!
With a broken heart:
Tear filled eyes!
Could Mary see?
Where his love lies!
Her baby boy:
Who brought some travail!
In the end:
Did definitely prevail!
Mary was chosen:
And highly favored!
And for our God,
She willingly labored!
She had troubles:
Plus sorrow and grief:
Yet, she pondered God’s word:
This fought off the thief!
The wonder of this woman:
Is most definitely overt!
And your wonder is also:
So please let me assert!
Three short days later!
And so did your favor!
God loves his creation:
A plan he has made!
He is not partial:
Nor, will he invade!
He leaves it to us:
To trust in his name:
So just like Mary:
Let his will take aim!
Now, ponder his word:
For it is real clear!
In Jesus we’re blessed:
Favored and dear!
We also have purpose:
Just like the Virgin Mary!
It is to share Jesus:
WONDERFUL WOMEN; don’t tarry!
No one can go to the Father:
Except through the Son!
And God uses his children:
To get the job done:
So if you refuse,
To share his love!
The world won’t know:
This Rock from above!
He is personal:
Yet, he is for all!
Proclaim his love:
It’s your curtain call!
Go into all the world:
And share his good news!
Mary’s child has risen:
It’s your turn to choose!
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - -
My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)
As such he seldom raised his head,
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years,
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .
A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)
Destroying our downtown,
It, cut a swath near one mile wide,
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red,
Dad put me in the car,
But roads were blocked in just three blocks,
The world become bizarre!
Barbed wire that penetrated trees,
Homes cracked like eggs insides,
Our home had grass blades drove like nails,
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history,
My dad was gone for days,
Storm victims sleeping on our floor,
The whole town in a daze.
Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town,
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)
Attended too the poorest school,
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card,
No pretense there to see,
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm,
(Or to her tongue of fire) ,
For with Dad's stature in the town,
Few dared to risk her ire!
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools,
Complained it wasn't fair,
Till they encountered Sis and I,
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy,
And ‘ART' (6) the air she breathed,
Though slight she strongly stood her ground,
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference,
Just sometimes things were tough,
Our clothing did set us apart,
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there,
The same clothes thru the week,
Impoverished not just in clothes,
But that which all men seek.
I had a bike to ride around,
Of course it was a Schwinn,
And almost always home for lunch,
For Mom thought we were thin,
With two desserts at every meal,
(And Mom was quite a cook.)
But if you didn't clean your plate,
From Dad you got a look,
The waste of food a mortal sin,
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)
Made every meal traumatic fare,
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me,
Depression's (8) oldest child,
I mourn the innocence he lost,
That made his wrath seem mild.
Our parent's roles were well defined,
My dad brought home the bread,
My mom the joy of hearth and home,
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments,
But whippings weren't enough,
We even weren't allowed to cry,
To show we had the stuff!
Small wonder romance frightened me,
(So sure I'd be like him) ,
To challenge violence I feared,
Chose music over gym.
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great
Depression and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950) in the Mid-West, divided into
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete
* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of
7 surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became
very close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was
kind of cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some
food, la.' They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation.
'You've got food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic affectation.
(1) ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years old when ‘The Great
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2) Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3) ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado,
he doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the
local banks to do so.
(4) 'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only'
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5) 'living too high on the hog' - an idiom referring to people who have to have the
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they
can't really afford them.
(6) ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life!
(7) ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8) 'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though
I guess!) Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale.
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .
Long poem by
David William Breidenthal | Details |
Sing to me your lullaby with Sexy Style in California right now
Oh paint a delightful smile on my face and make me laugh with joy and happiness
You’re my ultimate addiction – you lift me higher than cloud seven
I gottah keep pace to run this race the right way…so, I want yah to stay here for a
Alright, you’re making my day…you are like my cherished Haven
Satisfaction is ours, baby…nothing’s in my way today! We’re runnin’ thee extra
Can you see it like fireworks in the sky?
Did you ever wish to be free
Like those mockingbirds and jays in the aqua-blue sky?
