as attention softens, our soul glistens
all we do is stop thought interference
nodes within form, kundalini christens
by grace of course and heart’s perseverance
paving way for ego’s disappearance
as the silent witness poised in the void
we reclaim soul’s light, pure and unalloyed
Named by someone else's mouth,
you enter words,
they become your horses,
you ride them,
then a time comes when they ride you,
you become their hoof-beats.
Your name was always
that which came out of a womb
to Say Itself,
yet your given name
entered your ears like a horse thief.
Now you are the many names of Jesus,
of Mary, of Judas.
You stable such names
until your own Christ christens
your ghost.
The horses gallop on,
words become saddles,
but now where are you,
and what to call you?
she christens the lake where her lover’s body was found
they say suicide, she thinks murder.
no one will convince her otherwise.
there are sides of him you did not know, his mother said.
maybe the worst mother in history.
She puts the flowers into the water, letting them drift.
confident they will find their way to his spirit,
showing him that someone cares very much about his journey
Dew christens morning grass underneath my feet
Chilled senses in the mist, fill of something sweet
Sun teases its reveal, tempting me to pause
Palms in a flurried rush offer their applause
Feathered friends of every sort wing a little wink
Chirpers as they like to sing, hush to take a drink
Touching, as I stop to chat, flowers in a cart
Lending ear to neighbor’s woes, bid to touch my heart
As I walk the paths and trails that colorize my town
I could not for even just one second, wear a frown
Skies of blue agreeable to nature’s every whim
Compliment a crystal lake inviting me to swim
On my walk each morning, as I begin to shine
First remember gratitude for everything that’s mine
Then as every morning joy furthers into view
Better am I able to love everything I do
Development laps at emaciated canvas
Exponential images whisper a thousand words
Chemical dip shifts generic into candid
Graphic effigy given vigour by a brief submerge
Slippery minutes expand sqare memoir
Retrieved from squalid pool, jumped illustrious
Pregnant with wisdom from an embalm
Faith puts detail on paper basic miscellaneous
Source of light firms fine composition
Blankness bask enables solid ice to effervesce
Supernatural Spirit delivered christens
Fermented parchment finds miracles manifest
15th February
Philosophic Rearrangement
Cicada shell needed discarding, fast
Desperately ready for what she will become
Stepping rapidly out of her pitchy past
Towards freshness, her chance to succumb
Wavered mirage solidified as suitable man
Opportunity usually slashed with cruelty
Sigrid's vehemence needed a complete ban
Skin uncovered to reveal her new duality
Kind intentions filled fault lines, offered aquit
Approaching face to face day stirred her
Softer side on show, finally primed to submit
Pleas to release rancid shield heard her
New page turning requires vibrant virgin title
Her odd request, capable Ace conjured
Renewed endurance from Libby arises vital
Crowned with liberation, love pondered
Dazzling effect flung her mortality's motions
Scope to partake in romance unafraid
Libby's demeanor walks as waterfall, potion
Christens her effusive decision made
17th September
I can record that voice,
When the radio can’t catch a wave,
convert it to Morse code and send it to infinity
and somewhere on the other side of the earth,
Someone christens this joke as some serious discovery,
as well as -
listening to white noise,
The prophecy of Nostradamus,
and Ouija board game,
that caused the death of several people,
All three are promoted businesses,
which affects the human psyche
- in the form of his own pareidolia
and deceives us in its existence,
where Vanga can't even come close to knocking on that door,
from which the voice of the spirits of those dead recognizable faces,
are heard,
and to understand their interests
we – living beings have to pay money,
thus making it difficult for us -
to help ourselves in self-development,
and not to feed greedy governments
which seem we had to change
like underwear and socks,
but also on different continents,
in different countries,
in particular, to bestow to feed those hungry people,
who might die so
that could not read this poem ...
I, a salty scarecrow, roam the shoreline
The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
While dropping clams to split upon the beach
The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise
While dropping clams to split upon the beach
The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze
Thus drizzling heaven's hem with Hollandaise
The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
The giggling gulls high-dive the dawning haze
Oh such as this, should all good days be born
The bisque horizon christens bright, the morn
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
Oh such as this, should all good days be born
I, a salty scarecrow ... roam the shoreline.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Seagulls" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Required line: "Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine"
( Syllables = 10 per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
Invitation to a Garden Wedding
What temple of praise is it that we raise?
