Best Meagerly Poems
I don’t know what you might have heard,
But I love God because He is the word.
Through His words the world was created,
And if only meagerly here’s how we’re related.
I use words to create each and every day,
And I feel that I’m closer to God in this way.
The words that I choose whenever I write,
He sends to me to deliver His light.
It’s words I’ll use to praise His name,
And words he’ll send to play this game.
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4 In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome[a] it.
No Particle Theory can ever be Unified –
for there is always the space between...the
unknown that separates while binds us
in a matrix of primitive wonder. Dark
Matter is only dark to those accustomed to one
light...for those whose eyes adjust to the
thin horizons of others who have passed
before them – and not the endless expanse within,
the heart and soul of a boundless Universe. So,
we slowly peel-back our outer layers, those of
earth and moon, the illumining stars, limiting
skins of meagerly defined senses. Without God
there is only Science...
hopping from one physical rock to the other, skimming
over the depth of spaces,
stepping cautiously into shallow pools
as yet to explore the unimaginable realms
of a far greater Spiritual Sea.
(More Context)
We are observers...consciousness existing
in an elevated dimension of reality. Difficult
to imagine, yet our thoughts are entirely
separate from our physical senses and their
body sources; we truly, not figuratively,
look in or down upon the many instances
and vehicles of manifest substance.
There can only be
one Unified Theory: it must be a Continuity Theory,
where separation is merely an elaborate illusion:
In fact, all we see and seem are Wave effects
propagated through a flexible yet solid dimension,
driven by vibrations or shivers (so to speak) –
Waves collide, and those peaks or points
of collision become our physical reality –
these are the pixels our eyes and minds interpret
and assemble in the likeness of recalled
references, desires and predilections – We look down,
look in, look out, but always from positions independent
of the objects of our inquiry. Mind, Consciousness
is entirely independent of the physical. This
explains the phenomenon of Savants. Our
brains are not developing receptacles of
knowledge – but, in fact, developing
gateways. Who we are, where we come
from, and how long we live progresses
far outside our experiences of birth and
death.
These chains of deceit that bind me to this hardwood seat.
I bend and break the bars that confine, but they remain, like the haughty, jagged grin of an eroded skull.
Such good times as these are even visited by dark slips of the gut from thoughts of tortures past.
It was a massive structure, swathed in a meagerly regal indigo, lined in placid silver.
In this place I did not cry of neglect. I was no dark horse, puffing promises of vengeance
for the cruelty and nonchalance of my lords.
They catered to me well, forever willing to stir into my cauldron their own lazily construed dogmas.
But O, so long as I gazed upon the faces of my peers, eyes starried with anticipation of knowledge
and fantastic visions of other world intrigue, I could not lead the expected life of indifference. Intrigue
of the kind that I confusedly examined, reaching deep into the dark, conceptual pit of the unknown, and unproven.
Exhausted, I came to my knees, deep in the cave, to rest, to wait for all the promised realities to reveal themselves.
I waited so very long for such things. Drew and blew irreplaceable breaths
awaiting the truth of falsehood to at last burst forth, at the final moment, to redeem itself.
I found her in the forest,
the photosynthetic pigments,
the cleaved sunbeams between the trees.
I found her among the leaves,
in the ovate, the lanceolate,
the smooth, serrated, and lobed edges.
I found her in the gleeful toddlers,
the searching, jubilant preschoolers,
the wonderstruck, young ones.
So many ways, I felt her presence
on my journey,
I longed to acquire her wisdom,
but the acuity of her heart eluded me.
Soon, I came to a parable etched in rock.
A mother risks all for her child, it said.
In this way, your heart must be measureless.
Continuing my pilgrimage after hours,
I entered fabled buildings, abandoned shells.
In the sprawled graffiti, I saw these words:
Hate never finishes hate. Only love fantastic
holds this genius.
Even as I saw the truth of her words,
I studied my hands and felt meagerly human.
I continued my wayfare, many miles until daybreak.
I came to a river crossing, a place of becoming.
I discovered the next precept in river silt and mud:
Self-love is the mud and clay for loving others, it said.
Then I awoke to what I was missing, and she appeared.
She floated glistening, bright, and blissful before me.
