GOD’S LOVE
You will not consider revenge nor have a dislike
For the off shoots of your populace for any reason
Neither are you to ever create a hoax against any
One person due to an aversion
Instead, cordially loving to one another with
Outward love in faithfulness offering favor to
Each other putting aside some druthers which
Might interfere with happiness
There is no terror in adoration but pure adoration
Discards terror so accordingly be infatuated with the
Outsider because you were once an outsider to someone
Somewhere- there is no prejudice with the Divine Father
Fireflies flicker like falling stars
that hover in a garden thick
with memories of times we spent
beneath a smiling moon.
Oak leaves gently ride the breeze
that softly blows its tender breath
and quickly dries the tears that fall
from sad and misty eyes.
Ghostly sounds of whistles blast
from ships now far away from shore,
their clearly outlined silhouettes
dark against the moonlit sky.
Thoughts congeal, a cold, hard mass
obstructs sweet memories of the past,
replacing them with vivid visions
of our last goodbye.
Eerie calls from gulls above
now echo cries within my heart,
its shallow beating reminiscent
of the pulse of time.
All too soon our love affair
became a part of fate's discards,
forgotten vows now languishing
beneath a distant moon.
Immediacy
in the message
may propel a
discard of what
was never there
to discard~
Including the
one in this
story who hears
the message~~
The winter’s icy grip at last gives way,
As golden light dissolves the morning rime.
The waking earth discards its coat of gray,
To dance within the pulse of blossom time.
I tread upon the path where moss grows green,
And watch the cherry petals drift like snow;
While hidden choirs of finches, yet unseen,
Sing hymns to all the seeds that stir below.
The silver brook leaps o’er the polished stone,
To tell the reeds that April has begun.
Each bud and leaf, in colors newly shown,
Turns up its face to drink the warming sun.
Though seasons fade and petals soar to ground,
In every springing step, my heart is bound.
Dawn is rekindled
with shadow's memory taints
first light touches last-
the clock repeats each moment
time unbroken, circles whole
Insight can break walls
fences splinter; borders fade
voices burn with flame-
yet listening inclusive
re-shapes the field of conflict
What the hour discards
may conceal its tender core
child in bath water-
awareness rescues essence
past reborn in present tense
Memory reborn
old clocks glimmer in dawn's glow,
echoes in their place-
the past is not left behind
unfolded to becoming
Imagine waking-
to an endless horizon
future without bars
renewal becomes the seed
as daybreak remakes the sky
It’s caught up, always, in those little things:
street corners, half-familiar: shop facades:
it’s not so much expansive boulevards
as rain-worn roofs which pluck the silvery strings
of sorrow. Part of my subconscious clings
to remnants – ruined fragments, broken sherds.
They say the brain’s an organ which discards,
not hoards. Why, then, these cruel rememberings?
A tranquil helmsman, plotting perfect vectors,
is how I see myself. Wretched delusion!
We’re buffeted by failure and exclusion,
divided into Hectors or defectors.
The only shred of dignity it brings
is when we learn to love our sunderings.
I
forget—
like how leaves forget their tree
once autumn called them free.
Moments slip and leave
an unsettling void
for dreams to flourish.
Uninvited, wearing
the mask of memory.
A fiction sung in earnest,
stitched in gray hours—
where dreams blend into truth.
A hushed whisper:
“Beauty is truth,”—but
I wouldn’t know
if the echoes I call "mine"
ever rang—
I am built
of broken facts,
soft edits,
and pills that patch up
what my mind kindly discards—
So I wonder, if beauty is truth—
am I still beautiful
when the scars I wear were never real.
“The seasons of all things hold much in store;
for life brings death- which brings new life once more.”
_by Poet
There, in my window view, they come and go.
Each season of the year presents its view;
a unique perfect setting that will show
how nature can unveil the season due-
as each discards the old for one that's new.
This year, I watched the rippling river freeze
as snowy boas graced the naked trees.
But now, it's Spring- the river flows once more
while new buds open in the springtime breeze.
When done, it brings new seasons, as before.
Shaking her wet ears, uncertain
How her purpose may be best served
Stagger concealed in immersion
Shown the pasture that she deserved
Frolicking safely within a flock
Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
Faithfully bides time, tick clock
Offer of grace to God signals her limit
Wool washed, cleansed by clan
Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton
Shepherd held title, simple plan
Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten
Bristling beneath her softness
Fibres frayed at what her life signifies
Dismayed to only boost profits
Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice
Fuming, she rips off her fleece
Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
Roars revenge, discards peace
Trek to reckless, divorce her informant
Taught to shelter, even in harm
Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
Savage feline, leaving the farm
Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate
Sacrificial Sixteenth November
a morsel of this
a crumb of that
a string, a stick, a stone
a robin scours around
the nearby ground ~
discards make her nest a home
You say you need a strong foundation, my friend?
On a god or guru, you cannot depend.
It is empty and false, and I beg your pard,
But, it will all fall down just like a house of cards.
Don’t expect support from your family or kin.
For a chance at the throne, they will do you in.
They will light the match, and your place will be charred.
You’ll have a pile of ashes, not a house of cards.
You may build a fine reputation with your friends
When a malicious rumor spreads, and then it ends.
As it comes crashing down, thanks to this canard,
You’ll find it was not much more than a house of cards.
You say you have a loving little wife at home?
Come home early, and you’ll find her with Jerome.
You’ll find your house was constructed from discards,
Just when it falls down, that broken house of cards.
You have yourself to build an identity or ego?
I hate to break this sad news to you, amigo:
Life’s shears will tear it roughly it into shards,
Leaving you again with a broken house of cards.
Memory has a selective ring
lets slip unpleasant things
Basks midst prism's colors, prelude to first light
discards unlit alleys, moon-less nights
In the beginning
what we may call noumena
from a singularity unfathomable
the very first outpouring of God’s breath
created what we now see as vastness of space
but what space is we yet know not
the boundaryless inky black void of nothingness
a bubble of manifestation came into being
occupied by God motionless in stillness
He then created a pulse, the Word
that duality may herein pulsate
the Word is Om ~ sound of the sun
The womb of existence is space
liken it to God’s manifest omnipresence
unknowable, within all and yet standing apart
within which we’re localised as individuated entities
although in truth being inseparable from the all that is
the truth of ‘who am I’ we must discern
as such, since we are not this decaying organic form
to know who we are we must stop the flow of time
for which within the pause of each polarity shift
our attention if fixated in pristine silence
discards false identity revealing truth
that we’re living light in God’s image
10-May-2023
“Lit”
discards
find another way
to light up a life
mothers displaced
in Crazyland
shoot smiles
into the hearts
of their best
and worst dreams
tinder burns easily
uneasy histories
caress life
a long way
down the track
bruised memories
raise bars
rose glasses
remain
lit
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Marilyn Monroe / Young & Beautiful
https://youtu.be/LH41xAcPK0M
In God’s own world so humane once
Blood flows thick as incensed streams
Bullets rip through the buds of dream
The homeless drift as alien discards
Terror flares up in the fanatic hearths
Lives mutilated by despicable instincts
People plunge in cesspool of vice and sin
Dislodged empathy finds its way astray
Morality defaced by harsh intolerance
Kinship disintegrates in abhorrence.
In God’s own world so beautiful ever
The sun rises in multi-color grandeur
The ocean embraces the golden shores
The sky sparkles with moon and stars
The rains shower the music of clouds
The forest makes scenic emerald lattice
The river takes land’s essence to the sea.
The children born to inhabit the world
Still smile and play merrily in the field
God is not tired of the humankind yet
He will make the world humane again.
__________________
May 29, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Contest
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