"The Infrared"
Rainbow holds the white like ultra violet speaks white’s dark mind;
synaesthesia soothes the silence, the infrared shows its fairer self, in time.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Dance Dance” by Thomas Blanchard
https://youtu.be/V42QNlefvjE
Categories:
blanchard, muse,
Form: Free verse
God, Our Father in the name of Jesus Christ.
Please, give me the Holy Spirit.
Comforter, always.
I love and thank, You and Jesus, always. Amen.
This is given, too!
God, in heaven. Please give me the Holy Spirit. Comforter, always. Amen.
Copyright 2019 Henry Lumen
These need to copr. under my Ministry.
P.S. You and me win and/or earn money with this, yea !
Or please, contribute for this Ministry's website and tax exemption,
etc., thanks.
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Please, mail response to: Henry Lumen
1118 Co. St. 2978
Blanchard, OK 73010
Categories:
blanchard, faith, religion,
Form: Epic
@alons, ce sera pour la derniere fois@
Sophie Blanchard 1819
a metaphor of the sea sings no music,
no swell here, to swing the stern;
nor any pressure to float a kite:
there is no 'flight' to the moon,
no wing can carry me.
At the birth of Napoleon's son I lifted
from the Champ de Mars, and from the basket scattered
a shower of papers to proclaim the birth.
clearing steeple and tree top, opening
a passage into airless geometry
where faith is translated to trajectory,
buoyancy, computation;
weight against lift; gravity versus
the pull of elsewhere.
tilt of a wickerwork floor,
creak of a cable; the flake of my dry lips
at travel's very limit: so vast the distance
that if I raised a finger behind it would vanish
the whole blue jewel of the Earth:
fireflies on an evening porch; a curtain sailing
at a summer window;
my mother bending to her linens, the remembrance of a smile
creased in her skin.
I am on the edge of the sky; I feel excellent,
my eyes filed with moonclouds, and the dark seas.
I am beginning to move away.
Sophie Blanchard, Aeronaut (1778 - 1819)
Categories:
blanchard, appreciation,
Form: Free verse
In my fairy tale I have to be my own hero,
No one’s gonna rescue me from anything;
The curse put on me by some witch is being alone,
Without anyone to love or love me back;
My closed off tower is Blanchard,
Isolated from the outside world;
The conflict I have is being a teenager in this place,
Having no way out and nowhere to go;
My lady’s in waiting are leaving left and right,
For all their pushing and back-stabbing;
I haven’t come to the good sorcerer yet,
The one that will help me through all the twists;
The noble steed being a ’79 Volvo with over 300,000 miles,
Is the only means of transportation I have;
My glass slippers are leather knee high boots,
Hardly being ballroom attire;
My far off castle is the city,
Where I want to be more than anywhere;
My knight in shining armor I haven’t met yet,
In anything more than a dream anyways;
All that’s left is for my fairly tale to end,
So I can have my happily ever after.
Categories:
blanchard, imagination, life, me, love,
Form: Free verse