Shanti, Shanti, my name is Guanyin.
Her voice rang like a bell.
You can now cross the river to learn love transcendent!
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place - but England. Now.
The elements of the heavens above
Where the birds go swaying and dipping down
And the clouds mist their way along the sky
There the dark sky shrouds the moon with a gown
In awe I spread my arms just to accept
The nature of the clouds and the cool air
Beams of white light coming out from the moon
Adds to the serenity that’s out there
I hold out my hand to receive a drop
A drop of dew from the heavens above
Tenderly I kiss it and fill my soul
Makes me want to fly with the birds I love
The highest point of the sky before space
Is where I end up, looking at the stars
No other beauty compares to this trip
I slowly fall back amongst the briars
I live meagerly here on this vast Earth
Then I fly again amongst the great clouds
I often go see with the birds up high
Joyously live my days with all that’s proud
Russell Sivey
Two sons had equal
shares, younger squandered and lived
a lowly life, he returned
and begged forgiveness
father rejoiced with a feast
asked irked eldest, discernment
*As scriptured.
The younger son lived a flamboyant and wicked life and when he had lost all he had, he lived meagerly under a task masters whip, a pig's life. He knew he had wronged his father and went to him to beg forgiveness, but the father rejoiceth for he is alive and well. He ordered a big feast, much to the chagrin of the eldest brother who stayed and slaved under the father, irked that such a feast was never given him. His father begged the elder son to understand that his younger brother was lost to the world, but he was given back to us whole. Rejoice for your younger brother liveth.
Date: 06/23/2019
In this place I passed today
Were the many faces unknown to me
From the corner of my eye I spied
A man of strangest seemingly so out of place
He walked with his head drawn down as though he meagerly disgraced
Out of smiles sternly wearing a frown
He wears a long black coat with a candy cane scarf
A dark cowboy hat with a destination amongst the breezes
With his hands in his pocket hunting for keys
Plumes of dried street salt sailed into the air
All over the buildings and cars, all over his hair
Late winter days pass so slowly
Waiting for the endless borage of last minute snow
Cars coated with dirty city street grime
The harshness of this winter victims of time
And time as such will pass over this season
Bringing along the vernal equinox with a view far more pleasing
okay i have taken the bumpy road journey
i have paid for my bad and wrong everything and then some
i have watched, heard, and listened to other peoples' excitement
now it is my turn to feel the breeze of the payoff
i would love nothing more than to share it with you
for i am not the only one with scars, bruises, and lacerations on my life's sensitive skin
that being said, to hell with it all and let's go to the beach!
okay i have caught up on all my payments
i have eaten the ramen noodles, the lunch buckets, the vienna sausages, and the wal mart french bread
i have been told and i have been given every lame excuse as a complicated 'no'
now it is my turn to say a finalized 'yes' to myself
i would love nothing more than to experience it all with you
for i am not the only one that has eaten meagerly and went to sleep hungry for more
that being said, to hell with it all and let's go to the beach!
life is like a defiant, aggravating microorganism
it teases the timidity of time and takes full advantage
growing older within it all is like walking on a flat surface of balance beams
one wrong move and you are messed up....possibly for life
let us join hands and thank the Lord that we are still able-bodied and in good health and spirits
we are only growing older, so let's color the remainder with iridescently positive memories
shoot, it is up to us anyway which direction we go everyday
that being said, to hell with it all and let's continue to learn and grow in every way....
There is such a chill.
I’d make use of my flesh
as a heart warmer if only
it hadn’t withered to naught.
Bone protrusions meddle with
the rags of skin that remain
to drape about them.
I feel shame board off
the windows peering into
my mind.
What does one do with their rejected help?
Where does one go to hide from the
monsters of hopelessness?
Care tries to focus beyond the boards
into the depths of my answerless pupils.
I hear pain meagerly challenge the
question deep within my heart, gingerly
prodding at the loose cloth that remains
of my physique.
When did arrogance overpower the
affect of compassion?
Tears collect around my eclipsed eyes,
drowning out faith, drowning out liberty.
My eyelashes swing profusely at the pools
of sadness, but needles of ignorance
sew them to my brow with threads of pessimism.
I try to watch through the sorrow.
