there's power in
the word of Our Lord
sharper than
a double-edged sword
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
It cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It can penetrate souls, spirits,
joints and marrow
temper thoughts, measure hearts
keep us on the straight and narrow
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
the power in the word of God
reveals what and who we are
the good, the bad, the ugly
our wounds our scars
reforms, transforms
never breaks
precise, concise
makes no mistakes
there's power in the anointed word of God
let it shape your actions, permeate your heart
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It's alive. It's active
sharper than a double-edged sword
for there's power in the word
that comes from our Lord
there's power in
the word of Our Lord
sharper than
a double-edged sword
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
It cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It can penetrate souls, spirits,
joints and marrow
temper thoughts, measure hearts
keep us on the straight and narrow
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
the power in the word of God
reveals what and who we are
the good, the bad, the ugly
our wounds our scars
reforms, transforms
never breaks
precise, concise
makes no mistakes
there's power in the anointed word of God
let it shape your actions, permeate your heart
there's power in the word of God
acute like a surgeon's scalpel
cuts through all doubt
concisely grapples
It's alive. It's active
sharper than a double-edged sword
for there's power in the word
that comes from our Lord
What fun to shake the trees;
the wind, playful.
She doesn’t have to ask please,
nor be graceful.
Leaves not picked like apples;
flutters like snow.
Crisp like the fruit; wrestling grapples
the pile below.
The wind, playful.
She doesn’t have to ask please.
Her shake, faithful.
In Autumn, she’s ripe to tease.
Flutters like snow;
crisp like the fruit. Wrestling grapples
handfuls to go
in Fall’s blowhard battle.
Deja Vu.
Turns around with you.
Double vision turns to a single fiber.
Which grapples with you.
Deja Vu.
We count on this feeling.
Spin around like a speck of nothing.
Try to count again.
Deja Vu. Deja Vu.
Lasts as long as outer space.
Brings outer space into our view.
When we try to pick out the pinpricks.
Deja Vu
Splitting
Splattering
Poofing
Deja Vu.
And it was just me suddenly.
And my crystal ball.
I can try again if I want.
But I have to wait on it.
Deja Vu.
Was just psychosis after all.
I believe it for once.
And maybe next time too.
Life is fascinating all the time
Your good aura saves the day bright
Like the dawn dispels the darkness
Each of us is radiant when we smile.
Sadness makes our heart pure
Move out old tears to have a new one
Like the strength of inner self
A quite moments ease a gentle smile.
Love always has overdraft limits
What is too much is sorrowful
What is lacking comes negotiation
That value a good relationship.
Seeking justice is strenuous
It requires bravery and a gentle talks
Decisive show of force but open to legal remedy
Love to accept peace but hate oppression.
FORGOTTEN
Soar,
Soar like the wind.
I flit and dance, obeying my master.
Dipping, I glide over the lake;
In the mist of the morning.
This is my life.
Jerk, goes my line.
My neck stretches out,
Hoping to catch the last strands of the breeze.
The wind grapples with my master,
Wrenching me up and up,
As if it won’t let me go.
I thrash as two forces pull to claim me.
But like most things in life, only one attains.
My master jerks harder,
Causing the wind to lose its grip on me.
The wind screams its furry,
But soon it is forgotten.
I plunge downward in a spiraling dive;
To come to rest in the reeds of the lake.
A child scampers up,
Catches me in their chubby arms,
And drags me away.
Time will later find me in a small cramped closet,
Where my master left me.
Forgotten.
Just like most things in life;
Just like my companion, the wind.
I spend most time within this grave
Unmarked and deathly silent
I met my end remaining brave
Which made it no less violent
Pressed to death for 3 long days
Only asking for more weight
Not this lie but other woeful ways
I wonder if I'd sealed my own fate
A young man from my living time
Caught stealing just some apples
I beat him for his modest crime
Now my soul still with me grapples
Shy a fortnight I did keep him here
Only to deliver him to deaths door
This caused my current state, I fear
To haunt Salem Town forevermore
I never gave in to their torture
When it was me unjustly tried
My wife hanged instead of scorch her
Am I the fault we both have died
Save for occasional haunting
I still feel I'm being pressed
This eternity seems daunting
And weighs heavy on my chest
This young man's name was Goodale
His soul must have been set free
Nightly down here without fail
Mine is still here trapped with me
I have in my life some sad stories no one would love to hear, moments when my mind grapples with dilemma, fear shouting for me to give Him an ear. Courage seated there shaking his head! Oh dear. That moment when the future is shrouded with uncertainty.
