I breathe you in
The scent of lust
The sense of longing
Of building trust
I breathe you in
Deep in my lungs
The softest whisper
Of lovers tongues
I breathe you in
You're part of me
The fuel I need
To live life free
I breathe you in
You are my world
Ingrained in me
As a tree is burled
By Poet "In this crazy world we must now live. Be loving and be kind, it is free so give it away."
Today living in this crazy old world,
where our own feelings seem to be unfurled,
are we becoming robots looking burled?
Some of the good things in life cost nothing,
should we all spend more time being loving,
our many bad words we should be crushing.
Many words and actions have strong power,
wear a big smile like a pretty flower,
our words and actions should be sweet not sour.
Loving kindness can come in any size,
make someone's day a wonderful surprise,
take them to watch a beautiful sunrise.
Kindness costs nothing so give it away,
in this crazy world we live day-to-day.
delightful what a dazzlement brings …
what others deem prepost’rous things -
so burled and brown and bound with strings
hark - how sweet this waxwing sings …
oh hark - how sweet!
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, February 8, 2024
( photograph taken by Gregory R Barden, February 6, 2024; filter by Prisma )
Unknown Parts of Bones
He was killed after being fully grown,
And for him a bugle had been blown;
Music made;
Properly laid;
Burled in Arlington are parts of bones.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Bolivia, NC
Liberal Christians are in denial,
About how much they validate,
The fundamentalist church old,
Because the same story is told.
I know that the Queen, royalty,
Is a liberal, but that’s irrelevant,
Because history will offer people,
A legacy of the Christian steeple.
When fundamentalist’s err and sin,
They go to their Christian friends bin,
For a validation that’s assumed,
From society’s morals consumed.
Christians back in the seventies,
Were innocent even if felt guilty,
And they would even site the Queen,
To describe their reputation lean.
You can’t do that anymore, thankfully,
Because kids have iPhones, Samsungs,
So communication can made directly,
By the child who may just feel feckly.
I think the state should intervene,
And turn the tables on ancient history,
By dictating to the Anglican world,
Their faith healing rights burled.
It’s not difficult to see and realise,
That fundamentalism goes to far,
So if we set laws for Anglicans,
Then we’ll all be better citizens.
Sun shines upon the world
Too much or too little sun and there would be no life on our world
Moon creates moisture by which spirit is burled
Without it by the heat the leaves in trees would be curled
The sun is sacred to many cultures of the past
And moon in its place in the sky is a must
Without cooperation of the two, world would be full of dust
That is why to the skies man looks with at the two with almost lust
From the beginning of time man favor of sun and moon sought
And with bought of them fought
But as mysterious as moon is and sun as God was thought
Probably neither is the last fundamental place of other side of thought
Great bald eagle flies towards endless horizon
Above the mountains sun has risen
Below runs horde of bison
The colors whether spring or fall spirit can brighten
Atlas on his shoulders has weight of the world
His muscles are burled
His soul impaired
He is one step away from the underworld
But the one who caries world’s weight
Will be first through heavenly gate
He will not be victim of his fate
Like the eagle he will soar, brilliant strong and great
Beyond increased continuity
Beyond discontinuity
There lies key
That is above whims of destiny
When sky is about to fall
The one who holds it will go to winnowing hall
Because to free the soul
He will step outside of his very soul
Your all I ever wanted,
you just weren't one to give.
You had control,
dug me my own little hole.
All the weight on my shoulder,
you never wanting to leave her.
Memories starting to blur,
an ongoing deception.
My mind and heart begging for freedom,
never stepping foot out the masters kingdom.
An absolute dark cloud follows my every move,
sure enough I have alot to prove.
Never really tried to leave my ruins,
but as I fall deep into the steep basins,
and breath my last breath.
I foresee a shibboleth.
What was the hardest thing in the world,
I jumped through and undid the burled.
Life's not ready for me,
and plenty would agree.
I'm one person ready for the hurt,
cause nothing and nobody can make me feel like dirt.
Autumn’s rumor
is spread in turning trees,
revealed like stains
on hems
of far Missouri hills.
Few search
or care or know
your soft fruit—
few dare taste
tart sweetness—
trouble
to spoon aside
infestations
of seeds.
Like seasons,
they go to waste—
not savored,
unused, unappreciated—
burled relatives,
overripe pawpaws
past remembering,
lingering
as age spots of early fog
on winter’s
stern harvest.
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