Best Consent To Poems
joyful song filled my heart
courtesy of our family’s music man
even after mother passed
Dad was still strong and healthy
lived to a ripe old age
giving consent to unplug the respirator
three siblings cried together
that joyful song
Dad’s clarinet and sax
now heard only by the angels
silence dwells within me now
time passes, but the musical void hits hard
life has never been the same
after Dad
after death
AD joined the cherub band
twinkling with rhythms of Big Band era songs
heaven’s stars mark the path to his glory
AD stands for "After Dad"
I am aware of the dangers of being judgmental
When it comes to the so-called celebrity “faith leaders”
However, calling them out, in my opinion, is elemental.
I cannot understand how they can bathe themselves in luxury
Talking about the lowly Jesus and his teachings
At the same time, milking those living in abject poverty.
While most of the world’s population are hungry and cold
These perfect examples of hypocrisy and opulent greed
With novel political connections become increasingly bold.
Television evangelists have access to the homes of the masses
Selling listeners worthless, blessed doodads and trinkets
Under the laws for religious exemption, avoid paying taxes.
Astonishing statistics revealing some of their astonishing worth
Make me question whether some of these “preachers”
Would consent to their own life-changing regenerative rebirth.
Their finances come from those least able to contribute
Whose hard-earned money winds up in their deep pockets
But this, you can be certain, they will hasten to dispute.
One of these evangelists is said to be worth over $40 million
Travels in his own airplane, preaches a prosperity gospel
His palatial home (he owns two!) is worth over $10.5 million.
The richest “man of God” I will not name--might get sued,
But, it is said he is worth over $300 million dollars,
Flies in his three private jet planes, sometimes comes unglued.
Beware, beware the nefarious dealings of these rich hypocrites
Whose nebulous prophesies over time have never come true
They will surely be held accountable for their media-age blitz.
Written March 27, 2021
Pride and prejudice has been ripped from me,
and my strength has abandoned me,
yet my will still crashes against the
breach within.
My citadel a long forgotten fortitude
left to rot and decay.
As my soul seeks refuge in other hosts
to take and mingle while balancing
my mental ballast before it erupts.
With guilt peeking in on me
to remind me i'm still in debt.
While my Autumn years have yet to arrive,
I feel vandalized,sterilized,and alone.
The very root system of my essence
has retracted the twilight of my descent
is not as dark as one would imagine,and
yet I am still a minor in time and
I can not consent to my downfall.
Young man sitting next to me
on the grass,
I asked him,
If I am depressed can you help me?
I heard his voice,
I will expect you to feel alive
never look back
go on with your life
I'll bring you back home
and will never leave
you alone.
When I am chilly young man?
will you cover me
with your coat
protect me from thunder
and rain?
I will carry you under the tree
shield you till the sunrises.
Young man, I lost everything
and I am trying to survive,
will you help me?
I will reason with you
as some things in life are made
not to last forever.
Young man if I am crying
as I live daily only
as an image
walking dead as a tool
which makes me feel
like a fool?
I will wipe your tears
embrace you,
search for a way to please you
and make you proud
of who you are.
Young man if I need a friend
how will you help me?
I will befriend you forever,
lean towards sharing,
consent to create a harmonious
lovable atmosphere
till you sense never
be solo again.
Young man if I want to kill myself
as my injuries can never heal
it's my soul's wounds
what will you do?
I will forbid you to do that,
but enforce you to predict
your happiness
use your vigor to promote
your emotions
steal success
and throw away failure.
Acknowledge your age
to improvise
what is best for you,
as looking backwards
can have an impact
on your life.
Young man,
I need my children
I live in agony
an era that seems seamless
without them.
Inform them to grab me away
as my heart is heartless
unstable.
Beg them to stand by
to pick up the broken pieces
before it is irreparable.
Will you do that for me
young man?
Yes, I guarantee
they will rescue you
before dawn.
My friend young man
get me off the grass,
walk me to the bank,
please.
Arrived at the bank
holding his hand
she asked the teller
to bring out her
last 20$.
This is for you
to thank you for sitting
on the grass with me.
Young man
your image will be engraved
in my heart,
forever.
Therese Bacha
17/3/2018
We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Living in the Middle
Rules of life restrict us from infancy.
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson,
a cynosural guide to success, an urge to forget
those practices made to thwart happiness.
Spare spending habits, avoiding the seven deadly sins,
passages, and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Until, true love, that mystic carriage to what may be;
the chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery.
The inevitable enduring of drudge before we fly.
We are living in the middle, you and I.
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings.
What if we had never met? If our paths had never
intersected or, if they did, we failed to connect.
Missed the perfect moment when the sky was right
to usher in romance, the laws of allurement
that shaped 'Plaisir d'amor' in magical renderings.
The ardent awareness of simpler things;
Brilliant colors, ambrosial kisses and heavenly perfumes.
The harmony of mutual understandings
between butterfly beginnings-ethereal endings.
