In God We Trust
Resign
Free speech
None shall assert over peace
An assembly of law
Against the Union
Line is Held
Constitution is boundary
That all men aren't created equal in time
None shall avoid record of line.
Your position igniting and release of cinder
In citation of violation
As action as ridicule
Arresting speech rather than resigning
God In Which We Trust
Defines freedom of speech
None shall capture and divise self interesting reserves of provisional supply of the Union.
Creation of poverty's length is drawn against liberty
Starving allegiance
One origin of incedence is little Caesars thousand oaks
Indifferent by intent
Cliche Spending Patters in Petrol
Creation of audit
And mis alignment
Thank you for your submission
PATTERN BALDNESS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stu the squirrel looked in the mirror with a fright.
“Oh no! My fur’s vanishing! What a horrible sight.”
What’s become of my ‘furdo?'
Maybe fur I can put on with glue.
OOPS! That doesn’t look right! Dastardly plight!”
He tugged at his thinning tufts with despair,
"Is this really the fate I must bear?
Squirrel pattern baldness,” they say,
“Runs deep in my crew’s way,
But I’d rather have fluffy brown hair!"
So Stu bought himself a furry, brown cap
But alas, looked as if he was wearing burlap.
Discarded it with a single motion
Giving up his silly notions.
Smiling, he admitted, “I’m still a charming chap.”
We call each other every day
utilizing this wasted time for mediocre recycled conversations.
Neither of us do anything new or interesting.
And yet we call and rehash recycled blah blah blah, blah blah blah.
A habit that does nothing for me; I doubt it does much for her
I can finish her sentences. Same old, same old.
A familiar ditch where we seem to be stuck.
One of us needs to break the pattern.
She is calling now.
Will it be me?
Not today.
I pick up the phone.
The digits of pi are a squiggle
That never will cease but to wiggle.
It won't stay in place,
No pattern will trace,
It has a continuous giggle.
She smelled like ozone
and old commercials—
the kind with jingles
you didn’t know you remembered
until your mouth sang along.
Plop, plop, fizz, fizz,
oh what a weird thing she is.
She stepped from the screen
once the static gave out,
a figure shaped
from tone bars and
missing episodes
and sort of resembled
Barbara Stanwyck.
Maybe she used to be
a transmission and
maybe she still is.
When she moved,
I heard weather reports
from cities I’ve never seen—
her breath a forecast
for forgotten places.
Whatever she was,
she sat on the floor
in front of the TV
watching a test pattern
while eating invisible cereal
from a real bowl
and giggling.
Was she supposed to be a Muse
daring me to write
a silly poem
about test patterns?
She rolls her eyes
in black-and-white bars
and shakes her spoon at me.
She flickers and fades
around the edges first—
like the corners of a dream
already forgetting itself.
The bowl remains.
The test pattern hums.
Somewhere, a jingle
begins to unravel
and I pick up my paper and pen.
A gold sailboat for souls
Each star is marked
The celestial embodiment
Of hazel hope floating
Empowered by heavenly heart
Silvery universal art
Illuminating onyx sky so dark
Read by those inclined to see
More than most humanly possible
A joyful journey to destination
Burning brightly in anticipation of
Of the next destination
Each star has a pattern of it's own
as it shines brilliantly in the magnificent
galaxy full of wonderfully made stars
Each person has a life of their own
and can shine brilliantly in the magnificent
world full of wonderfully made people
Each written word has a place of it's own
as it leaps off the page splendidly
in the work of an inspired writer
Each star has a pattern all its own;
so far away, this cannot be shown.
Stars are envisioned like our Sun;
brilliant and fiery till they are done.
And so we imagine each as a sphere
circling the outer space atmosphere.
With patterns unknown, we use our minds
to conjure up what musing unwinds.
Perhaps, as lovey snowflake designs,
each star is etched with celestial signs;
or like Ursinia- flower's name-
shaped like stars with gold petals aflame.
Stars twinkle on with planned Cosmic goals
letting their magic sky fill our souls-
begging wishes come true in their glow;
searching for patterns we'll never know.
Patterns are evident throughout God’s creation.
A nucleus determines the pattern of every cell.
And the seas shape patterns for shores and straits.
Why should stars not have their patterns as well?
A city has skylines of steel, glass, and brick,
As stately as a mountain range of ridges.
Music holds patterns within every chord,
Much like urban waterways feature bridges.
An egg rests snug and secure in its bird nest,
Like a nebula embedded with a protostar or baby sun.
Here the protostar begins its long life,
Following the pattern ancient as the eternal fun.
In the cosmos patterns are not one size fit all.
So, each pattern fits one star at a time.
One for the massive giant and others for small,
Since little stars live longer in the cosmic clime.
Less mass means long life with many patterns,
While the giant’s life is less eventful and long.
Of course, all these patterns are seen only by God,
And serve as aspirations for man’s dream and song.
Each Star Has a Pattern of its Own
Each star is a jewel set in its place
by the Creator of the universe.
His hand carefully cut each facet
to give each star its own identity.
Each star has its own color
red, blue, white, yellow.
Some have no color at all
only exist as brown dwarfs.
From birth to death, each star
has its own life cycle.
Some ending as black holes, white dwarf
or rapidly spinning neutron stars.
Each star as an individual, but
part of a whole.
Like a string of pearls
set on a gold chain.
We humans are like these
stars, created as individuals
by Gods wonderful hand.
Fear not the countless stars that light the sky,
For many naysayers still will deny.
Find them a place where they must stay away,
The clouds will part, your star will shine today.
Each star, a lone pattern in glow and gleam.
So nothing dims its light or halts its dream.
The clouds hold space to cradle your surprise,
For many reasons, your star has to rise.
Just know your star must shine despite the dark,
A mentor great in knowledge lights a spark,
Ignites a flame no force can quench or tame,
Its glow entrenched beyond all doubt or shame.
Let not the winds of fear obscure your way,
For dawn will break to bring a brighter day.
Hold firm to dreams, let courage be your guide,
With steadfast hope, your light will gleam and glide.
Her left side and right side are not the same
Zebra from Kenya, hunter’s big game
Her stripes are as diverse and unique as they can be
Sometimes in groups of twos, tens or threes
There is a pattern.
If you look closely enough.
Sometimes it's broken.
Sometimes it's shattered.
It is simply insignificant.
There is a pattern.
The pain it caused reverberates.
The laughter it caused resonates and remains.
There is a pattern.
Only those dear and close to you,
who take the time to reflect on you,
Find it.
I repeat.
And they see it clearly.
There is a pattern.
cherry blossoms fall
lightly on ground leaving
perfect pattern
The Maker : Knit and Purl
The Maker wields the needles
of predestination and free will,
One in each strong, talented hand.
Knitting the yarn and thread of our lives
Into the fabric of time with such love.
Knit ,with predestination;
His will is done.
Purl ,with free will;
Our choices made.
Knit and purl, purl and knit,
The pattern known to Him and yet
allowed to be as it is, who it is.
It is when choice agrees with His will
That the pattern becomes
as beautiful as He intended.
Until the tapestry of lives
form who we are, why we are.
Interlocking with others,
Becoming part of the
pattern of all things.
The Enemy cuts
With sharp shears of deceit.
Maniacally ripping jagged holes.
The Maker patiently mends
With healing truth and love.
Knit and purl, purl and knit
Until we are whole again.
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