I consider my hair my crowning glory
it is very very long blondish and straight
and I pamper it every single day
so, it is soft like baby hair
I have smooth and silky shampoo and conditioner
different types of scented detanglers
leave in conditioners for an extra silky feel
brushes and combs that will not break my hair
I wear very little makeup
just pink lipstick, blush, eyeliner and mascara
'cause I like a sort of natural look
I love how my hair blows in the breeze
and how it swings in dance class when I twirl
people tell me how pretty it is
even strangers will stop ask what I do
to make it so nice (I give it love)
some even say is it real
and I say just tug on it and you decide
since a little girl I have had long hair
I have pleasant memories of mom brushing it
sometimes, even braiding it
but nowadays, I just let it be long and straight
that's what I like . . .
Condemned to die, beaten and torn.
Upon His head a crown made of thorns.
Upon His back they placed a purple cloak
Treating all this as just a joke.
And what they said in mockery,
We repeat in all sincerity,
Hail to our King!
Crowned with glory!
Hail to our King!
Robed in majesty!
Hail to our King!
Fall down upon your knee!
Hail to our King!
They stripped Him bare, His wounds all could see.
Then knelt before Him in mockery.
A crown of thorns and a royal purple cloak.
To these men it was just a joke.
And what they said in mockery,
We repeat in all sincerity,
Hail to our King!
Crowned with glory!
Hail to our King!
Robed in majesty!
Hail to our King!
Fall down upon your knee!
Hail to our King!
Beauty neglected
slender deciduous tree
Engulfing my heart
Reverently crowned today
swaying in the evening breeze
Ivan Talbot in W A, has some lineage; online today
Claims Rollo and Miliesius, and Hezikiah are all his
Forebears such 'could be dire' I know this line of the
Irish King, for he's my blood too (my kith and kin) I
Find it strange, for I never knew.' Of Ivan ever twixt me
And you.' yet (Here he is a countryman) with his births
And proofs this Aussie man.' Through the lips of an
Alien ( returned to among his own ) off the lips of
Such came much of the 'tome' or Bible if you preffer to
describe.? Its where the will of God resides
Its prophets came, and come today.' In line with Him
His will to say, yet back to Ivan who values who seeks
Redress and the prophets and much.' In breif
The weal of the
Realm (that seems just and true? ) yet he needs the
People I'm telling you.! so Ivan who I have never met.!
May they try your claim, let the lords debate let
The laywers vet..' And if you
Are as you claim and say, I'll meet and greet you as
My blood; and true compadre.!
Making ends meet, dad was always boxing mum
For all i can trace and gun
Mighty hand when will mum and dad stop punching in this ring of ours?
Mum has been the dad amidst manly chores
the tide of tussle toil round our hut
As i grade the route of crowning mama proud
She given the greatest shock from his fist
And right at the burning flood of her blood
She gave up to life
And i was trading the route of watery grief
'Mother, from those frosty punch of daily troubles
The wonky meal you tried to erase
Now pound on your ward
As i grease under left overs
From the brim of begging and wealthy containers'
Dripped from the walls of a loving relative
My shadows are function to weary songs
For this has been my greatest reverie
Oh! My candles are now as a fading moon
For mother beckons from beyond
Mother, this is where it hurts.
pale streaks
preview
her coronation
orange sherbet
baby blue
now rich magenta
pointing the way...
a reticent orb
abruptly
beams
over the horizon
Mr Randolph Pomfrey Brown
Was the mayor of his town
He thought he was posh
Until a man with a cosh
Knocked off Mayor Pomrey Brown's crown
My ultimate stroke feather in cap
Is a grand slam, hole in one, rap
With home run icing, on the cake
Putting finishing touch, on keepsake
A perfected prize showpiece
Which is a classic gem, jewel, entry
Written in highly expressive
Dowering, poesy, narrative
God fills this life with His goodness
so His people can receive it all
this is His crowning for the year
bringing divine glory to walk tall
What a God we have for our care
who knows our every little whim
so to expertly give our exact need
we can entrust completely in Him
It's a joy to walk in God's path
knowing His presence at my side
for His abundance drips on to me
feeling such love on my eternal ride
What blessedness is this crowning
clothed with God's righteousness divine
all glory is to this righteous God
take His road following His sure sign
(Psalm 65: 11 " You crown the year with Your goodness and Your path drips with abundance.")