The eager phase of dreams, of promises made,
getting used to things- some expected, some not.
then the arduous art of forgiving.
Our consent to cherish common objectives.
Was it happenstance our love succeeded - or was it
Because we overlooked each other's flaws-
What we expected in the moment?
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord;
that a chance encounter could be the cause.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we rèad.
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years,
standing fast against misfortunes we emerged,
shaped by caring and forbearing hearts.
Refusing to imagine life devoid of one another,
fighting new adversity with every sinew.
Nothing earthly, or in heaven, can measure
this small eternity we have made ourselves.
No matter how circumstance may try to spin you,
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Suzanne Delaney
A Glosa
Poor ol’ Pyrrho, he’s the hero
Of my somber poetry:
Couldn’t figure how to pick your
Core beliefs with certainty.
Bold Descartes, he got the party
Started with his Cogito.
Up popped Pyrrho (what a zero!),
Said to think is not to know.
Next, John Locke, he tried his luck; he
Claimed true knowledge must appear
By consensus of the senses,
But just how, he wasn’t clear.
David Hume, an ornery human,
Stripped Sir Science of support.
Just one reason he could seize on:
Custom is our sheer resort.
Kant, the strange one, said, now hang on;
For what’s really real don’t fuss:
Be content to just consent to
What our minds make real to us.
Lastly, Hegel scored a bagel
With his dialectic ways:
Synthesizing’s just surmising
When you have no solid base.
Oh, bewail their learned failure
To make absolutely sure
Of the theories man can fear he’s
Welcomed with a false allure!
As for poor ol’ Pyrrho’s moral,
Which I think we should applaud:
Don’t be blurtin’ that you’re certain—
You are just a man, not God.
Auguste Blanqui was correct to assert
"Revolutionaries aren't born, they are made"
They're being made everyday, but Sunday,
At the hands of a corrupt State,
One they've tirelessly helped to create
- If we are to become its product
What then can be expected of change?
In a world full of self-made victims
Responsible for their own problems
- Brutality, usury,
indoctrination and assimilation:
The end results of our inaction!
Don't tell me about the problems
Try explaining how you never saw this coming!
Complain about the times
And I will come to remind,
time and time again:
"You have no one but yourself
to shower with your blame;
For being seduced by the corrupting ways
of an inhuman system
by subjugating yourself
with the oath of a vote to its authoritarian state."
- And them right there is "fightin' words" in a "civilized world!"
Don't bemoan about the awful smell
After building your own jail cell;
Otherwise,
Don't tell me:
"If you don't vote don't complain."
- Because these two things
are very much the same...
The night moon bows to sheer degree
Passing through an arching tree
Branches together shape a breach
Form a portico - it to reach
A precisely finished border
Drifted in natural order
Light bulb sans elongated stem
An hourglass made to diadem
I had been waiting for hours
The night too for its fine flowers
And for the essence each distends
Natural stage the arch portends
Lilac scent and other delights
Often touch on soft breezy nights
Their creation so appeasing
Affect comfortably pleasing
Never to see I must append
When next falls’ moon makes its bend
The trees swell in each later year
Cede consent to natural veer
Never there be a midnight call
The night the moon made this grand fall
Sit out no matter what they say
Watch and smell the revered archway
Today, finally, with:
Necessity,
Fate,
Destiny,
Karma and
Dharma,
Face to face I came
Who
All to me with great emphasis declared that
Their obedient child I ought to be
And
There was nothing, in my life I should ever,
Think, say or do, if first,
Their consent to me was not given!
Attentively and with great respect, their arguments, I heard
Making certain not to make any sound
But when, the courage in my heart, suddenly, I found
My voice I raised and daringly announced:
“Since your child I am then some of your powers in me you
Have invested
So as to do the things that you wish me, reality to make
Thus
Some sort of freedom I must possess, otherwise, I do not see
The reason into this life for which I was brought,
So
It seems to me that with you, I am a co-creator and as such
Have rights and responsibilities which you to me cannot deny
And the most sacred right of all is that of my FREEDOM which now,
With respect, I have from you to claim
For
My vocation to complete, as Providence expects from
Me to realize!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 November 2015
See me swinging in the Family Tree
I'm sure my eyes are filled with glee
Won't you climb up here with me
Just to know, what it is, I see
A Family, whose love is free
And listens, to my every plea
They'll help you out, then drink Iced Tea
But, they are the Breathe of Life in me
Up here, sheltered in its lee
We're protected and loved, to all degree
Sometimes, it just might get windy
But, we'll climb up and just sightsee
So please, my dove, come nest with me
Life without you, cannot be
So, I hope, you will agree
When I say " I'll spend life with thee."
If you will consent, to marry me
I'll go running, for that old church key
Maybe kids, in time, we'll see
Just swaying and loving in Our Family Tree
Tell me what kind of abstract real thoughts do you think
Bounce around in girl's heads, and belonging to gals,
What's the one heard most often by guys?
