Let's dispel the miss-truth of telling:
I can't compel you to think my way.
Instead it's images, word play, rhymes, jangles, sounds and clangs
That I share, that shows you how the theme plays
in my mind as connected ideas,
that I hope will gel an in-kind reaction in you,
Not the same as mine, but related, in similar vein.
I love words, how they sound and convey thoughts, expressly
As mental images, to unwired, disconnected, independent brains
in ways far beyond what any
wired connection could ever do, not imposing me on you,
but sharing, showing, not telling, nor compelling me to you.
It's the succinct devices of poetry
that make this word play game together, work.
The legendary teen idol Elvis Aaron Presley
was criticized for his gyrations, expressly.
And yet, this shooting star went supernova,
morphing into a teenage Casanova.
When this Memphis boy began to croon
he'd wildly grind his hips to the tune;
and flashing his ice-blue eyes,
he'd generate tears and sighs;
while making the young girls scream and swoon.
Born blond, he dyed his hair black
and the King never went back.
He seemed to suffer an itch,
the way he would twist and twitch.
Some feel that Bible verse conclusively
Describes all life explained through liturgy.
Some feel that evolution holds the key
With science leading forth explicitly.
Positions juxtaposed perceptibly:
A purist view of Life's conformaties -
A prescient view of Life's complexities -
Could one more view assuage disparities?
What do papyrus texts in fact convey?
And, what does nature's yield expressly say?
Somewhere between these two compelling sides
The letter and the spirit both reside.
We take from texts enough to salve our minds,
And then from nature context-laden signs,
With each constrained by factors of its lot.
Questions for both - what is and what is not?
Yet, could these sides assemble what should be -
A pair of constancies through which we see
Two halves converging as to form the whole
Reach toward a common line that's not a goal?
This dictum for another day, but now
Enough for both conjointly to endow
A symbiotic sense of harmony
And hope - if our thoughts are inclined to be.
In these days that we live in
the walk of faith is no picnic
attacks come from every side
makes one feel spiritually sick
there is a remedy to all this
seek God first and first alone
worship the Lord for His grace
knowing His presence in every bone
God's word declares stand strong
no matter the opposition you face
for God is always at your side
being personally upon your case
Trust God's hand to pull you through
be led by His Spirit to guide you
over every barrier, satan brings about
listen well to know what you do
Don't give a thought to any dreams
their teachings be sure to throw away
hold fast to God's faithful scriptures
stay faithful till the final day!
("Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will depart from the faith by devoting themselves to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons, ")
1 Timothy 4: 1 (ESV)
I am the sun, I energize your day.
I speak expressly to the humid air;
'dry up for a day that is bright and fair.'
I command moisture to dry the lush hay
for non-ruminants to be well nourished.
I am ageless, and I am distinguished.
My golden rays have living things enriched,
my yellow rays induce the labourer's sleep,
having toiled so hard for his family's upkeep.
The flower smiles at my usual advances,
and with her fixed gaze, she makes no glances.
My loving rays speak with no utterances.
The day flourishes with my assistance,
as I serve from my celestial distance.
My service to you, none else can replicate.
Without me, life-form will from the earth vacate.
The night I sat at the bedside of a dear friend's dying sister,
A poem was conceived in my heart and mind, unlike anything
that I had ever experienced. Words of inspiration were being
formed inside of me in the form of words coming from the heart
and lips of a dying one. Becoming one of my first poems, it was
expressly written in the 'first person' of my friend's sister as if
she was speaking, putting the words within me.
Secondly, the day I realized I would be sending 'writings' to my
pastor, I knew that it was an assignment from God and informed
him accordingly. This was another 'God Moment', a divine encounter
triggered and activated more than 15 years ago. Since initiating the
writings sent to him, I have posted on a poetry website nearly 2000
pieces of work.
Although prior to those two divine encounters, I had desired to write,
never had I been so compelled and pushed to act upon what I had
dreamed of doing for years. There was an urgency like none I had prior,
and it was as if 'I had to begin' and begin 'NOW!'.
080822PSCtest, The Epiphany That Changed Your Life Forever,
Chantelle Anne Cook
UNDERSTATEMENT
language
confirms
the
familiar
even a weakness
angst
melodrama
wonder
the
significant
reciprocated
precisely
a
modern echo
momentarily
a
slight
foretaste
vibrant
elegant
twirling
surreally
&colourfully
rendered
an avatar
of
estrangement
in an
unmistakable
panoply
of
glowing
visages
eyeballing
sallow
isolation &
unsettling
existence
animated
swirling
fathoms
of
fantasy
irradiated
with
innocence
exuding
the
will-o’-the-wisp
influence
expressly
apparent
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
TRY ME!