You and I will receive the ability to fly
The ability to show off our inner glow…yah know…soooo…
And we’ll be putting up a show…yah know…yah know…let the wicked wind blow…
oooh ahhahah ohhh…
Take away my flaws…my worst fears…my weaknesses
Give me a big applause for trying my best and can you motivate me to beat this
Let go of all worries…my bad memories…replace em with my strengths and clean
up all of our “emotional love” messes
Gather around me, my stinging, beautiful bees…I’ll try to pass the test…and you’ll
do the rest just in case…
I get pleasure off of your applauses…your full attention…give up your aggressive
side and your anger…take out the trash that’s filthy with strife and clean up your
act! We need peace and that’s a fact! You need to give me your surreal
satisfaction…We feel like we’re top dog right now! Who’s boss? We are! Come on,
sistahs and brothahs, let’s BODYQUAKE! Let’s dance! Let’s embrace this terrific,
tranquil trance! I fancy you, baby…don’t hit the brakes…
Sing to me your lullaby with Sexy Style in California
Don’t stop, darling – stay with me for a long while! I know – I act silly and
Me: I’m wingless…I’m invisible…
I’m incredible...yet, I can do the impossible
Fighting negativity, so I can be me –
Instead, I invite positivity and kiss sunlit glee
Everyone: You’re a gift, not a curse
You’re a cure – you’re a lullaby in reverse…
Everyone: Rehearse to me our freedom
Rehearse to me our liberty
Rehearse to me your satisfaction
Rehearse to me – we’ll take action! Oooooh yeaaaaah
I was once stuck in the pit of my misery and poverty…He’s my Amazing Grace and
more – his words are tattooed everywhere in my body…
But now I’m free as a bird out of her cave
Beyonce and others: Sing to me your lullaby with Sexy Style in California
Don’t stop, darling – stay with me for a long while! Let’s break the law and let’s
shop at the mall
You’re my ultimate addiction – you lift me higher than cloud seven
I gottah keep pace to run this race the right way…you made my day by giving me
the energy and confidence to run the extra mile
Alright, you’re making my day…you are like my cherished Haven
Satisfaction is ours, baby…nothing’s in my way today!
Can you stay here for a while? You sing to me your lullaby with a sugar-and-spice
Sing to me your lullaby with Sexy Style in California
Let’s swing about and stand tall when we encounter dangah!
Fight with all of your might and be proud that we fought the good fight! Now,
everything’s black and white and everything’s alright!
You’re *my drug of delight!x3* I promise my love towards you wo’t bite – if it
does, it means I want you and your surreal light as soon as possible, even if it
means going through a perilous plight!
Rihanna/Beyonce (duet): You’re my beloved disease…
You put my heart and mind at ease…
Please…please don’t reject me again
Where have yah been? I see your eyes – chaos and guilt brewin’
Eminem/Rihanna: Sing to me your lullaby with sexy style and a brilliant beat
I’ll dance naughtily – you make me feel neat and my feet are tappin’ and tappin’…I
can’t stop my feet!
I don’t care about California’s heat!
I’m dreamin’ about California and its cheerful, sun-drenched summertime
My time spent with you ain’t a waste of time! You and I’s love is extremely
Sing to me your lullaby with Sexy Style in California
Dance with me and go with the flow with em all!
Beyonce: Come here…fly to me…don’t be blue
Rihanna: If you only knew…that I loved you
Lady Gaga: But, I guess I was that bizarre girl that came out of the blue…just b/c
I’m eccentric, doesn’t mean I ain’t wild and epic…
Lady Gaga/Eminem/me: Come along with me…we’ll be on our own
Speechless, but having the time of my life
Making a cherry-top decision – it’s my mission to call you up on my telephone…
*ring ring ring*
There it rings again…you left me breathless – don’t provoke me to anger and
Everyone:For, it cuts me like a sharp, jagged knife…
Rihanna: You won’t see me cry… all my life…
Beyonce: *no more singing* That’s a good ending, girl. Good job. *pat pat*
Me: what’s up with that cool ending, RihRih! That was tight!
