Jesus is our Brother
We are the broken cisterns
Jesus says “Come drink freely
From the Fountain Head” all listeners
Jesus is our Friend
Praises to Him sing
Jesus is our Savior
He’s our Prophet, Priest and King
He sees the seeing of all
He knows the knowing of all
He knows everything
So when you hear His call
Let’s glorify the Lord in all we say and do
Now change the "i" to an "o"
And look away from sin to The Son
And pray to the Tri-unity of the Three-in-One
It's quite obvious now:
"The they" are preparing for life deep underground.
Placing final ribbons around subterranean cities.
Stockpiling sustenance
Water being siphoned to top off cisterns and privies.
The Amazon, Tigris, and Euphrates.
Superior, Michigan, and Erie are all being drained.
The surface people will be left scrambling for crumbs
in the phlegm of nuclear holocaust.
They'll devolve into hunter-gatherer clans.
To become a twisted reality show for subterraneans.
"The They" who trafficked us and ate our babies
will make a game of it, placing bets at our expense...
on who will perish -who'll be left.
Then, when the earth is somewhat cleansed.
"The They" will emerge to barter with metal from our teeth
pin our cross/bones to their puffy pigeon chests
The rest will serve as sex slaves, servants, and jesters
in the post-apocalyptic bed, "the they" have knowingly made.
Summer like an eagle has swooped down
Under its tearing claws, the Earth shrieks and groans
Days and nights breathe out the stench of dribbling sweat.
Roads rage and roofs steam like an overly heated pan.
The midday Sun flares right overhead,
Spitting fumes and fire all around.
The Earth lies scorched under its burning breath.
An oven pre heated, hot enough to grill and bake.
Rivers and streams pant in wild unrest
Canals and cisterns lie distraught
Dry leaves in whirlwind swirl around.
Fallowed lands yawn with mouths wide agape
From the woods, rise coils of sooty smoke,
As the dried undergrowth burns in the forest fire,
Sucking the last vestiges of grass and green.
The flames of fire dance in wild ecstasy.
Alas! The self same summer has barged into me
Burning outright all my unsung songs.
In my ears, echo the rustle of dried up thoughts,
Which waggle round me like disembodied spirits.
How I lament the loss of my lovely rhymes,
As the ink in my pen also is drying up.
Oh! I wish it were moistened by the waters of Helicon
And like a stream, trickle down into the paper I hold!
When the land was smooth, life brand-new
In Eden, there lived one, then two
Since the Earth's dawn, man walked as youth
Life brand-new, when the land was smooth
In the garden were two sweet blooms
Under the care of watchful grooms
Viscous phrases made ears harden
Two sweet blooms were in the garden
Between grapevines, our foe hid
Still in great ruling halls amid
Presents his wrath like mocking wines
Our foe hid between grapevines
Broken cisterns marking his path
Like mocking wines presents his wrath
The cast of youth weakly discerns
Marking his path, broken cisterns
There's a water shortage in countries,
especially where there's strife,
and air conditioning is needed,
to lead a pleasant life.
We also have bone-dry Bermuda
where, except for 5" monthly rainfall,
collected in cisterns or brought by tanker ship,
there's no water to be had at all.
Attempting to inform the people in power,
an endeavour which failed of course,
what every island AC emits,
and it's their free drinking source.
As AC units create water naturally,
on average 5 to 20 gallons
of condensate per day,
producing H2O from humidity,
it's a crime to let it waste away.
It may be but a drop in the bucket,
and yet, place a clean container,
when the unit is switched on,
to collect the drips
of distilled water, safe to imbibe,
below the condensation drain,
and you may have a million sips
again and again and again.
To Divine Wisdom And Guidance In Poetic Rendering
Despite today’s debilitating oppressive flows,
We must continue to pen the loving way to go:-
We must continue to uplift and stream inspirations;
Guiding us all towards the destiny of His will’s desire:-
We must indeed, continue to scripture along with our
Good Books;
Not replacing them—but with them—putting our world
Into perspective:-
Let us ever endeavor to ensure that our gifted cisterns
Will forever flow
With given divine wisdom and guidance—peacefully
flowing—
With healing inspiration and awareness—overflowing into
Waiting cups & saucers—
For all to drink and sip words of peace and love in the onederful
Oneness of our onement:-
Thus, this be where I am, my dear beloved beautiful poetry
Extended family,
As you daily overflow my grateful cup and saucer with your healing
Divine wisdom and guidance;
Thanks for the enlightening inspiration that you continue to provide in
Poetic labors of love;
I continue to pray and hope that in some small way, I too, have been as you
Continue to be:-
Covid
commiserate, conjugate
circumambulate around the
circumference of the
continent
covertly circulate
in the crevices of
confederates
cramped, crawling,
crooning in the
cavern of
Copulates
we concurred
that the crisis
was going to confabulate
Covid closure
clamped and comorbid
into crass and crumpled
consternates
constipate crush
collapse and confiscate
curious conjugates
carelessly canned
into cisterns of
congenial but classless
contaminate.
i cannot continue
to calculate
the cost of our
confusion.
Beyond the cabin walls
a shimmering molt of starlight
brushes brilliance
over my black drenched car.
Snowflakes fall
disappear
then appear to float up
on weightless whisps
breathed out
from inky cisterns.
A chill window reflects,
it takes my picture
through a fisheye lens.