How can such barbaric norms exist amongst
one’s mind?
Slander poisons the air my lungs rely on,
dirtying the words that exit my mouth.
I feel my throat close.
Slander is poisoning my air.
My throat is tight.
Slander.
Tight.
As my eyelids become heavy I have but
one thing left, the fold of serenity in my brain.
Poisoning slander.
Throat closed.
Serenity.
I feel the air carving prejudices into my voice box.
I restrict.
Choke.
Restrict.
Choke.
The only segregation I allow is between my mind and the slander.
The choking is done.
I am done.
Serenity prevails and
I am done.
I am done, but serenity prevails.
My air conditioner goans
In the noon day summer’s heat
While unseen… except to me
I watch winter running about
Seeking shelter
In the far shady left corner
Of my meagerly furnished living room
Occasionally
During the cooler nights
When the north wind blows
It has popped its head out
With fingers crossed
While dark eyes stare
At the bright moon and stars
And cloudless skies
Fearless
Except for the light of dawn
Or a power failure
Or air conditioner malfunction
Hopeful
That summer won’t last
And the cold winter wind
Will blow
Into that far left corner
Confident
That someday soon
It will once again be
Winter
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place ... but England. Now.
Oh No Mister Bill! Not Another Car Repair!
Aside from vehicular insurance, you
must be aware another
reason car ownership
finds me being privy
to possessing Hyundai Sonata (2009)
title purposelessness too
raising a futile cry and hew
stems from accursedly unexpected
mechanical malfunctions due
to arise unpredictably,
thus before bidding thee adieu
lemme share another source,
plus absolute zero clue,
how I will pay for necessary part
(linkedin with brake system)
exacerbates psychological glue
mean us - as addressed
in previous poems
wretched formative years I drew
majority of existence, now
lemme enlighten how a new
whistling noise detected earlier
by this gentile (actually atheist) Jew
(December 26th, 2018),
yea me Match Chew
felt his heart sink,
and mine key intuition knew,
there goes social security
disability - yepper flew
right out the window
good as flushing down the loo,
cuz acute hearing discerned
an unfamiliar sound which drew
audiological attention particularly
to passenger rear wheel,
analogous to bleating ewe
where without wooly sheepish
doubt, I smelled burnt offerings and heard
distinct noise unfamiliar and new,
which automotive distress immediately
altered my epidermal hue
cuz checking account still in ICU
(prognosis grim) like an
overworked choo choo,
thus emotional state now going
haywire hullabaloo
finding writing rhyming
poem meagerly sue
tub bull and wishfully, pointlessly,
and dreamily cross fingers,
and toes to rue
min ate ting winning
powerball jackpot and moo
hoove varying into lap of living
socially within human zoo
instead of feeling boiled
for cannibal stew!
Content in my reason, I indulge my future distress
Feckless friends and fiends lie...together
Our homemade misery surmounts
Indeed, we do have a habit of making habits
This Intention for contention is our invention
A fleet of reckless daggers flow from my mouth
I decimate past and present alike
Thus, the future flees from my nearsighted discourse
My dreams vehemently elude themselves far from my sight
Devoid of ambition, I fall from the sky with Lucifer and all of his friends
These means will never be justified
Choleric, we are vexed by our sugar-coated ends
This silence overtakes us
We are lucid metaphors of our former-selves
I lie awake and wake to lie
My half-empty bottle is never fulfilled, and never content
My heart is a home of chaos
A passionate portrait of selfishness
I am a kin to fruitless endeavors
Forgetting sense, I meagerly float throughout this wretched discourse...
And who am I?
Am just another man with another name
With dreams bigger than his height
Hopping for the best
Trying harder to keep the faith
But fire rains on him
The man who prays for refuge
Come tomorrow, lions still have craws
Earth, doomed
Humanity, cursed
Sin, forbidden
Peace, compromised
Order, reversed
Wealth, defiant
Should I do the right thing?
The world doesn’t favor the good
I will still wake up armed
Tighten my gear, set for the dream
Meagerly, a foot ahead of the other
I will be chasing hopes though in turmoil
I will kiss the face of the sun
If that’s what it takes
Whilst under your feet,
In the drifting scums,
I will honor the man with the master plan?