Rihanna: Thanks a bill *giggles* I took that from my song “Cry”…I won’t deny it…
Lady Gaga: You’re crazy good, but I like crazy good people like you
Adele: Nevermind I’ll find someone like yoooooou! –
Rihanna: I’m sorry to come across as rude, but who invited Adele?
*everyone points at me and everyone laughs*
Beyonce: Oh my word…I shouldah known..it was silly Davey Wavey!
Me and Rihanna: Uhuh…mhmmm…*we crack up with laughter and can’t keep a
Long poem by
Demetrios Trifiatis | Details |
“I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before and
I hope to return a thousand times after.” GOETHE
Once upon a time,
The Lord of spiritual consciousness was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, no oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was happy with His existence
Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred from its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and all the other elements
That constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time
When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets
Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,
In this way, to manifestation’s cosmic sphere, the souls were beamed
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!
Each soul an ambassador was and is of God’s will and grace
A ray of divinity, a guardian of the Holy Law
Each with a specific mission: to learn or rather to remember
How to find the way of return throughout space and time
And with the divine, again, to be seen in perfect equilibrium
The day I was born, as every man alive,
I found my immortal self bound to the wheel of time
That around eternity’s circumference took me, in very heavy chains
Asking to follow obediently the unswerving path of fate:
This endless trip of return where the only constant thing is change
Since then I have died once and many times after
But death's dark palaces to hold me were unable
As my soul’s perpetual desire to follow my destiny
Brought me back to this ephemeral world of fleeting dreams
With a new body, new hopes, new goals but always with the
Thus I journeyed back and forth the plains of oblivion
Choosing the best conditions I could, according to my karma
Trying to find endlessly the golden middle way
That unmistakably between the extremes is only to be found
But since from the river of forgetfulness each time I was drinking
I was obliged, unfortunately, to start over again
So, I was born once a king and another was I born a beggar
And in turns I was born a coward, a hero, a holy man, a vicious man,
A Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, an idolater a strong man and a woman
And healthy and sick I was born and intelligent and witless
And was I born to love so much the things I once detested
And to hate passionately the things I once held dear
And I was born once to laugh and another just to cry
And I drunk successively from joy’s cup and that of sorrow’s
And was born to make friends out of my enemies
And enemies out of my brothers
And was born to realize the impossible dreams and fail the very easy
And I was born to slay and to be slain alternatively for thousands of years
Thus I lived continuously the extremes of both good and evil
Striving to find endlessly the balance in my soul
Through the wisdom that was endowed upon me by the Great Spirit
That like a beacon, luminous, to guide me waits
To my supreme destiny that GOD for me has traced
So, as was passing from life unto death, from darkness unto light
With a speed determined by me, I don’t put on GOD the blame,
All my lessons have I learned through trial and error
Up to the very last reincarnation, in body’s mortal temple
Now free, AT LAST, from all earthly desires and every karmic blame
Radiating with holiness and glowing with grace
My immortal soul, HER divine wings unfolds and soars upwards the heavens
White light blazing in perfect equilibrium
And pure now to her glorious creator returns and with
11 DECEMBER 2013
“A little while and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind and another woman shall bear me”
* This poem because of its length I was unable to post it in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: “CREATION” and as “REINCARNATION.” Here is the entire poem as it was originally written.
Now, my friends know that apart from my epigrams I write... long poems as well!
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
Differences – you say !
I – me Lass – brave Helios, rides his golden chariot,
drawn by fiery Steeds, into the vastness of this universe.
These mighty Titans, dispatched – brilliant, glowing -
ruled, controlled the blueness of this planet, the heavens.
Our bright Sun, sprinkles life giving particles, waves,
out in all directions – into the endless firmament.
Then there is the cold souled, silver shield that traverses
that moth eaten, dark cloth, that hangs like lead
in that dead laden space, blackness the place
you choose to ride – your life to hide.
Oh !, if only we would climb down from the edge of fences.