I mean those times when sadness seems eternal. That point in life when human misery runs, giggling in all its cruel ways. By day and by twilight, bound in destitute.
I am viced between truth and ignorance. Oppressed from the day I was born. I was denied by society and Poverty nursed me. In agony, rage and fury I cry but no hears me. Poverty knows no man, righteous or wicked, a noble or plebian. Every day he has new subordinates, civilisations and economies of the world crumble to their knees before His throne.
Vanity is my course of existence. When you see me soaked in marijuana smoke, just know I have tried to run away from this vicious cycle of poverty. I was not fast enough since,
I was enslaved from the day I left my mother's womb.
When you stare at those walls my friends and I clothed in graffiti, may you at least find the meaning between these lines.
When a man climbs a mountain
Or zooms into space,
When he meets a dilemma
Looks it straight in the face,
His head held high
He faces the sun
Meeting the challenge
Till victory is won.
When a man storms the walls
And fights for his right
When he takes to the task
With all of his might,
He grapples with courage
He conquers his fears
The sign of his splendor
Is reflected in tears.
up a steep and narrow road
reach the tops
wilderness reclaims a verge
of wintery snags
land juts and tilts
hauls out
lays treeless
clumps and hags
pitch up stricken soil
heap above the miry troughs
loud the heartbeat
nearer to feral thought
then any mouth or ear
swale and quag dawdle
appear to seep listless
no
every bog tunnels shrouded
to fetch up the feckless
harsh and gorsy
heather treading low
the moors mark nothing
only a head of gnashing wind
a whipping dinosaurs tail
blear and chill
bites and grapples
a stone-tusked marl
crofts under
tangles of un-spun fleece
in barb and thistle
sheep piss in running rivulets
thread through
mizzle-pecked rocks
inscribed
by whatever tortures the air
ravens picket grit edges
wings beating back the below
primal caws that lift and speak
for the standing stones
their harrowing
lime-cuffed history
before light founders deeper
black anvils appear
in the lowering
a scant anchoring
a bare farrowing
shorn and scoured aloft
by miles of orbiting
beauty
twenty years later
son sends pictures
of moors long traipsed
the sky in my phone howls
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
A fridge full of food
for some shiny apples
The bun to a meat
of a cheese that grapples
The soul for a man
of a hunger ample
The chase to a light
of a door for sample
That love is a food
for a trod to trample
And haste for a mood
of faced example
i'm just getting started
unraveling the threads
of this tattered lonely soul
sewn so long ago
apparition's crooked hands
grapples the rusty needle
as she unsteadily threads the eye
...flashback to childhood years
where a mother ties the loop
of darkened threads
cleaved from her own spool
pierced by torment
of each aberrant stitch
i am sealed in the seams
bound, unable to break free
as i bleed through the confines
of my soul's weary cries
my blood spills crimson
through shadows cast
of harvest moon
as she rocks unsteady
upon the walls of mind
beneath the hum
of unsung lullabies
watching as i undo
each crooked thread
sewn by her hands
unable to baste
with death's bony hands
she pricks through my heart
with soulless glower
as i disenthrall
the last threads
i stitch her deep
within the weaves
of memories
and poetry
...i'm just getting started
September 18, 2019
Just getting started poetry contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
when they saw that his labors were in vain
they sought to elimanate violence and mean spirtness
they looked to their presit for counsel
by asking
under the authority of the church
in the name of god.
might this man marry.
that this day has been seen that
some wished them to fight.
ye that brings the hand to the face
to wipe cleanest the eye that they might see.
then might those who in sight are blind
for they seest not what ailes them
until the have words to say what hast cause such.
might the knowing of his own foolishness
be word enough for those
who has trust.
might their words guide them to find a wife
that is suitible to their eyes
that those he chosest makes men wish
to have what he wishes to have.
might the autorites of the church
speak to coupling that it's preist is
all powerful which these wallsupon these grounds
and in the homes of those of his flock.
who marries a world
who wishes to marrry a world
might a world fool you into to being alone
a world shall crumble you like
stones
to that ready to the soils for seedlings
thus they must be taken away that these seeds might grow.
Soft words curl
Leapfrogs loud
Heavy lift
Soft sense knows
Discerns well
Poignant poise
Soft tell works
Grapples gist
Notice lures
Soft moods cast
Reveals more
Lavish zest
Soft moves plain
Subtle touch
Amply fond
Leon Enriquez
01 September 2019
Singapore
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