The long-drawn-out throb of my core,
Mounting up my red lane,
It is so cold, my eyes are all sore
My atonements have been in bane,
One swell of solecism
Exonerating mine deeds unfeasible to deem,
My soul cries to death
My beautiful dreams drifted.
Written: June 26, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The sun is alive, and all creatures are awake.
Even the green leaves seem to be breathing.
And the air is crisp, cool, and pure for our sake.
Little black and gray birds sit on the bushes, chirping.
Their melodies cloy the morning air and sway.
As if to say, "Wake up, embrace the day!"
The squirrels are ambivalent, demanding nuts.
Their playful antics bestow smiles our way with no cuts
The earth straight off is alive and restored.
With the vibrancy of life pulsating through its core.
And out of respect for this day,
I will not turn on the TV or listen to what they say.
To the horrors that man has brought upon himself.
For today, I need what the earth has on the shelf.
A golden yellow morning, with dwarf leaves quivering,
As fresh air wafts through the house, my soul is glittering.
To be present at this moment,
To let climb of worries and atonements
To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin,
And let it cram me with pure joy within.
*Image of Sun by A Shared Soul.
The Fifth of July
(Pondering A Newness)
A gold sovereign wakes, dimly rises
afar, a relic of sorts once revered the
world round, except occasions when
a quondam ebbs loyalty, ergo, limbo.
Exchanging trenches, a vanguard of
patriots images shrugging dust off
their palls trudging a field of honor,
swapping expressions, ubiquitously.
The vestiges of DC prolix amidst ere
night euphoria, wane. Atonements
for our liberties are owed. A grateful
nation solemnizes.
2021 August 29
*1st Place*
A BRIAN STRAND 1092
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 20
Who remembers subway token,
Nickel, penny, silver dollar
Man who wrote his inuner story
Was he stranger to the glory?
Moonlight dust and darkness blurry
Lipstick lost its cherry color
Love transformed into tradition
Havoc mirrors intuition.
Acts of God correct translation
Means the end to Man adventure
Covid 19 - earthquake horror
Did we spend the time we borrowed?
Rap - stupidity atonements
Blood in movies, rivers, oceans
Faceless global politicians
Brave new order and ambitions.
Hitler, Lenin, “Che” Guevara
Souls are dead, screams in Nirvana
Lovely breakfast in Savannah
Times are eaten by Giraffe.
Fossils feed the intuition
Vicious lies in schools by teachers
Wearing condom on banana
Mimic intercourse for children.
Activists are all united
Feminists scream in excitement
By the laws they introducing
Common trend of current season.
No one is asking questions
No one is giving answers
No one is charged with treason
No one escapes from prison.
Who requires subway token,
Nickel, penny, silver dollar?
Man forgot his inner story
He prefers the slang of color.
4.2013 - 3.2020
On this loft I place my head.
Lost in thought and deep in heart.
Not of a thing for glorification
But that which has gone
Beyond spirituality itself.
Despite all atonements made
To appeased the gods of the earth.
Even medications are in thousands.
Everyone still maintain its status quo.
Can this be a sickness or brain drained?
Of this I'm lost in clue.
What have you got to do with me this weakness?
I need you not.
For one who has the key
To unlock all things has won my heart.
Through his stripe my healing is sure
You have no right to make me the second Jabez.
© Olorunleke olorode
My heart is overwhelmed with the burden of what is to come.
Death or life non can declare,
For our hands are tight in that which we love doing.
I'm in regret for creating man,
The declaration of the creator in reaction to our acts.
Daily atonements is disgust to his smell,
Making a need for a supper atonement to be made.
Who can go to the world and die for its sin?
And here comes the lamb to say here I am send me.
From a virgin our redemption arrived,
Not like ours that's tested and certified before the bliss.
For unto us a child is born.
... And his name shall be Emmanuel.
Hmmm,
Many his birth they wanted from the crown,
While through the meager the joy of the world appeared.
With the smile of the stars the wise visited with gifts,
Not in our days that charity is clone.
This our hearts yearly merry for the birth of the lamb,
Yet we are lust in the merry to forget the aim of his birth.
Christ the saviour is born,
Christ the saviour is born!
Let no man take for granted,
the next man’s patience.
In next man’s heart resides
the blade, golden like furnace
To burn to hell, in vengeance,
in atonements of patience,
once taken for granted
It is such a lovely thing.
Through rain and sun it will bring.
Though mildly sad when they cling.
Cling to the lost.
Deny the cost.
Sadness over what it caused.
It is a lovely thing.
Oh it is such a lovely thing.
Is that the way to hear them sing?
Abducted
Imprisoned.
Slain and cried in vain.
Like it will force the feeling of shame?
For some it is all the same.
It is a lovely thing.
To hear the wails in full swing.
For I am now their king.
Then they die.
It is with a great sigh.
They are ended thereby.
Abducted.
Imprisoned.
It is those briefest moments.
They cry for atonements.
They plead for postponements.
But the power is mine over them.
The mercy is mine to deny.
Before I make their loved ones cry.
Before I kill, and then pass on by.
I remember places
Sunny places
On a road that never
Seemed to end
A long lost story
A radio glory
That was without
End.
And I sit and sigh, again.
Sharp remembrances
Long lost chances
A day when I could
Have held your
Hand.
And I sit and laugh, again.
The beer fills my nose
Outside the grass still grows
And on my darling
And on our lives will just go.
They will blow
Lost away
In the the sand.
I remember faces
Black and white faces
Deep with the pallor
Of the land.
Magical moments
Private atonements
Candles burnt
In the wind.
And I'll sit and sigh, again.
I look in the mirror,
I gaze at my eyes and see my soul,
No longer a pure shimmery white light I once had as a child,
Now it is stained with red ink,
Absorb inside my skin,
Like water soaking into the earth,
Not even my atonements can wash away the blood.
So now my soul stays poisoned,
With the evil destruction of my past,
And the beautiful white moon I once had,
Has disappeared, Tainted the black holes of sin,
Though light overcomes darkness,
I still see the discolor of my soul,
And the infinity of its presence,
Lurking in the dark, like a bat in a cave,
So now I stay longing for the once untouched purity of my soul,
That has now vanished without a trace of a memoir...........
Not even the shadow of its massive brick walls
Stands sentinel over the place where Ur once stood;
Gone the sound of trumpets in the banqueting halls,
Long decayed the temples framed in fragrant woods.
Its proud people, among the first of our race
To gather together to build a city
Held this earth itself a sacred place
Where they prayed to their gods for succor and pity.
By night the moon, by day the sun
Gods both, smiled down upon their fertile land.
The festivals of seasons passed, one by one
Atonements offered, exploits planned.
Now Enlil alone, god of the Winds
Holds court amid acres of broken stones.
As Ur's glory fades. its memory dims,
As scholars pick over the last of its bones.