The roses weep
tears of red
like blood fallen
from a heart
pierced
by the thorn
of betrayal.
Secrets do not keep
and each has fled
to wreak mayhem
like a roadside tart
with a rabid thirst~
no need to inform
or bewail.
If a hero or heoine, is not dead already
They will be in its early stages..
For this world, will not accept,
Divergence? Nor any up-setting of dark
Powers.' So we prepare un'thinking the
Course's of doubt, the battlefield on which
They'll not yeild, then bewail their passing
And kill some flowers, to lay down, upon their
Battered sheilds, we'll grow as the grass's
Then be thrown in the flames, as torn from
Our grasp; removed will be all our gains, its the cycle
We know? Its the reality? That we trust.' Yet
It will not be the eternity, for that is most just.'
Paring away, ill-conception and all allure, for
We all must give account of that be most sure. I
Have no righteous deeds i'll own..Only the
Blood of Jesus 'may it be shown?' all else is
Vanity..All else has passed, The true Hero He is coming..' Be aware that His trumpets
Will event-ually; blast.!
The lifting of the veil
a revealing of all that was concealed
some see beauty, others bewail
regardless of feelings all will yield
the separation has begun
from the goats and sheep
everyone get ready for the arrival of the Son
some will shout for joy, others will weep
a metamorphous is taking place
the Bride is making herself ready
we are about to gaze into His face
for some the price will be too heavy
prepare the way
for the coming of the King
there is no more delay
the trumpets are sounding
and the veil is lifting
© Deborah Seale 2025
The lonely shadow aside from the worldly poles
Wrenching like an unhidden find to hold
And the horrible ink of dreadful poison swiftly mold
Eyes were injurious red like a bleeding bed
Thoughts of frightful threads wrap
and rashly roll the clutching traps
Shadow envelopes like a black door
Tears were tip and tapped one after more
Shadow of shades deeply shallows
Only the gist of suffering and melting melodies
Are fluttering over the sleuth of emotion
God knows the happening in cores of motion
Sometimes, a burial bleed on the surface
Lips bewail like a snubbing scroll
And silence echoes in the cavernous hell
All Alone in the stiff stage of sicks to bell.
God is missing,
Come hither there’s whiskey, drugs, sex, twitter!
Those who bewail we’ll banish in a cage
God's vanished in thin air, it’s all the rage!
He's nowhere to be seen and hate has spread
Everywhere, questions left unanswered
North of here, in the Tropic of Cancer
Those who’d high hopes
Medicate with dope and pills
Try not to tie a rope ‘round my throat
What say ye kills pain whilst His return
Loss of life in hurricanes
I’m calling missing Gods and God Amber alert
God is missing,
Where’s thy bearded hermit
To see thus proof permit me that
or commit me, one of the two
Gone is the gothic holy ghost, poof!
Why thy existence needed most
What did in dinosaurs, where is
Alien intervention to end wars?
God is missing,
With good reason, we’re worlds apart
An adrenaline rush, O throbbing heart
This is my story of a ghost unseen
It’s what I came up with for this Halloween
We Must, respect eachother by listening
“In God We Trust!” although He is missing
There was a feathered quill in Shakespeare's hand
then he dipped the nib of his pen into a bit of ink
That's how poetry was written, verses poetically grand
Today, artificial poets use AI and it's causing a stink
Humans who would do such a thing must be a bit lazy
There can be no accomplishment in calling it their own
It's spreading like a virus, driving genuine poets crazy
An annoyance, giving reason to complain and bemoan
When accusing fingers point, they "deny, deny, deny"
Accepting kudos and congrats from members in the group
It's lowered the value of poetry and things are awry
since AI users post Mr. Robot's technology in the Soup
Shakespeare would be filled with contempt and disdain
"It's a bane to the community and something to bewail
Accepting AI as real poetry is as ridiculous as it is profane!"
That's what he would say, and then, "I have need of ale!"
Taharah (Hebrew)
The Empty Tomb
Sunday morning they went to the tomb
And found it empty and felt gloom
“He is risen,” they were told
And even then, they were not bold
But what of the purpose of their mission?
To anoint the body, is the admission
But why anoint rotting flesh?
The purpose of anointing, to keep the smell fresh
As a body was carried to its end
The deceased did not wish to offend
Spices were placed on the rotting flesh
So while passing people, it would smell fresh
This would disgrace the newly deceased
Something to prevent, in the Jewish mid-east.
So this very act is nothing more
Than a plot device, a literary chore
To have the tomb discovered bare
So that followers would not dispair.
But now we have another err
That is rarely laid to bare
Women would never clean a male
Only men could receive that hail
And if they did, a strong bewail
Women cleaned only the female dead
A task that men would never tread
So when you hear these tales disagree
It matters not whether the numbers agree
For the story itself could never have been
Nothing more than a literary scene.
Taharah (Hebrew)
The Empty Tomb
Sunday morning they went to the tomb
And found it empty and felt gloom
“He is risen,” they were told
And even then, they were not bold
But what of the purpose of their mission?
To anoint the body, is the admission
But why anoint rotting flesh?