Behind me,
a log fire cracks and chirps.
The room chirrs warmly
like a fiddle in a ghost camp.
I turn to look at where I live
see only yesterday still unpacking.
Something in the timbers
creaks through listening ears,
a softy shuffling rumor
trails hollowly
like whispers in an empty clock,
but its just the wood
speaking its mind.
I think about future nights
here in the arboreal twilight
locked in by the weather
with only the tepid churn
of daydreams
providing narrowing paths
for my soul-searching.
“The Fountain of Living Waters flows,
Ready to quench our thirst,
Why do ye hew out broken cisterns?
Broken cisterns that burst;
Drink from the Fount and be satisfied,
It will become a well,
Water springing to eternal life
From your being will swell.”
Here’s my soul seeking for contentment
From the ultimate Source
I come to God Who suffices best
Blessing with downpour force.
Here’s my heart needing fulfillment gain
Christ alone grants so free
From divine wealth of grace, love and peace
Surpassing wants midst glee.
Here’s my spirit thanking the Saviour
For Living Waters* gain
Refreshing faith with triumphant glow
Along service-terrain.**
*John 4:13-14 Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
**Last three stanzas are added to Jo Daniel’s first two stanzas.
April 11, 2023
2nd place, "Collab with Jo" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Joanna Daniel; judged on 5/2/2023.
The Fountain of Living Waters flows,
Ready to quench our thirst,
Why do ye hew out broken cisterns?
Broken cisterns that burst;
Drink from the Fount and be satisfied,
It will become a well,
Water springing to eternal life
From your being will swell.
With this preamble, we may begin,
To tread upon the path,
Mindful always that the thoughts we think,
Be free from lust and wrath.
Within our form, soma nectar flows,
Borne by bliss magnetism,
Enabled when we’re free from desire,
Suffusing body prism.
31-March-2023
____________
Collab with Jo Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joanna Daniel
Quatrain
Syllable count: 9.6.9.6
The Fountain of Living Waters flows,
Ready to quench our thirst,
Why do ye hew out broken cisterns?
Broken cisterns that burst;
Drink from the Fount and be satisfied,
It will become a well,
Water springing to eternal life
From your being will swell.
Syllable count: 9.6.9.6
Written on 8th January 2023
Jeremiah 2:13 - For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.
John 4: 13,14 - Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
I can’t just ignore how tight it hugs me
How it caresses through my soul
How it exposes pretence of innocence overhaul
A touch of it sending goose bumps all over me
I can’t hide anymore, from beautified macabre
Coz its radiance reveals my dark silhouette
The mask unmasked, pulled off and shoved off
Am its pushover, adjunct to its whims and in it swept off
I can’t resist how I slide along its gooey surface
Ever since its appearance, smoothening rough edges,
My entire itinerary requisite sufficed
Back and forth am pushed, taking past hooey serious
To extremities that I could dare not imagine were precious
I sloth at time wasted on fingle-fangle,
With tremor and cowardice, had waved off
And wafted away pots upon pots of inviting cosset
But with it, my tour de force is world class and it I covet
The urge to stretch forth, pluck and sink my teeth
In both poisonous and supple, sweetened sour, to pleasure writhe
Lowering my bucket so deep in their pristine cisterns,
To just drink and drink from their forbidden cool rith
And quench my thirst, decade old thirst
As they call my name amid a bene placito!
In the country we do not have city vison,
we have a phosphorus luster,
we have snails and worms
that turn over a silvered mulch.
The slow burn of a late dusk
kindles sun-setting shadows –
the sheen of beetle clipper-claws.
A chitinous moonlight flickers
upon crystalline windowpanes.
Then there is the glint of gravel in starry waters,
unearthed shimmer paths and a leafy luminosity
in midnight cisterns.
Those stars, they keep arriving
until the darkness shrinks between their light,
and if it is overcast, we set a lamp on a high place,
one that can be seen from hidden and
faraway mountain-tops.
Across the night
the shimmering molt of the stars,
a wane moon sweeping snow
over the black drenched cars, and all unwinding
into cisterns of darkness.
The chill windowpane captures them all,
all snow-chained together
in one paused freeze-frame of a rivering.
Logs crack and chirp as if birthing firebirds.
The room chirrs like a camp fiddle in a ghost tale.
The cabin rolls,
its foundations are structured hollows.
Tonight is caught travelling nowhere.
In these unanchored times, it is a home
lost in long darkened mountains,
beyond the reach of any log-raft;
trapped by the felled and still falling.
Yet this I know,
tomorrow will arrive
and its light will be as new as God’s first born.
After the aftermath
of the cisterns quieting,
a moth flutters free
then drops into the nest
of sounds that crickets weave.
all of our away-words
wait the gathering of ground.
between our usual state
of lost and found.
we hesitate in leisure,
presuming to douse our thoughts
with memory’s perfume,
intoxicate our wilderness
with stupor,
known to render children mad
and madmen to surrender.
Some call us, pretender.
So light a breeze upon us
one could scratch to catch
a tick of something licking
at the bottom of your mind.
You cannot find a trace.
It has no face.
Some believe it has no place.
There is no there from where
you feel you are
and though you wish upon a star
or carry moonbeams in a jar
no ordinary miracle can reach that far.
For far is work, when close is easy;
now and then are whence;
and where you were
is where you are;
all else
is just pretense.
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