There’s no chance it’s “I love you!” for sure,
Or “Have you seen my purse”
Or “Did you take a bath?”
Could it ever get worse?
Smelling good is life’s meaning for them,
When a man’s coming home from the gym,
We’re quite proud of the way that we stink!
Would she ever consent to go with you to shrink?
And what woman is happy with just being pals?
To suggest this would surely get rise
For mere friendship can never endure.
“Tell me how does this look”
(Extra points if you care)
“Can you snap this last hook?”
Must not dare to leave clothes on the floor
Or she’ll blow up and show you the door,
Lucky now you’ve not bought her that mink!
And she always buys clothes with a nod and a wink
For a girl’s never lacking in good rationales
But while praising new dress to the skies,
You still get that she’s really unsure,
She’ll return it to store
And then what she still lacks,
From good friends, she’ll get more,
Though you see clothing hang from the stair,
It’s still true she has “nothing to wear.”
One example of girl double think!
Brian Johnston
March 20, 2016
"MY SONG OF SORROW"part 1'
I sing to you my song of sorrow
A song from my bittered-heart
To call your consent to solemn-meeting
Tears rolled down my face
Like when the sky is profusely-cryin g
I wailed till my very physical-eyes saw nothing
It was so great that I bathe inmy tears
Its just for you,
-You the children of end time!
In thy presence faith and church are dying
And the kingdom race is less-running
Those who stand among you to run are falling
-and those who hath fallen are dying
The more the heaven is getting near
The less you're striving to enter
O children of end time!
You seek after girl-friend & boy-friend
-till you're completely lost in lust
You clothe thyself with the garment of wickedness
You bring thy arrogance-shoul ders-up against your parents
I wailed for you,
-Only God knows if I would stop wailing
Your hair-style is like the hair of a goat
-when he arose in his anger
You kill the cities with the slangs of thy mouths
The slangs like ancient-incanta tions
All in the name of "swagger"
I blow for you now the flute of salvation
Because days, months and years are like an uprooted-flower
When sun-set, it withers
Repent now before you sleepbeneath the sand
As we begin a journey so uncertain,
you and I made one in a world of ours,
our thoughts and emotions to share,
our pleasant moments together to cherish,
and our pains and sorrows to endure.
I pledge my unflinching loyalty to you
this day, and for the rest of my life,
by taking an oath of fidelity to make
our uncertain journey certain.
I vow before you and God almighty,
to be there for you in times of need,
in times of want, in times of joy,
in times of bliss, and in times of despair.
I vow to nourish and to nurture your mortal body
and soul,
to share my infinite possessions with you,
and to bequeath them at death to you.
I solemnly promise to cast my hopeful sunbeam on you,
to cause your emotional eye fluid to dry in your moments
of grief.
Every thought of you gives me health,
and a minute with thee is truly a life time to remember.
Nothing else shall separate us both save death.
May heaven grant its consent to our eternal union.
From side to side;
the smile of the morning sun,
and the cool of the midnight moon,
amidst the sparky stars.
I grin like a Cheshire cat.
as I seat underneath Divinity’s love for the globe;
the Soft breezes blow from odorous meadows
I get filled up with
nostalgic memories,
Oh! the good old days.
my dark brown eyes,
the dark youthful skin,
my frizzy youthful hair.
Everything retreated from me.
Oh! the good sweet old days,
Am now ancient,
My never ending epistemophilia and
wish to give the young people optimism.
my adaptability be exhume,
and live among the folk.
Change cannot be paused,
it’s an automatic,
it needs not your consent to transpire.
Wreathed in smiles,
about my then and now;
I go to slumber like
a bird singing on the tree.
I’ve tasted of life’s sweet wine.
(This poem is dedicated to Beryl Singleton Bissell, whose book of this name
reveals her love affair and sometime contretemps with God. I thank her for
graciously consenting to a poetic adoption of her wonderful book title.
The poet makes no claim of representing her thoughts; these are his own.)
The Scent of God
To speak of deity
is automatic blasphemy
inside the gallery of man.
Here pontificates
the power beyond the stars,
who listens in when his
creation cries and sighs
and tactfully reminds him
of the plight of poor benighted
creatures on that speck of dust
that floats upon the milky way...
this grand old man between
the galaxies who loves and hates
according to the chirps
on planet earth...the triune spirit
who with cosmic skill unleashes
lightning on his enemies,
salvation on his friends,
and tomblike mystery to shroud
his everlasting court.
He is thought to come some day,
but in the interim, a sometime friend
who dwells quite far away for most of us
just sighs.......until
our eyes turn far off from the skies,
our cup is emptied of his blood,
and we consent to do the listening.
Thereupon, the tongue is bound,
the breath will bear Jerusalem
unbreathed, the senses yield but for
a single vapor on the air,
the everlasting mystery ineffable
and undefinable,
that is the scent of God.
~
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