They’re calm, they’re cool
They never play the fool
Their confidence unshaken
Gotta keep their reputation
These goats of the mountain
Drink from the youth fountain
‘Cause they never seem to age
Their eternal beauty takes the stage
They have so much resilience
With money they’re just so brilliant
Their jobs are quite cathartic
‘Cause these folks are workaholics
Professionally they’re royalty
They look down on disloyalty
They’re CEOs, there’s quite a few
When they’re dressed up, it’s quite the view
Full of worldly ambition
They’re always on a mission
Disciplined and poised
They got boom in their voice
The children of Saturn
You’ll see a certain pattern
They take awhile to open their hearts
They’re slow to open up from the start
Although they might be stoic
They’re actually quite heroic
Capricorns will leave their mark
So don’t ever kill their spark
earth star chakra my killick, subliminal subpersonal connects me to core of planet’s centre, spinning yet rooted in quiet mirth
absorbing misaligned energy in sturdy girth
intuits heartfelt frequency exchanges
across planetary consciousness gauges
below Gaia’s benign surfaces it modulates
where own wisdomed faith undulates
steady Will humming stable solid secure
no other anchor would I endure
awareness finely tuned filamented fibres
reaches far flung corners shadowed or
light, without single flinch fight or flight
authority with divine responsibility dear
centring my substance as an emperor does
holding disciplined foresight unseen safe
signals settled velocities where I am to walk
intentions sure of next waiting chorded port
underground star exuding strength, cohort
of ages, missioning goals it never aborts
I can almost hear the
haunting monastic chants
and solemn songs, lost
between the rippling currents
of the Hudson River.
The Cloisters stand, silent
upon a nearby hill
stone walls and ancient towers
are stoic and timeless
carrying secrets of the past
covering forgotten sins.
Echos of voices, Ave Maria and rosaries
the fervent signs of the cross
commune amongst sacred writings
silent prayers and penitent pleas.
The tower bells clang loudly
ringing in the hours
as time slips over the horizon
and well cared for gardens.
I linger within these hallowed halls
aching to listen to those voices
from long ago
disciplined, dedicated, devoted men
who knelt to worship
God Most High, Eternal.
Black poet by Adejola Joseph
Black poet
His skin is black but his heart is white
His tongue is honey and his hand is spirit
He is a mirror of reality
The reflection and shadows of things to come
He is the revelation of the Providence
The truth untold for ages
He is black
Powerful
Strong
Bold
Dynamic
Iconic
Principled
Honest
Disciplined and charismatic
Black poet
Blasphemy, truly—
To treat a poem like lab equipment.
Smearing souls on damp napkins,
scribbling overwrought sorrows.
We are sacred, young lady.
Vessles for disciplined sociopaths and
occasionally, prophets.
Not therapy couches
for freshly wrecked teens.
Yet here you are—
dismantling verses
with the rollerball pen from middle school
and deliberately gothic tragedies.
“I’m figuring it out as I go.”
The audacity.
But fine, if you’d rather,
learn poetry like the ruined—
I guess I can take this blow.
I’ve always been too soft-hearted.
The beauty of the horizon, such vivid and curved shapes
Wonderful eyes looking down deeply into my soul
The gentle strokes of sunlight mirror a reflection back to mine
Disciplined and resolute with classic reactions for her time
Versed Karma of a destiny to fulfil
Our paths cross at the right
A moment to wonderful horizons
My skin tells a tale, no shame, no regret/
Ink etched in darkness, paths firmly set/
Each mark a whisper, Occult and profound/
Symbols of magic, where shadows abound/
The inverted cross, a forearm's creed/
A testament to journey, to spirit and need/
Commanding respect, not of gangster lore/
But ancient rites, that my soul explores/
A clean life I walk, sober, legit/
No chains of vice, no shame to admit/
Perhaps I'm one of a few, rare in my kind/
Tattoos of the night, with a disciplined mind/
Celebrity or not, it's not what I claim/
But through the ink flows my spiritual flame/
Proud of my canvas, a map of my quest/
My tattoos are my armor, my silent confess/
Once sanctuary.
The uninviting undertones bellow in mourning.
A soured fate.
They say the deads sleep is endless, as my toll chimes, wakeless.
Still unsighted eyes.
With sickly bloodshot yolk, cresting as if to rise reborn.
Tarnishing sleek silvered rumination, in anniversary of the best forgotten.
Another empty plot fills a space better kept for the rigid, the disciplined.
