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James Lusk Poem
Tell me not of True Love
I've heard it before
Poems I've written and read by the score
When I was younger I believed
in it, sought and fought for it
and found it, or so I thought.
Then came a child and a family of my own.
And now I know what is true of True Love.
My child his eyes all innocent and blue
a little devil with an angels smile.
I look into my families eyes now
and I know truths only imagined before.
My child knows nothing of life
but has taught me the truth of life and love.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2015
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James Lusk Poem
Born of pain and raised on discipline,
molded by the boundaries of the body.
Burned by the heat of passion,
hammered by the blows of rejection,
torn by the pull of jealousy.
How can one hold together?
In the heat of our body we smith our shame
and we temper our soul.
We put an edge on our joy and sharpen our pain.
With the fire of the moment,
feed by passion,
our bodies forge our future,
random fashion.
Logic streams away, like so much steam
and there are puddles of melted reason.
in the bodies forge leaving nothing
to cement the soul
and contain the passion.
So it flares again.
Attracted to each other by physical laws
beyond our control we interact
in an imperfect chemistry.
There is no relief from uncontrolled action
and the always unpredictable reaction.
But with patience and time the chemistry
becomes more perfect and less volatile.
You learn that passion can be contained and
that your body is more than vessel
that holds emotions and reactions.
Born of pain and raised on discipline,
molded by the boundaries of the body.
Burned by the heat of passion,
hammered by the blows of rejection,
torn by the pull of jealousy.
Cooled in time, reinforced with experience,
welded by will and fused by love,
we hold together.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2014
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James Lusk Poem
No rainbows to ride, no dreams to chase.
No songs in his heart, no love in his soul.
Lost in a future without an end.
without purpose, care or a friend.
An aimless heart, a lonely soul, unwilling
to reach or start, unwilling to pay the toll.
Passion restrained in avoidance of pain.
No cause to fight, no blood to stain.
No love to find, no love to lose.
No questions to ask, no reasons to choose.
Feelings felt with no glory, in a second-hand way,
through his digital story.
Will he ever feel anything, will he ever touch anyone.
Will he risk the sting, will he stop the run.
His life felled with lonely dreams,
of beautiful brave scenes,
seen not by you nor by me
the only he knows hepatic.
Feelings felt without glory
or passion in that second-hand way.
If he could only see his own sad and empty story.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2014
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James Lusk Poem
The job is done.
Then why am I here.
Doing time for mans crime.
Paying homage to time.
Man once only knew the sunrise and the sunset.
The passing of the seasons was just a joyous celebration.
We did not know chaos ruled our lives.
We had no time; we only knew we were alive.
Out of this came a new reality.
Man discovered servility.
He invented numbers to count his flock.
He invented the calendar to know when to plant his crop.
And to know when to prey he invented the all powerful clock.
Who know we’d end up worshiping it instead.
Now with time organized we thought we had it.
But we still don’t know what it really is.
For the crime of nurturing civilization.
Man is now a prisoner of his own emancipation.
In this modern fast moving age.
We are free in many ways.
But in our structured cage.
We pass our numbered days.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2014
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James Lusk Poem
Opposition is the essence of extremes
Love, Hate
Without one the other loses meaning.
But Extremes defy boundaries
Pleasure, Pain
Where does one stop and the other begin?
Relativity loses its fragile meaning without extremes.
Life, Death.
Dieing young, Living Beyond your time.
Extremes lead each to the other without attracting each other
Creation, Destruction.
There is nothing without extremes.
Yet real extremes themselves do not exist.
Infinity, Nothing.
Our being lies somewhere in the between of extremes.
God, Reality.
Our soul is described by Extremes?
Peaceful, Tormented
Remembered, Forgotten.
Blessed, Damned.
Our spirit is defined by Extremes?
Boundless, One
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2015
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James Lusk Poem
I look to my love and to the future,
both coming closer with every thought.
I look to the future that I know like a prophet
with a love that I understand and worship.
I look to a time when.;..
we are lost in each other, and found in us,.
speechless we communicate, mindless we love.
I look to a time when.
age has mellowed our temper and we bend to each other,
weaving a sculpture of love.
Getting closer.
As for now we are still young and unsure,
in love and insecure, bold and impure.
Yet getting closer.
Closer not just to each other, but closer still
to the truth in our spirits and to the purpose in our bodies.
Getting closer still.
Age is our ally, time our enemy, life's our battle,
innocents the casualty, and peace our reward in our
struggle to be closer still.
In the forge of love, temper burns and wills collide
but if we learn to bend we will survive.
And we get closer still.
Fate may pull us away or it may push us closer,
but if we flow with it, I feel that it will shape us
to be closer still.
In our struggle, what is the goal, and what is the measurement?
Our goal is boundless, and love is the measure of which
infinity is but a small increment.
Yet we get closer still.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2014
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James Lusk Poem
One
Word
Builds on
another and
still yet others
till a mountain of
words form a reality
and a state of mentality.
Paragraphs of pointed potentials
Climbing the slope of fundamentals.
The top only lets you see where you are.
Maybe where you came from and where your going.
but who knows of the foot or still deeper the mountains soul.
Digging under the surface, studying the foundation
Looking at each word within its context.
A dark and sometimes cold task.
Feeling the texture between
the words and lines.
We understand
the root
shows
why
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2014
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James Lusk Poem
She looks so peaceful, sleep.
The room is dark, unknown.
Her eyes closed, visions.
The bed is soft, floating.
Her hands empty, alone.
The drugs keep the peace, relief,
Her mind allowed to wonder, confused
The time is slowed, meaningless
Her body at the edge, tired
The air is still, calm.
Her spirit is proceeding, patients.
The faith solid, proud.
She as spirit and faith, a comfort to me and her, I am sure.
I see her peace is shattered.
The room is dark, foreboding.
Her eyes opened, reality
The bed is hard, pulling.
Her hands clinched, pain.
The drugs are weakening, panic.
Her mind focused, misery.
The time is coming, fear.
Her body is tortured, alive
The air is fouled, agitated.
Her spirit is braking, trepidation.
The faith shaking, ashamed.
I must act, again.
The room must be lit
The bed must be cleaned.
The drugs must be administered.
The time must be counted.
The air must be freshened.
The faith must be renewed
I prey for her spirit.
I massage her body
I entertain her mind
I hold her hands.
I look into her eyes.
And the peace returns.
She looks so peaceful.
The room is dark.
Her eyes closed.
The bed is clean.
Her hands are in mine.
The drugs keep the peace.
Her mind wonders.
The time is past.
Her body at rest.
The air is a haze.
Her spirit is away.
The faith must remian.
She as spirit and faith, that is a great comfort to us, all.
Copyright © James Lusk | Year Posted 2015
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