He keeps himself confined,
to bluster now, and remonstrate
the struggle being more than he can bear.
Pieces of him pulverized, fashioned from
the sweat of his own making to a glimpse
of the immortal, just a glimpse, but not
the crowning glory.
So many vestiges, heros in the making,
but a careless chip, an errant slice,
consigns them to the beggars pile,
without that patina of agelessness.
Never ready, never groomed to wear
that sacred halo on his head,
the crowning glory.
Once in a while a piece emerges,
bursting from the cold, defiant marble,
his fingers work, so resolute,
to fabricate this work of art,
fingers, limbs and face in perfect symmetry,
they become eternal,his reward a wreath,
the crowning glory!
Author's Note
...inspired by the poetry of Seamus Heaney.
He keeps himself confined,
to bluster now, and remonstrate
the struggle being more than he can bear.
Pieces of him pulverized, fashioned from
the sweat of his own making to a glimpse
of the immortal, just a glimpse, but not
the crowning glory.
So many vestiges, heros in the making,
but a careless chip, an errant slice,
consigns them to the beggars pile,
without that patina of agelessness.
Never ready, never groomed to wear
that sacred halo on his head,
the crowning glory.
Once in a while a piece emerges,
bursting from the cold, defiant marble,
his fingers work, so resolute,
to fabricate this work of art,
fingers, limbs and face in perfect symmetry,
they become eternal,his reward a wreath,
the crowning glory!
Last Modified: July 18, 2015 at 09:05 am
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved
Author Notes
...inspired by the poetry of Seamus Heaney.
...inspired by 'An Artist' by Seamus Heaney
He keeps himself confined,
to bluster now, and remonstrate
the struggle being more than he can bear.
Pieces of him pulverized, fashioned from
the sweat of his own making to a glimpse
of the immortal, just a glimpse, but not
the crowning glory.
So many vestiges, heroes in the making,
but a careless chip, an errant slice,
consigns them to the beggars pile,
without that patina of agelessness.
Never ready, never groomed to wear
that sacred halo on their heads,
the crowning glory.
Once in a while a piece emerges,
bursting from the cold, defiant marble.
His fingers can't work fast enough
to realize this masterpiece,
fingers, limbs and face
in perfect form become eternal,
the promise of a wreath, the crowning glory.
The softest petal touching
heart within blossoms,
flowering with love
for only you .
As the sun warms each rays,
kissing each breath
on a breeze blowing
gently whispering ,
golden fluttering inside
upon this dream.
Silver stars dotting
the dark velvet sky,
confetti sprinkles softly winking
sparkles all over you.
With paradise trapped
in your smile,
gleaming jewels
treasuring one vision,
rising from out of this ocean
crowning you babe
my adorable queen.
It is my own world
And I reside in it
Like an emperor emerald
But I am an explorer
Of the world of the hearts
I can enter into them
Without a permission
I steal away the thoughts
Yet no one can claim
For, I give them
An artistic touch
Mingle them skillfully
Upto my extreme reach
They then come out
In my verses and songs
I cannot say whether
They are right
Or entirely wrong
But they have the colour of
Love and the feelings true
And in spite of same old words
They seem to be fresh and new
Even the strangers
In them find their own hue
And the sentimental
Feel heart moistening dew
If you feel them
With love and affection
They will make an interaction
And then convert into
The soulful musical song
That will crown your heats
For long, long, long
crowning the top
of a lonely Cyprus tree
a Bald Eagle nest
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