Oh !, if only we would leave behind, walk away from defences.
Oh !, for us to, but if we only could, reach our dreams
Oh !, for us to, not have all those things, it seems,
that get in the way – life’s experiences, what it means,
from time to time, - that should be left behind – long ago,
that hang on so tightly, from fears that you won’t let go.
Oh !, for us two, to find the door, to see, understand, to know.
Oh !, for us to, for us to realize, that after the end, the winds will blow
it all away, into waves of rainbow colours that will show
it all to have been a necessary, but unnecessary way to go.
No matter what is said and done, it all is the universes flow.
A straight line, towards your destination, is the obvious choice.
Unfortunately, a jumble of thoughts, experiences, become the voice.
A trip – full of baggage – and around the world we go.
A carrousel ride, on each and every horse, the story doth show
A very dizzying ride it is, the point, to get to know
is a journey, of many directions, on winds that blow
Live and let live the life one so chooses.
Seldom is it necessary if one wins or one loses,
not much concerned for – or where or why.
For in the end, it is all in the beholders eye.
Much too much involved !, much to obsessive,
with others and the lives they made a mess – ive.
I can only wonder ?, make an educated guess, live
with my analysis and know, from the heart you give.
I cannot carry the weight of your life into today,
for all that was, all that is, need not words to say,
for nothing will change, not before, nor after, it’s your way,
no matter what one chooses, or not, to express, it’s the game you play.
All has come into, become a part of, is constantly shared
with, and no matter how it affects, it’s no longer cared
for, for it all distracts, disrupts, disturbs the air
that we are inhabiting - and not – it is unfair
I know that it is part and parcel of the lady fair.
If only to the point, but you never seem to get there.
Hours and hours go by, I cannot help but cry
as I listen and listen, understand, I do try.
Actions, activities, motion, play are the order of the day,
board games to win, games to lose, but they cannot be had,
for it is not in the cards – alone – one can have a say,
only but for two, does it come though, to share and that’s not bad.
Vocalizing, expressing, gossiping, complaining are your way.
Hours to exercise the body, the soul, the mind, it is so sad,
for it leaves so little to share, so little time for making hay.
Not such a bad way to connect, what a great fad !
Just some of the differences that have come to be
what is between you and me, yet there is much more to see
that could come into you and me as we ride this rough sea
of life, that at times you find joy in this old boy, so free.
Happy am I when you come near, when you are here.
A little hollow, a little empty, in the end, harbour fear
that the sunshine will fade, be covered, will disappear.
Which way ?, - our ships passing in the night - will we steer.
Will the Mole, leave her underground, black hole ?,
to – with eagles fly – reach out and touch the sky ?
will this night hawk, this owl, venture into day light,
play in sight of shadows, created by a sun so bright
and warm, where day creatures know the storm
that rages throughout and within, who shout
with voices searing, with knowledge clearing,
with understanding of choices made by rending,
choices made for, and by them, behind a closed door.
Living a life that has been over flowing with strife.
There is much to know, about what was laid upon her soul.
Some can, some cannot let go, why ?, I do not know.
Can the bound, the nocturnal, the frightened ?,
find freedom, find in the diurnal, find in fearlessness,
a soul mate to travel with, upon day light roads, opened.
A soul mate to take into the darkness, the coldness.
Can they be blended, one into the other, if the story be told.
Differences – are they few or are there so many ?
Are we able to live with them ?, or without any ?
There we are – two old birds on the wing,
with different voices, different songs to sing
of any or all, to the table, want to bring.
Shed light, and let show, what is our thing
which at times has put us into the ring.
Sparing in defence of our particular notions,
beliefs, as we express – in animated motions,
a light, who we truly are in the heat of the moment.
Yet the hurt, the pain created by wards, was not meant.
Yet they have lent a truth, some truth was sent
out from the heart, the soul, life ancient
that dictates - in the moment – what’s fates sentiment.
And what are the differences you see ?
What are they ?, what is between you and me ?
B. J. “A ” 2
March 15th 2003