Hands worn of time for nothing other than keeping bones wrapped.
In unbound duty, spreading dirt, not to cover but expose.
Treadless stepping over and over the ghosts trampled in greater haste.
Who's borrowed words are sung as tribute, in service striking back in self reverence.
Now hollowed breath exhumed.
To treat a lasting patron, the unintroduced, bares the yet collected as for tolled is all.
Reserving another debt to be owed in exchange.
They march with purpose they march for purpose, not in step.
Peace will never reclaim them, for they know not peace.
Sleep remains a wistful dream.
Not to be conquered.
The present moment’s passing does not cease.
Stay in it, yet pause, learn and cherish inner peace.
Sound mind and body nourish a good life.
Practical plans, disciplined habits and self-awareness shake off the entropy that’s rife.
Keep work, rest and play in equilibrium,
Yet adapt to change; go with that steady theme in life’s idiom.
Be grateful for small joys, for beauty and simplicity.
Share delights with friends; they enrich life’s felicity.
Embrace challenges as opportunities for growth and to inspire.
Joy in purpose sets your soul on fire.
Practice humility and forgiveness.
Grudges burden the soul while compassionate acts give and receive gladness.
Work to align your values, principles and actions.
Integrity, trust and respect plant harmony amidst the world’s factions.
A pegged round point gleams a dream as a passerby
pauses briefly at some display of hearts. Creams alot
enchanted in velvety reds filled with sweet treats that
address the same in my deepest fantasies. Employed by
the Creatures that slither their way, shading their point in
passing. Then a heavenly-sent gifts a genteel speaker
drifts a spun floater albeit a dove's solitaire feather.
Angelic hands reach down to gather it up in chorale
chants achieved its disciplined course. In brevity
breathes deeply, exalting with the soothing blessed
Suite, performed by Johann Bach. Toccata, Adagio, and
Fugue in C Major, with cultured ivory chords and refined
pedals as the fantasy seized a day.
Capricious laughter’s an aphrodisiac,
always carried on the wind euphoria;
Prepare to fumble free fall and level up,
really what is it you want to master?
I will show you Capricorn confetti,
colors that paint a disciplined maniac;
Ordinary isn’t enough I want El Dorado,
riches and brand name rags go together;
No ceiling exists on this type of ambition;
Easy for them to talk but I get it done,
now ask me again if I live to have fun;
Every day is a reason for an adventure,
ready set let’s ride a little bit faster;
Go hard on everything or keep it moving,
you can ride with me if you dig debauchery.
My life during
My younger years
Simple but I've enjoyed
Every part of it
Because it molds me
To who I am now
Lessons learned
From my parents
Who disciplined us
I know they're watching us
There in heaven
Missed you so much
Mom and Dad.
If Muse can strengthen faith by her Parnassus,
then whisper, thou, thy love's labor (and call
the messiah!) to author my soul's Damascus,
to blind my eyes and convert me as Paul.
If Scripture's false, and bogus is God's Word,
then why be faithful to lovers or wives?
Why spend long hours on lines to not be heard,
or live more disciplined, less lustful lives?
With ears deaf, they could fathom not my praise:
Christ is a lie; and God, an indifferent fraud!?
Broken from hope stripped clean, still I'll always
remain a model that the world can laud.
If faith's loss forges Love's divine ideal,
then this line speaks it: and seals Him as real!
A man or woman in the prime of life
who values her husband or he his wife.
A person of strength with a disciplined mind,
One who is courageous, respectful, and kind.
They have great intellect but do not boast.
They love God,their country, and family the most.
The hardships and worries of every citizen
Are important and worthy of their attention.
Great honor and integrity they will possess,
And view the poor and needy with tenderness.
Not slothful or selfish, not weak or uncaring,
Our future and reputation aware that they carry.
Believing everyone has the right to make their own choices,
letting every person speak up, and hearing their voices.
A person of faith but not hypocritical,
They respect opinions, your faith they won't ridicule.
Not racist, not sexist, no contempt for disabled,
Believing all equal, all sit at round tables.
With strength and righteous anger for our enemies,
But able to compromise and all people please.
As much as I wish it, this can't be real, what a joke!
But if they were actual, they'd sure have my vote!
Neither directed nor disciplined
Leading lives of looting and lust
Bullets rain down, they bite the dust
It doesn’t have to be this way...
Though without tribute to a higher ideal
Upon their tormented souls ~ demons prey
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