September where have you been?
The June days burnt my smooth skin,
in July it was hot and I needed extra sun screen.
August was fun pool time with us all-in.
Finally lovely September to break-in,
with many wonderful holidays to begin.
Is religion just a rule book,
whose author’s intent we mistook,
reading not in between the lines,
creating divides hearts can’t brook?
God within us, for our love pines,
waiting for the day our soul shines
but since we dwell not in the heart,
we remain in ego’s confines.
Deeming all one and none apart,
shift to heart is the way to start,
knowing we are eternal light,
to behold which, is a learnt art.
Mind, we took as boon is now blight,
for it veils our aura bright white,
caging us in narrow belief,
dimming our spiritual sight.
Let us choose to turn a new leaf,
giving soul much needed relief,
embracing all, judging no one,
for our sojourn on earth is brief.
Let us here now then come undone,
for we’re the light that lights the sun,
dwelling in God’s heart, one with Him,
spreading love and light, having fun!
Our comedy shows are political discourse. The funniest are those of hypocritical nations- those elders that tell us what to do and deride us when we're not looking.We are certain that we will live long because the world is such a happy place. There are many things to laugh about. For example, people carve utopias on this earth by —forgive my laughter — by forgetting our history, absorbing propaganda and theorising on the best system of government; the "-isms." Isn't that hilarious?
We look to ourselves
and God alone . We're islands
that push wheel barrows
while carrying our cross.
Who cares about our backs?
You look skyward to pay homage
to those who may reside,
some point in that direction
one's faith, has so implied.
Have yet to know the answer
no facts provide confirm,
I spend no time believing
nor can I disaffirm.
When time it comes for leaving
a chance for me to learn,
if heavens not the answer
I'll settle for the urn.
Self-proclaimed gurus, though they may mean well,
are not equipped to contour divine light,
so all they do is shake mind-body shell,
reciting scriptures to say what is right.
Mantras we chant are not the prognosis,
being but a fad, a habit routine,
which but deepens state of our hypnosis,
since at end of days God remains unseen.
Observe how a rose bud blossoms slowly,
magic in motion, without commotion,
grace bestowed by touch of God so holy,
metamorphosis, the locomotion.
Save entering silence and letting go ~
The truth of our being, we’ll never know
There is a fire in me
Not meant to destroy.
It lights ruins
So I can read the old names.
It warms no one...
But, it remembers.
You can
never
burn
too brightly
for this world
—not ever.
Have always known my limitations
it's a fact that can't be missed
I'll always go out on a limb
and you're an attraction I can't resist
am I being reckless to gamble on such a crazy game
am I overconfident and like a moth to a flame
will I melt my wings
these and a thousand other things
will I crash and burn will I ever learn
always had my uncertainties
if I speak my mind to you
there's a danger in the air
you'll take and break my poor heart in two
am I flying too close
when the day is done
if I say, "I'm in love with you,"
am I flying too close to the sun?
They say I'm a witch, but when I told them I have a spell to make them write poetry, they shout "Free the witch!"
But when I say I'm a writer, they want to hurt me. As soon as I mention my spell to make words touch hearts, they say "Free the writer!"
To me, it doesn't matter if you're for me or against me.
I choose to write. Poetry is my passion.
With poetry, I find my voice and my identity.
I discovered poetry when I was searching for what I'm good at.
If you want to set me free or keep me bound, I'll keep writing. My words will touch hearts, and that's all that matters.
Free the writer, or bind the writer tight,
I'll write my poems, day and night.
My words will shine, my voice will be heard,
Free or bound, my poetry's my word!
Burn it, burn it to the ground
The crowd shouted at Jesus on the tree
How cruel can anyone possibly be
To make One suffer as He looked down at me
He eyes grew dim, He wouldn't last
In the night to heaven He went home
To be with His Father in all of His glory
God came to save Him, He's not alone
Sun burns
Skin turns
Red raw
And sore
Next curse
Much worse
Shaking
Sweating
Twitching
Itching
Scratching
Whinging
Dying
Crying
Peeling
Spreading
Heat stroke
No joke
Best thing
Having
Sun cream
Regime
Fake tan
Safe plan
Self cook
Bad look.
*****
* * * \\ l //
--- O --- ~ ~ ~ ~
* * Sun scorches the field—
* * * *
.-^-.
/ \
| o o |
\ /
|--|--| a scarecrow wilts in silence,
==|__|===
||
||
|| ~ ~
~~~~~~~ ~ ~ even birds lie still.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~
I’ve always dreamed of painting
with fire—
lash the canvas with embers,
watch the smoldering orange spread,
chasing white into flame—
before my chaos dies into silence.
It feels natural, this
need to see my art burn—
they’re not complete, not before
the charred ink is bathed in heat.
I paint with alcohol then
ignite—
so my work is no longer
just raven lines on pale paper;
so I can burn with the words—
and live as silence.
~Play With Fire Till your Fingers Burn~
5/20/2025
Experience life to its full brink,so sad, to witness any human, being had!
Just try to be a mirror of them, it will drive you uncontrollaby mad!
The world is the jelly bowl, of jellybeans who just all shine and conform.
And yes, they will step on you, if you are not of their norm.
They’ll run from your space, they won’t talk to you!
As if you were an insane specimen from an abnormal zoo!
To be like all the others, is like a living death, all of your days!
Because what you’ve done, is live in fear, and given your precious soul away..
Just write poetry and make love with lif, and play with fire,vool, .and
Let your fingers type with joy,and fully burn.
They shall never experience life on their timid, lifeless, terms.
You might even find yourself, rarely read.
That is a great sign, go bake a loaf of fresh f.aromatic, cinnamon bread!
I don’t want to find anyone being a jelly bean poet!
If you are a real poet, the first thing to do is to write a lot of the
of the invincible you, with immense courage, please do show it!
Thank you! Outstanding Poets!
The sunset tides will wash me away
Jaded, but
I try
And now I stand to hear my breathless breaths.
Over the white noise, screaming out
"Sunrise, sunset, can you wash away the rain?"
My nightmare. You took back what was yours.
My morning star grew dim.
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