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Paul Easter Poem
A lifetime of security you will find in him,
But a good man is hard to find.
He's always there even though the light is dim,
But a good man is hard to find.
He's a full time lover,
But a good man is hard to find.
His shoulder is there to cry on like a mother,
But a good man is hard to find.
He listens to your every whim,
But good man is hard to find.
Yet no one is more trustworthy than him.
Still you say a good man is hard to find.
He may even be the most forgiving,
But yet good man is hard to find.
He knows you even from the beggining,
But a good man is hard to find.
What does it take to be a good man?
Because I know someone who is trustworthy,
Yet trusting of you more than anyone else.
But have you talked to him lately?
For he is the security you need greatly.
For unto him you can do no wrong without him still loving you.
So before you say a good man is hard to find pick up your bible and call on him.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
Battered and bruised mommy cries as she tries to cover her black eyes.
But mommy doesn't see daddy as her demise.
One January 25 mommy and daddy awaited as baby arrived.
Smiles of comfort and tears of joy came as so did the baby boy.
Mommy and daddy weren't ready to take care of the child for daddy was still a child.
At heart mommy took all those foul mouth liquor jeers from daddy's mouth but baby didn't
know what that was about.
Mommy stays with daddy for the child, not realizing that it is doing more harm than
anything...comes from daddy's mouth and baby takes it in not realizing.
Flashing lights and sirens ring incredulously one slumber-some December night as baby was
tucked in tight...while mommy and daddy was going on like it was Saturday fight night.
Baby cries but whose there to hear for mommy and daddy curse and de fouls the baby's ear.
Baby's heart is broken and shattered as mommy is shaken and battered.
Sweet kisses to mend her wounds internal and external but are they sincere from daddy's
heart.
They will never part even though in mommy's heart she wishes daddy would leave forever.
One grief-some January 25 mommy rested never to return for her and daddy went on a
walk.
"Where is mommy", said baby but daddy couldn't talk.
What could he say "I beat mommy till I killed her leaving her internally bruised and brain
dead."
He couldn't say that any way for he was talking to Tiny in cell block five that day.
And baby has no other choice than to realize that his family was nothing more than a mere
disguise.
Sirens ring
Sirens ring
Battered and bruised mommy cries for help as she fights for her life.
Because daddy has beat her till her eyes turned dark as night.
It's ironic because baby has become a fighter in Saturday fight night.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
Unwavering it is that I have,
For there is no one greater than he.
For it is uncompromising to what the world has for me,
As I stand on the word boldly.
Small but forever bearing fruit,
For it shall move mountains and part waters,
Cast spirits from sons and from daughters.
It is the key that we must posses to get home,
Without it how can I pray?
Or listen to what the spirit may say.
It shall determine if the word just sits or manifest,
For it's value is greater than it's size.
For it is only size to the unlearned eyes,
For within i contain my Mustard seed,
For my fruits will bear abundantly.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
Her love blew through me like a cold wind,
Leaving my emotions parallyzed.
I have my love being prepared to resind,
As it was given back before I had realized.
Her words shoot quicker than a trigger finger,
piercing through my ego as the glass shatters.
Her hearts melody whales like a blues singer,
singing a song that what I say never matters.
Selfish she maybe but never understands,
She holds our relationship in her hands.
My heart skips a beat as i think of our fate,
Hurt, pain, and suffering.
Only the love of another can resuscitate,
giving me new life as my heart starts breathing.
Ms. out of touch never come back,
Because you can't take none of your pain back.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
The crinkle in her hair
The bends of her waste
The fullness of her lips
I recognize as she sits under the shade of that tree
The dip in his step
Wave breaks of his hair
And the dialect spoken from his lips
I recognize as he walks in the shade of that tree
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Insanity
As I sit basking in the sol
I wonder why I recognize them
Why I see them so vivid under the trees camisole
They must have a kindred spirit in them
They live comfortably under the shade
Almost as if they refuse to recognize me
Like I don't exist and is but a dot on a page
Why is it they act as if our connection can't be
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Insanity
But I see how you invite them underneath the shade
Is it because there dermis isnt capable of with standing the sol
They only can have minimal light they say
Just so they can relate to you and I in that way
So you welcome them to rest up under the trees leaves and flowers
The way the green of the leaves sit surrounding the plumage is like God has Bob Ross powers
And all of them work to give you that beautiful shade
But you treat the flowers a different way cutting them just to give them away
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Insanity
Soon that shade ain't as big as it used to be
And the one you welcomed leaves you be
Because you took the flowers from that tree
And gave to them but like I said the sol they can't handle like me
They leave and I still sit here looking at you alone under that tree
Now ya'll ain't relaxing
It's almost like your hiding
Because you thought they would appreciate you but they decieved
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Insanity
You know what yeah I point my fingers at you with no sympathy
And a laugh because i may feel a little salty
Because I would have never let you cut the flowers from that tree
And you treated me as though you didn't see
That's what you get
But I still think you're crinkle is fly
And the tone of your skin is fly
And not to mention the hues of your eyes
But so what you denied me
And on top of that you don't even know
That you can exist in the sol
And who am I to tell you now when you never wanted to relate with me
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Insanity
So take your 23 and dig up your roots
You will see you are no different than me
Better yet you ain't no different than "we"
I don't know why you tried to deny me
Like you can't come out from under that shade tree
Or I can't come and sit with you underneath it comfortably
Like the flower don't make a difference in the shade so quit giving them away
Shoot it can withstand the sol the best I say
It stay beautiful even after being subjected to the sol's rays.
