Bound so tight with your silken love
tends to excite that wild beast within.
The dark of a crow and light of a dove.
This collaboration I’m eager to begin,
you leave me breathless and sweating.
I fall hard for that overtly masculine grin.
Your wet growl leaves me anticipating,
it echoes the tempo that haunts me.
Don’t say this is a game we’re playing.
Our version of forte hanky-panky,
you can’t cover this song acoustically.
It is prophesied that
“Wisdom dwells
In contemplation;
There we must seek her...”
After contemplating a lesson I heard,
I now realize that there is something
That may be called Churchtianiry, and
There is what is known as Christianity:-
Now the first has its focus on what’s called
DINO;
While the other has its focus on what is known as
SHBISTO:-
Acoustically Speaking:
Disciple
In
Name
Only…
&
Serving
Him
Being
In
Service
To
Others…
The DINO’s emphasis is on those who are;
The SHBISTO emphasis is on whose they are:-
Contemplatively:
Be not who you and others think you ought to be;
Rather, be who and whose you know you are:
We are here to love as He loved us as His friends;
We are not here to be in love with only that name
We think we are:
Following the crucifixion and the resurrection, the 12
Had to become whose they were:-
It is prophesied that
“Wisdom dwells
In contemplation;
There we must seek her...”
After contemplating a lesson I heard,
I now realize that there is something
That may be called Churchtianiry, and
There is what is known as Christianity:-
Now the first has its focus on what’s called
DINO;
While the other has its focus on what is known as
SHBISTO:-
Acoustically Speaking:
Disciple
In
Name
Only…
Serving
Him
Being
In
Service
To
Others…
The DINO’s emphasis is on those who are;
The SHBISTO emphasis is on whose they are:-
Contemplatively:
Be not who you and others think you ought to be;
Rather, be who and whose you know you are:
We are here to love as He loved us as His friends;
We are not here to be in love with only that name
We think we are:
Following the crucifixion and the resurrection, the 12
Had to become whose:-
Newport 1965
(Or Dylan Goes Electric)
This was the dream concert
folk was at its peak
Pete Seeger, Joan Baez,
Odetta, Peter, Paul and Mary
Bill Monroe, Johnny Cash,
Gordon Lightfoot, Ian and Sylvia
But the prize, the dream was
to see Dylan play Blowin’ In the Wind
acoustically.
The folkie purists were shocked,
the dream had died.
Dylan played Maggie’s Farm with an
electric guitar and their world came
to an end.
Some languages are fluently translatable
but only by how the mouth
utters and shapes them,
they are too musical to be not sung,
like Gaelic; it was my mother’s tongue
and her grandmother’s elder tongue.
Romani is acoustically spell-binding,
Grandfather was a gypsy
horses naturally understood his voice;
it’s an Indo-Aryan root language
like Yiddish, a colloquial melodia
in Ashkenazi/Aramaic.
My own genetically challenged branch
of a familial tree of tongues
is half-Jewish – the wrong half.
These lips follow only English,
a language with too many roots,
its tongues are all blended into
a raucous silence.
There are many multilingual wounds
and they all bleed like dark treacle
out of a hide-bound dictionary.
I swear my world was frozen
When my confidence was stolen.
I swear My vocal pipes were broken
While my purpose was offloading,
And painful it was,
that I was just watching
When everything was fading
But I did nothing.
Course I felt powerless.
But a second chance life gave me
And I used it.
I used situations as a motivation,
For restoration.
Flashbacks!!!
When the storm hit my garden,
When running to my darkest room has been an option
Locking the door and thinking the worst,
That was depression.
But Positivity over ruled fortunately,
And in the midst you appeared fortunately,
And your story changed mine
And I know mine changed yours.
You came in Acoustically and not abysmally
You appeared angelically and not dramatically,
And basically, you are the one
Who pragmatically gave my life a hymn
And I feel, that is why my soul
Is literally linked to yours.
(Dawn Chorus)
It was in Africa
that I learned to sing my love the loudest
and in the dawn of the Chorus,
Black love communicates acoustically.
Even if the day breaks,
it serenades all territories.
Feathered friends in the neighborhood
can only be heard by planting a tree.
He nests on my spots.
Black leaves harvest seeds
and rustling branches
have a deep aesthetic.
Rootly singing...
Sometimes melancholic
with rhythms so pleasant,
living outside a fractured moment.
{XM}
Unpublished, 2019
Audible
sounds
swimming
throughout
smoothness
...moving
dripping
refractions
bouncing
off lies
contrived
...propogation
volitionally
absorbing
waves
tinkering
acousticly
drumming
pathways
hearing
resounding
why's...
compliantly
audible
sounds
reflecting
losses...
hearing
outside
lines...
unbroken
mining...
slipping
under
surfaces
...muffing
reality
beating
...flooding
...drowning
...undermining
wavelike
reverbeating
liveliness
...surfacing
beneath
audibly
sounding
rhyming
...timing
broken
acoustically
lying
Dare your undesirable escape of emotion
Cease your glances of reverse direction
Our entities are of unison
Undeniable is the connection
Unfathomable, how strenuous it’s to imagine
Experience past and future, mirrored reflection
Accept my ubiquity within all your oxygen
Preordained configured via resurrection
When lost is luminosity
Flourishes your curiosity
Life proceeds at such velocity
Engulf you in insecurity
Feelings that couldn’t possibly
Have an immunity to eternity
Stunning is their multiplicity
Heard though worded inaudibly
Never shall you be forsaken
Nor left in your internal dungeon
Permit your defenses to soften
Grant this fruit chance to ripen
Memories of eons to awaken
Realize this is not mistaken
This genuine fortune
Has fate as the guardian
Lifetime of continuity
Overtakes us both implausibly
Consuming with such ferocity
Wishing for simplicity
Under neither’s authority
Though feelings of reciprocity
Serenade us acoustically
Yet expression isolated to poetry
through the vein of an old song
the antique gathered speed
sputtering and spitting rust
halos of smoke
engine overheating,
stranded in desperate city
cinderblock people are freaky
the song lay dead
outside the vein...
acoustically speaking
I'm tainted-
I SEE THE WAY I FEEL INSIDE,
LOCKED AWAY BEHIND ALL MY LIES.
I HEAR THE WORDS BEHIND MY
BACK, TRUTHFULLY IT'S ACOUSTICALLY
SAD.
WHEN THE CHORDS ARE PLAYED,
THERE'S A MELODIC HAUNTING IN MY MIND!
LOST INSIDE; THE ENDEAVOR IS BLIND.
STAR-GAZING BRINGS THE TUNES TO A
HIGH, PEOPLE WATCHING TAKES ME TO A
LOW.
BOXED IN THE WAY I FEEL;
MY PANIC BECOMES MANIC, I JUST
NEED A WAY TO DEAL.
STRAWBERRY GASHES IN PEACH-COLORED
FIELDS, HELPS TO DEFINE HOW IT IS
AND WHAT I TRULY FEEL.
FORGIVENESS SOUNDS GOUND, BUT
I KNOW I WON'T FORGET. JUST
LIKE A GREAT POEM OR SONNET THESE
SCARS ARE MY COMMITTMENT.
SO AS I SHALL FADE TO NOTHINGNESS
NOW; I GIVE YOU THESE WORDS TO
CHERISH - DEATH BECOMES MY WEDDING VOW.