I was blessed to be attached by the words
Like a child in a field of thorns:
They hold on to you, they hurt you,
It gets under your skin
It pours directly into your blood
And so you become
The name of an incurable disease:
Poet
I AM A MOVING SPIRIT OF WELL-BEING DANCING IN THE MELODY OF MY OWN SONG.
Take it
And
Feed it tears shed in a lion's embrace
After
Bathe it in light bred in an empty tomb
Then
Swaddle it in crimson wool, laced with a lamb's blood
And
Tell it tales of swords made into pruning hooks
While
Singing lullabies of eagles' wings in winter, and mother hen's in spring
Then
Kiss it goodnight
And
Wish it dreams of lotus ponds, draped with poppies from end to end
And
End with the promise of tomorrow's sunrise
That
Reminds us faith functions as a conjunction, which links us to the power of God
And
Helps to propagate His miracles
What is beauty?
Can I sing to it?
Can I bathe it in
Honeydew lotion
and read it ancient
love poems
as it fights the
gravity of sleep?
Can I feed it
pureed applesauce
and wipe its
dripping face clean?
Can I hold it in my arms
and feel the weight
of infinite potentials
I will carry on my
shoulders until it
finds place for them
on its own?
Can I grasp it
in the enchanting
gaze of a
Beautiful newborn?
In the hall of mirrors, I lose my face
A maze of reflections, each one a different shade
Of truth and lies, of light and darkest space
I search for the real me, but it's hard to stay
The judges' voices whisper, "Not enough"
A litany of doubt, a choir of rough
Hands that shape and mold, yet can't define
The contours of my soul, the lines that make me mine
I write to be seen, to be heard, to be known
Yet in the arena of words, I'm overthrown
By fears and doubts that masquerade as facts
And the masks I wear, a dizzying array of acts
But still I pen these words, a self-portrait in shards
A synesthesia of pain, a colorless hum of doubts
That echoes through my mind, a haunting melody
A reminder of the self-fracture that I can't define
And when the verdict comes, will I be brave?
Will I don the cloak of validation, or the shroud of shame?
The answer lies within, in the prismatic self
A kaleidoscope of contradictions, a messy, beautiful wealth
Here’s my definition of
The act of growing old:
I look around in shops at
All the items being sold
And, although I can afford them,
Even if the price is high,
There is absolutely nothing
That I really want to buy.
My younger self would ooh and aah
In every mall and store,
But there’s very little now
That does entice me anymore.
Love falls in place timely
You think things beautifully
You may do things carelessly
Hold feelings in place truly.
Love brings two people together
Regardless of differences live ever
Going through tough times never surrender
Mistakes are easy for a forgiver.
Love persist who believe who pursue dream
Dream in city is expensive but can be tame
Courage is fearless, love don't be ashame
Lovers always go break chain to be fame.
Love makes your steps synchonize
Always jive in every situation nice
Not afraid to sacrifice and not accede on lies
In extreme danger life is given as prize.
If Trump wins it will be hell, if he loses then he will create hell!
BLOGGING
Blogging is like putting on medieval s(t)ocks
POETICS
the
images
emerge
imagination
gives
birth
the
poesy
is born
a blur
soon
defined
in my
mind
words
cluster
around
adjectives
surround
&
imprint
my ear
with
tentative
footsteps
the verse
is
brought
near
&
posted here
ART
never
merely a self-expressive spring
ever
an interpretative
of another's
ego experience
always
a changing
two-way thing
("Something or Nothing", 2024, original encaustic)
The Definition of Insanity…
All so angry, all so lost
Trying to find their place in the world
Is this you, is this me
Does it matter since that's how it’s always been?
And so it builds again
Wave after wave breaking with the tide
While Earth spins and Sun shines,
And the children play with sand
(7/6/24)
Today…a definition of love as only 8 year old Rebeccas can tell it….
even though when it comes to arthritis…she has no idea how to spell It!
Love, she writes, is when my Granny had athritis…could not paint her nails
and was feeling sad and blue…
my Grandpa did it for her…
even though he had athritis too.
Definition of a poet: I think a poet is...? A poet is...? A poet...is!
I reside in those hazel eyes
which display emotional smile,
let the words evade coz if you sigh
this purest talk will subside.
I request you, never speak the words
your eyes convey it better!
My cold palm stays ensconced into your sturdy one
to bestow a sense of completion,
let the two never unite coz if you hold it tight
this touch would not ignite.
I request you, let the flame stay entwined
and every moment become worth rewind!
Your intense breath around me
entraps me, makes me gallop on the wildest horse.
move away from me, let me remain untouched
I request you, don’t allow the crave to wane
enable me to feel this distance!
Your sturdy stature
invites me with full strength.
let the blaze show the beauty of rage
I request you, allow this desire to grow
and make my hunger roar!
The blanket for your support around me
gives me the strength to grow
let me walk alone and conquer it all
I request you, watch me fair
I know you will always care!
Let the love be love, in it’s truest form
there’s no need to follow the norm.
I request you, just don’t say a word
May we stay entwined forever as a cord!
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