The purpose of anointing, to keep the smell fresh
As a body was carried to its end
The deceased did not wish to offend
Spices were placed on the rotting flesh
So while passing people, it would smell fresh
This would disgrace the newly deceased
Something to prevent, in the Jewish mid-east.
So this very act is nothing more
Than a plot device, a literary chore
To have the tomb discovered bare
So that followers would not dispair.
But now we have another err
That is rarely laid to bare
Women would never clean a male
Only men could receive that hail
And if they did, a strong bewail
Women cleaned only the female dead
A task that men would never tread
So when you hear these tales disagree
It matters not whether the numbers agree
For the story itself could never have been
Nothing more than a literary scene.
She wore me like a coat
I wrapped around
my arms and hands
Around her like a robe, I stood
Within her in her space
More than an embrace
I stood
Still as a stone like a tree
That has blossomed
I stood
Standing tall whoever's in her way
I bewail for I so valuing her
I'm at all I stood and close proximity
I stood
Protecting her surrounding her
And in doing so it's her I stood standing for
I stand I stood I wrapped my thoughts
And my heart beats in rhythm with hers
I stood
Energies combined
I stood
We both so shined
I stood
Sparkling such
I stood
In love so much
I stood
As I light so shine
I stood
Bright so shy
I stood emerald she is a gem
I stood
Golden she is silver not tarnished
I stood
in Revelation that I mentioned
In a proximately so we stand embraced
arms and hands bodies intertwined
Surrounded covered in Grace
Outside of time
Together we stand
I stood
3/13/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
St Oswald's church is huddled in the vale
of Grasmere. Yew trees along avenues
relinguish cones between the granite tombs
in shadows decked, their muted roots reseed
as tiny trailing fingers feel for loam
with olive tips that dip through waves of sage.
He planted seven trees where shadows grow
beneath the marbled slabs, sad stones bewail
the loss of fragile flesh; but tendrils drill through clay and claw towards the gilted sun.
The summer breeze appears to animate
the listless leaves that twist like mournful hands.
Above a steeple's cross; below the earth
where darkly Hecate conspires rebirth.
So a world could be small yet too big,
This lady is ripped; she cries all day!
He to be master, now boss ever stay.
Oh this soil, half a decade always a whole dig.
"Master please be a leader" with tears she shouts in pain.
Most are like a bonobo,
and few like a honey badger, but slow.
All these friendly villains take off the veil.
For the ambiance of time tortured and nurtured by men's sensual urges.
Affiliated with a passed-down notion to propel greed.
Indomitable hypocrites,
It's been decades without any gesture to bewail the masses.
The Bewail city
Ragged into pieces of pain
Each piece tormenting a certain taxpayer
Not even a solitary taxpayer skimped on
Oh the city of bewail!
Walloping at taxpayers
With no apparent misdemeanor
Gazing as their dreams are being dismantled
As they gawk in utter dejection,
Hoping to discern a glim.
And with each passing day
Siphons life off them
But they hang on,
Grasping to life each single day.
Oh well, the high and affluent officers lively
Channeling the city's riches into vested interests
Squandering more city's riches into their own
More than a backyard garden spends water
More than a body spends blood
What city is this?
Timorous taxpayers hide faces in fear
Fear to question and combat all
Greener pastures out of reach
Trapped in the bewail city
Oh down in the dumps!
What city is this?
What city really is this?
A taxpayer shouted "It is the bewail city"
Oh it really is.
Craving dissolves in melting snow,
tidal desire in a bawdy ditch groans;
blue veils bewail in a lonely creek,
and dawn mourns on window panes.
Jealousy hides in a dusty, dark corner,
a luscious, vicious, slithering red snake,
on hearing twinkling smile of dawn, at
door, wide-open, with “welcome” sign.
All hide: pride, boredom, rage, and lust,
as frightened rats, running in a race;
heart dances, waltzing round and round,
sensing supreme bliss of happiness.
March 15, 2021
NA Poem From a February 2021 Judged Contest - Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Contance La France
This free verse had NA in "Joy Continuum Poetry Contest"
Judged on Feb. 26, 2021
Of what good is a lie, not much for sure.
While it may help a little, it destroys much more.
When you tell an untruth you tell more than a lie.
When the truth is found out as it will by and by,
You'll be known as a liar, untrusted, despised,
For you can't trust a liar, they're wolves in disguise.
They prey upon those who have done them no harm.
They lie and deceive to gain favor and charm,
Any and all who can do them some good.
They care not who they hurt as a true friend should;
So tell no untruths and carry no tales,
And you'll have friends aplenty and no cause to bewail.
About one Halloween is this a cautionary tale
Whose trickery or treatery many now have cause to bewail
Where vampires on blood just enjoy feasting
But alien abduction really takes some beating
UFOs descending in form sinister and diabolical
Swooped swiftly to snatch youngsters so bucolical
And left behind many a panic- paralyzed pallid clone
Whom their parents would have just wished to disown.
So let this message to parents ring out loud and clear
There's more than ghosties and ghoulies for kids to fear.
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