High ho Hill Bill is singing the hillbilly blues
It’s not a bad life, yet, not one that I’d choose
He’s wailing like a cat with a pinched big toe
Singing the blues up and down in summer and snow.
They found me under a spoiled apple tree
I was never a good boy, no one wanted me.
My daddy ran off with the housewife next door.
I looked just like him, so my behind was always sore!
My mom took his discretions out of my little hide.
I was never welcome in the house, or anywhere inside.
My bed was in the barn, I slept with a mouse and a cow.
Being grunted at by a gas-passing horse and a worse passing sow.
It’s not a bad life, yet not one that I’d choose.
This is why I am forever singing the hillbilly blues.
I want to get on tv, or at least the afternoon news.
But no one wants me except for liquor and booze.
Discretions infinity,
its number unknown
One window sufficient
for its light to be shown
An exploding dynamic
tumbling over itself
A singular beauty
—in the distance unfelt
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Unfortunately, life does not have an eraser,
to do away with our past discretions;
and the way we acted in certain situations.
Oh, I know I would require a great big eraser
Fortunately we do have an opportunity,
to be the person we were meant to be;
not one from youthful times like me.
For I have learn from my buffoonery.
There is a way to delete our past,
and do away with whats within us,
live for today and learn to trust;
for only He will judge the past.
Sponsored by : Emile Pinet--Enclosed Rhyme
February 22, 2019
In My Dappled Dream I Saw You
In my dappled dream I saw you,
Your shimmering ghost, young again,
As we were, when soft flares hid your brown legs,
There, in the warm April shadows, us
Astride an old beach blanket on the grass of Corona.
1971 was sensational when we were 19 years old;
We held each other like lovers afoul in the neutral shade,
And kissed deeply there, as ants found crumbs of cookies,
Laid there by swishing palms in the dishonest sunlight.
Oh lady, it was madness most discrete, indeed,
behind the boyfriend’s back, miles away to the east;
You found new passions in our discretions there,
You delivered moist messages with muted giggles there.
Oh lady, you were wildly untrue to him that day!
Rolling as young leopards at play,
Our lips found its prey with mindless precision,
There, in the afternoon spectacle of leering light,
Of young lovers deliberately cheating,
Tendering desperate embraces in the perfumed shadows.
He said, he said
I am history it is not dead.
I do testify,
that they ask for more than an alibi.
My face alone! Metal to bone.
See how their discretions lie,
as trampled footpaths to my home.
He said, he said,
Division lives, but not in my head.
Privileged accusation.
It is MY face and my proud vocation
under fire.
Who is the liar?
Inflamed again with grand oration,
successors of the hateful choir.
I said, I said,
I don't know what it's like to be dead.
But I do know well,
of those who get kissed and tell,
Nay Preach! All to well,
Of tension that, but for their word,
Would cease to live, to hell return.
Because I love her,
I will work with zeal;
I will be the breadwinner,
Doing the job so well.
Because I love her,
I'll be loyal and kind;
Ignoring temptation,
Never leave her behind.
Because I love her,
I won't hurt her feelings;
I won't be cruel and brutal,
I shall never cause her pain.
Because I love her,
I will give her no harm;
I'll make and let her feel
My embrace sweet and warm.
Because I love her,
She deserves due respect;
I'll understand her fault,
For no one is born perfect.
Because I love her,
I don't want her getting tired;
I'll help her carry the load,
Since time has not expired.
Because I love her,
I'll protect her all the time;
I'll keep her safe and sound,
With security so prime.
Because I love her,
Hers are small discretions;
So I will make it sure,
There'll be no big decisions.
Willing to offer sacrifice,
Even if I succumb to wear and tear;
I'll go with her to a grocery store,
Because I love her.