It's the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Calling the pot calling the kettle
Hypocritical bigotry
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2018
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Paul Easter Poem
Lilies bloom as they basque in the glorious sunlight,
The light of day shall dawn in my eyes.
Showers of rain all fall with a common destination,
Bound are the tears as the pain cries.
Warm days and sunny tomorrows,
May come as sorrows beseech me.
But is spring over,
Cast of clouds dims my light.
Pink skies aspire at noon,
Time has come as the snow comes at night.
What's ironic to me is that it's a snowstorm in spring,
Forward moving is the cloud as it consumes every soul, heart, and feeling.
It's unexpected arrival came quietly,
As though i suffer from one of deaths dealings.
As thought provoking it may seem,
Death is that snow storm in spring.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
Mommy, who am I that I have a whole month?
You are descendants of kings,
and the heart of many creations.
Born unto the words let freedom ring,
as you spawn a culture among all nations.
Where have I come from?
You came from heart surgeons and peanut butter makers,
Scientist and world record breakers.
Your women embodies the strength on which this world is built on.
And your men shows what dreams may spawn.
As prophetic dreams and willful words spout from their mouth.
So mommy does that make me better than any other?
No my son just equal. Because God knows no race nor color.
So son no matter what struggles we have went through just know that God loves you.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
It lies beyond our perspective of skies,
Is the limit of life foreseen?
Only by the Alpha and Omegas eyes,
May we see why the grass is green.
Paved of gold is the streets,
Songs of angels rings gloriously.
Where the road of life and death meets,
At the pearly gates victoriously.
Why do we believe in this unseen place?
Even though it hasn't been seen.
We have to know there is a better place,
In my heart I have seen.
Faith is the key to this palisade,
Of snowy white grounds and golden streets.
Full of ineffable cascades,
Upon the immaculate horizon.
How is this vision foreseen?
By the grace of God's son.
Although it may be unseen,
I know my Uncle Lawrence lives there graciously.
Dedicated to My Uncle.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
Bum.Boom....Bum.Boom....Bum.Boom
The sounds of a drum beat resounding over me.
In her eyes I gaze and wonder of how deep I can go,
The essence of her eastern beauty inticed me.
Hair of black satin rests on her flesh,
The rasberry aroma takes me to a place of imagination.
The touch of her soft hands makes my body feel fresh,
As my mind travels with no limitation.
Bum.Boom..Bum.Boom..Bum.Boom
The sounds of the drum beats double time.
We sit connected through our souls,
Yearning to be one body, soul, and mind,
As we get closer our skin is no longer cold.
As we get lifted and taken to another place,
We leave behind a piece of our selves that we can never recover.
All I can do is stare at her angelic face,
It could never happen with another.
Bum.Boom....Bum.Boom....Bum.Boom
I listen as the sound falls back.
The bliss after the storm is amazing,
As the air is filled with I do's and our souls made contact.
Lovers eyes wild and gazing.
Vows were made not to be broken,
Our love has been cemented.
No evil words to be spoken,
Because to each other we were commited.
Bum..Boom.........Bum..Boom........Bum..Boom
The sound of the drum gets weaker.
Complaceny sets in between the two souls.
Those sweet somethings become bitter,
As the arguments and fighting take toll.
Killing off what God created for his glory,
The two souls forgot about each other.
This once upon a time love story,
Has become a mystery novel that i have yet to discover.
Bum....Boom......................Bum.........Boom
The sounds are far apart and few.
How can this be happening to the firey souls?
Another came in when our fire had no blue.
It was no more than just a flicker as the breeze blows.
Her heartless act has taken apart of me,
Leaving me questioning loves existence.
Why can't our love sustain we,
Through this even a chance isn't givin to persistence.
Bum.........................................Boom
The sounds stop at an abrupt end.
As the sounds stop so does a life,
With no return in sight it can never resend,
All the darkness she left behind brings forth no light.
As my soul looks forward to my dreams,
She can't have them.
They shed light even if it is as dark as it seems,
A new life will begin.
BumBoom. BumBoom. BumBoom.
The sound acts as though it has been resuscitated.
Who is she?
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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Paul Easter Poem
To understand these feelings I have is to hurt,
It tears at me like a knife of an enemy.
The wanting of your heart since my eyes glanced upon you first,
This is not how it is supposed to be.
I shouldn't have to live in fantasy because what I feel is real,
Real enough that I feel you breathing when your near.
Your touch has left my mind body and spirit at a stand still,
Paralyzed but yet still wanting and seeing clear.
If only I didn't have too act as though I don't feel you,
My soul wouldn't be in such a state of confusion.
I could help release things that dwell within you,
Those things that has given you disillusions.
This pain is a product of wanting,
Something that is beautiful and rare.
Leaving my emotions craving,
Your intelect and that enchanting stare.
Even if God gave me the world and all that's within it,
I wouldn't give it to you because there is nothing in it that can even compare.
Copyright © Paul Easter | Year Posted 2009
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