Being Poems - Poems about Being

By being true to yourself, your power emerges, your love grows, your light is revealed, your purity unfolds ...

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To list all of Betty White’s accomplishments, besides The Golden Girls, I’d have to write a book. I’m thrilled that now, for just seventy-three cents, I can place her image on an envelope. Take a look! (Notes) Every blond hair is perfectly in place. As always, she wears a genuine smile. A hint of mischief graces her...

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TO BEING OF ONE ACCORD Let us not sow discord, rather, let’s sow onederful, oneness, onement: Reaping divine wisdom, and guidance, from the Holy One. ...

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To those who should have heard my plea— I write not bitter, but silently. In shadows where the messages fade, I found myself in silence laid. It started with a hopeful thread, A truth that whispered, softly said, To stir the waters, call a friend— But stillness echoed to no end. No ripples came, no words replied, Just empty space where trust had died. “You...

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Q Because of my relentless and persistent 'wool gathering' were Satan's demons actively plotting 'to put me out commission due to my willful acts of disobedience? A Yes Q Did God reveal their plan to my home-care worker and did she reveal them ...

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Being happy scares me. The thought that at any moment something can just wipe it all away. So happiness has always been a playmate I never invited over when playing Red Rover. It’s always been this thing that was a stop sign away. The sun is high but too far to brighten my...

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Whew ~ I'm all tuckered out from doing my day-to-day spellcasting business, conjuring this and conjuring that, bewitching this and bewitching that, I hate to say it but I'm not the young enchantress I used to be. It's time for a break and have some brew ~ what I need next is to summon my charming warlock to make me feel those long...

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Being in the mix of being Mixed It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown. The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me. Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence...

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Imagine this An empty chair And opposite Another there You choose to sit You have a choice No movement. No whisper. Just silent voice You wait a while You close your eyes To calm the spinning.. Break bonds. Break ties Pretty soon You're feeling seen Such clarity Not like a dream Sat in the dark Creative light Invades your soul Joyful and bright The shadows Are no longer there No doubt or shame Just love and care Everything...

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Love being lost My tears merge with the storm The cool rain is making me sweat Don't want to be found Nobody is wondering Love being lost So enjoy the quiet vibe of being invisible So much of so many that I so miss Don't want to be found The mirrors go black in solidified hibernation Love being lost The apples receive scars from...

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AFTER WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI 1988 TO 1989 OPERATION INTO CORRUPT OFFICERS SELLING DRUGS CATRINA BELLS CLIFFORD JONES DRUG CARTEL SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND ARLINGTON HEIGHTS ILLINOIS NEEDED TO GET OFFICERS WALTER BARNETT OF BUMPIN AUDIOS CITY LIGHTS LOUNGE I TOLD PAULA THIS WAS TOO DANGEROUS FOR ME BY GODS GRACE SPECIAL AGENT...

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A quiet child with far-off eyes, Whispers numbers in the skies— The world outside may seem unclear, But inner stars are bright and near. He hums a song no one has taught, He draws from wells the world forgot, A thousand keys within one hand, Unlocking seas, unspoken land. She counts the birds before they land, She knows the shape of every strand Of wind...

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we are the all let bliss squalls rise God calls; listen...

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No! Nobody forgets you. They just remember themselves more. It’s not hate, not truly. It’s the noise of their lives that drowns out the quiet of yours. They don’t sit around thinking of you. Not because you don’t matter, but because their minds are crowded with unpaid bills, unfinished dreams, and mirrors that lie to them, too. Nobody misses a poor person. Not out loud. Not where it counts. Because poverty makes...

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I'm sorry for being black I'm sorry I ever cared Every moment Every smile Was pity Why be ashamed? When I'm just me Standards on standards to fit Expectations to meet People to please Now I am ashamed Ashamed that I could not fit and distort my true self for others Eight years old, on a staircase, trying to scrape off my complexion Maybe if I was not...

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