TESTING THE EDGE
unsheathed razorsharp
doubledged crimsonbled
dark holes feed blue moles
underneath dirt they skirt
claws braced throats cursed
testing the edge
in mythical maddening moments
Unicorns stab their Mermaids
laying their own sea beds of
shameful ancient slaughter
testing the edge
bloodbeating brainscreaming
red smoldering screens
blindfolded shielded against
past discretions obscene
unseen mock reproductions
artificial redraged dreams
double edged crimsonbled
testing the edge
while stupidly they stare
and do not dare interfere
protecting clean blueveined
wrists not stained red by
unsheathed razorsharp
brazened blades
testing the edge
© Kim van Breda—1 October 2015
In ancient times, inside a treasure was a ring
It was known us the master ring or the ruling king
It was made of the finest pure gold
When worn it became an extension of one’s soul
It was made to control one’s thoughts and intentions
It was built to master one’s deeds and discretions
The ring always satisfies a wish
It must be a wise wish, not selfish
Once the ring is out of one’s possession
One becomes vulnerable to demonic suppression
Used selfishly it pressed painfully upon the finger
Worn frequently one becomes a spiritual figure
Our conscience is just like the master ring
It drives us to respond to our king
It directs and regulates our emotion
It is the key to a dynamic devotion
When we do act selfishly it presses against our soul
To listen to our conscience should be our ultimate goal
When we do right it gives peace within our hearts
When we obey it convicts and imparts
Now the purpose of the commandments is love from a pure heart, from a good conscience, and from a sincere faith- 1Timothy 1:5
Dynasties of radiance splash into a womans swimming pool of excellence a womans cry transforms failures into triumph, should i feel agony & defeat for the lost bondage of our love, does a womans cry begin to symbolize the sacred feelings hiding inside the belly of a mans lies, a queen at the throne was promised, i bear children in the midst of our fight for survival do you dare assassinate my worth, my conscious is a relentless drum at the mercy of ones entertaining commands listen to a womans cry, how do i remain steady when even i question my character, is it wrong to look towards the heavens seeking pity for not being your lone constant treasure, such a life grows deeper as i sleep but find not an eye full of rest, my heart is but a mere myth who will hear a woman cry, weary i crawl for the weight of your misfortunes too great to shield, my place as a mother weakend by your arrows of discretions, spare me of your tough ridges, rid me of your chaotic demanor, heal my wounded but not broken spirit from your barbariac abuse, sooth my emotions for empty i remain a womans cry
Smile
I miss you baby
The sound of your voice
The way you say my name
The I love you and you are beautiful
The way you sometimes make fun of my accent
I want to hear your laugher which makes me giggle
The random declarations of past discretions
The fact that you think I am funny
The glimpse of your brilliance
The sound of your voice
I miss you my love
Tough
Trusting you would have meant
Surrendering convictions, defeat, yielding
Trusting you would have meant
Forgiveness for past discretions, absolution, mercy
Trusting you would have meant
A leap of faith, certainty, sincerity
My heart says open up to trust
My mind says walk away
Abandoned to my destiny
My legacy and fate
The timely end of all my deeds
My selfish love and hate
Freedom of a confined state
Imprisoned yet released
The condemnation of my life
Sometimes beauty
Sometimes beast
Judgement day approaches
As it's spotlight temporary blinds
Just who is my Juror
What verdict will they find?
Out into the wilderness
Where my past discretions burn
Where Justice deems it necessary
Lessons of life to learn
I take the cup of guilt held out
For this is my forgone fate
Strangely in my twisted mind
I feel banished and yet embraced
Mary of Berry was wary.
Deceived by a man who would lie.
Disliking men that were hairy,
also, most men wearing a tie.
She had her fill of directions,
from anyone telling the time,
men prodding her with discretions,
or drinking their vodka with lime.
Foresight is an appreciation
sitting squarely upon furrowed fields.
Banishing nurture to perpetual silence
in its non-meaning, intentional way.
Sperm ejecting from rumored couplings,
nameless offspring slipping beneath sods
of radiant maybes,
all motes in infinities grasp,
and what of their promise?
Its circumference measured
in aerial battles of misplaced thoughts;
intrigues of wishful thinking.
Sentinel to worthless causes,
Mumbling metallic undertones from half-chewed lips.
Blameless blame pelting idle discretions,
casting a grievance to fallow ground
hoping it will blossom.
But in retrospect all must wither
between spaces of time.
Your deceit is transparent.
The time to beg is drawing near.
Darkness descends around you,
what lies ahead--your greatest fear.
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
Unclothed in your innocence with
your bindings securely tight,
you struggle and scream...
I find only delight.
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
Discretions remain unforgiven until
the last blow is done. Your
sniveling humiliation only
adds to my fun.
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
Soon the floor beneath you,
stained red from my rage,
becomes your only solace in
this dark and filthy cage.
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
Will new love-wounds open
before these are healed?
How well you behave
only time will reveal.
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
Every swing of the paddle
makes you feel you are complete,
so dry your selfish tears...
once again, I will repeat:
You Are Deserving
Bow Down & Serve Me
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