I am expressly on life's totem pole
Come what may, be joyful with heart & soul
Trying to keep pace in this life's phase
Get my boot laced to run this long race
Stride past the days until we leave this place
Life didn't tell us it'd be easy
So we all signed this treaty,
Stare him in the face like to say try me
With all the down-town demons that eye me
Only those who search for safety will find
Know that there's always an Angel by your side
Don't treat him like he's nobody
Converse with him like its your hobby
Life is not a pain pitiful "Why Me"
Because he'll always try thee
So let's face the fear & feed the faith
Until we change from our present state.
VickWizzy
Written by: Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2017
If I could erase the memory, of hate I would
Upon all the humans, of this torn world;
This is expressly how I feel;
This would be a new world for me;
And why would I erase, this the presents of hatred;
Erasing hatred to dislike intensely or passionately;
Erase the feel extreme aversion
For extreme hostility toward;
~
Erase I detest: to hate the enemy;
Erase hate bigotry.
to be unwilling; dislike:
Erase unmoral strife
I hate to do it. why would I erase, this the presents of hatred;
WHY? Cause...
GOD IS LOVE, this I'd erase everything but this... I'll keep
GOD'S LOVE
1/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
January 28, 2020 Assignment
Written for class assignment (WIPS) North Omaha Writers Group (NOW
I want to be where
fissures meet
and sentences are passed,
Every step before
arouses immeasurable inquest.
This phase encounters
a dull moment
and deems it appeasing,
To warm its charm
will not in time return its best.
I asked a vow to
faintly deliver ours
if none in time actually prevail,
It may do
unless ours expressly fails.
The most innocent of things
Gave him ideas—
The Good Will painting, gifted by his grandfather,
Of the succulent lady
Slurping up mussels
Sitting upon her bustle
At the sea food bar—
Russell
Referencing him, one townsperson would say
You don’t walk your cat like a dog
And another,
But you can’t put up a privacy hedge—thieves love that!
While one of the church girls maintained
He only needed to fix his teeth. Then one Saturday
The preacher’s wife offered she’d heard
His blue Buick had been parked beside Adult Books
Out on the highway . . .
He caused quite a fuss—
Russ
Police couldn’t find anything on him
But everyone knew
In the fustiness of brusque—
Russ
Not ***** enough for politically correct
Nor expressly pedophile to warrant an arrest—
Just the Town Pervert no one could trust—
Russ
The villagers came to believe
That when a sly autumn turns to pumpkin orange
A full moon’s blush
And leaves rust—
Russ
In the deepening dusk
A lone man heads for trouble—
Russ
I am not the man my father is,
the days of the years of my Christian life
have not yet attained to his
My obedience don’t measure up
to the length
that my father’s righteousness does
His strength,
his courage ...
Lord knows I need more of
I didn’t worship the One True God
with the same fervor my father did
His faith,
his zeal ...
Lord knows mine was so much less than his
A lesser man am I,
far less than my father be
His spiritual eyes
do look farther than I can see
Not honoring God right,
giving lip service half-heartedly
An unworthy son am I,
oh woe, woe ... woe is me!
But God’s mercy flowed down
from a bloody crucifixed hill
Covered me with His grace,
gave me a goodly portion of my father’s will
Made me more of a godly man
than I ever was
Gave me my father’s integrity,
gave me his loving charity ...
Lord knows I don’t deserve
to be cast in the image thereof
The day I fell on my knees
with tears of godly repentance —
my father and me,
we became one and the same
Expressly, I do testify:
no more a lesser man am I
Our spiritual DNA is now one and the same,
I’m blessed to fully inherit his good name
I and I
be the Father and the Son
I and I
are seen expressly as One
I
is the Father
The Creator of everything
I
is the Son
The Light which gave life to everyone
I and I
be the Most Holy Father and the Only Begotten Son
I and I
together they dwell in each other as One
I
is the Father
who breathed life into the souls of children of men
I
is the Son
who gave us eternal life when he died for our sins
I and I
are One always
I and I
are together in the timeless realm of infinite days
I and I
be One, as they always are
I and I
be the Invisible God and the Bright Morning Star
Reality is a ***** of a mistress
everyday feels like a negotiation,
should be like a babbling brook
over silken-like pebbles instead of
sucking acrid marrow's gritty pith,
hardly expecting smooth sailing each
day nor Disneyland phantasmagoria,
but the crux of the matter is life's
so much shorter than expected,
every now and then it would
be nice to take a breath, have a
moment to smell sweet wildflowers,
perhaps a bubble bath whilst reading poetry
savoring the aroma of morning coffee,
time expressly for contemplation - -
yet, guess I shouldn't complain
considering the vast alternative,
caffeine breaks could be
laden midst silvery cloud covers...
She's reckless and cautious
in the same breath,
sensibly abstruse and uninhibited
elusively in your face,
introspective in her extroversion
expressly shy when she wills to be,
rapture in the mist
an enigma unto man
a force to be reckoned
he couldn't possibly envisage,
don't try to comprehend the
wind 'neath her wings,
she's poetry replete
with esoteric allusions
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