A Sunday church of sermons and duty
for souls whose altar craze may lose its blaze?
That which is of Love could lose its beauty?
A rose is not intent upon its scent
nor night the light whose absence is essence.
But if it were true would judgment relent?
Will chastened stone exult and rain fragrance?
Our cloistered pleasance, graceful and striking
in its aisles and tended devotions
christens blossoms of earth’s fertile Firstling.
But these blossoms grown wild are bastard sons?
From what seed are we sprung? Mary’s “I do.”
Life weds grace; the Garden planted anew.
Popcorn pops!
The bag swells with golden steam. I stop
the microwave to top off papa's favorite bowl.
Salt christens the glistening treat
and I retreat into the family room twilight
as papa pushes play.
2019, F 21
encapsulate an emotion contest, sponsored by nina parmenter
Dope- that word still tastes foreign in my mouth. It bites at my ears every time I hear that word somehow sounding even more bitter when it rolls off my own tongue. I can feel each letter tumble off my tongue and a small but familiar voice in the back of my head tells me to turn around but that word, that strange yet familiar word that bitter sweet word has already been spoken and the dope man has been paid his dues and the click click of lighters already has flame kissing glass. As the first hit christens the room in a cloud of smoke, inhale deep, exhale slow. It has begun. With one word.
Dope.
The cross is a symbol
of abject suffering
and base brutality,
lacking humanity.
Jesus nailed to the cross,
is a vile depiction of
cruelty and torture
causing anguish and death.
I find it curious
that Christens would select
such a gruesome image
to symbolize God's love.
How many innocent
souls have died on the cross
in the name of Jesus,
by so-called popes and priests?
A crucified figure
hanging in agony,
in no way represents
a caring, loving God.
Through His own testament,
Jesus was born a Jew,
and He prayed to Yahweh,
His one and only God.
Although a great healer
and a Jewish Rabbi,
history sees a man
and sadly, so do I.
(Quatrain)
11/4/2017
Effervescent laughter blows over vales
then falls soft to glaze new blooms posed genteel.
Gracious stems lift smiles to foamed skies surreal,
riding on sunrays of shimmery sails.
Splendid dreams bubble up from blossoms bright,
a sparkling scene as petals parade ‘round.
Cushioned on spring breeze, love waits to be found;
warm thoughts of you fly then burst in midflight.
Light bubbles join hands to soar through puffed clouds
winking at flowers in latest spring styles.
Their joy christens lands once silent for miles;
orbs popping with flair in breath’s blooming shrouds.
Laughter lifts skyward, an aerated tale,
of bubbles blown high above blooming vale.
3/25/15 for Olive's Blossoms and Bubbles Contest
I love her limpid, clear blue-eyes
and her long, yellow tresses;
wise, and with grace that never dies
or wavers, she blesses.
Behind those intelligent eyes,
she ponders, thinks, and listens;
as I surmise, she feels the rise
of saintliness that christens.
With golden tresses dressed in waves,
spooled, and weaved in sage;
she braves the loathing that enslaves,
assuaging enmity's rage.
Shrewd, wise, and just, she's tolerant,
patient, kind, and compassionate;
and eschews man's Pride, the giant
of deadly sins that's intemperate.
But her existence's all but undone,
for she's more abstract than real:—
that she's only fiction I bemoan,
for she's “la femme idéale.”
god has me continuously help thee you must be special too he that has so many spirits in the sky did you know we could die!a special gift god tell me I have as he begs me too help you his love seeps though!jason I know who you tell me you are as my heart god does scar.will I ever see the one you loved so or in another life will I have too rain too see this man Jason I know is supposely his name.how many times has he truly saved me or is it your angels I can't see!god he has too prepare them for what is too come he is your smoking gun.let him kill every man that destroy your will before revalations gets here!now Jason save these christens for me even though you they will never see for your gods helping hand truely I consider you a friend for saving American Christians minds all through your life sorry about the pain and stiff in your military career.
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