Hem and haw, Mr. Candidate
Just beat around that bush
When all you do is stall for time
You surely cover your tush
You open your mouth and words fly out
I’d swear that you said something
But as I reran your speech on Insta-Gram
I see that you meant nothing
“as both this form and boundless space
cravings of ego negated
awake, vibrant yet nonchalant
bliss drenched heart remains elated”
Unseeking Seeker
Create in me oh God a clean heart
Burn the impurities cast the vanities
I know You as Creator of me flesh art
You saved from depth of insanity
Fullness in emptiness I wish to be
Baptized in the Spirit and the word
Like a new wine skin first empty
Flowing over with holy sermon heard
If I only touch His garment hem
I can be free of what ails my soul
For the Lord hears my cry my whim
Healing my heart body making whole
Fullness in emptiness I aim to be
As new wine skin before blessing
mathematic-call
am
math-am-a-tick-all
cofcofcof...
len
He seemed a lonely man
Not alone
Yet lonely
Not seeking companionship
Yet never really alone.
At times
It seemed
People gravitated
Toward his orbit
Circled
Pondering
His presence
Questioning
Its necessity.
He drifted
Through a universe
Unknown
To those who thought
Themselves
The center
Of theirs.
He took the hand
Of sunrise
Walked with it
Through the day
And of an evening
He touched
The hem of sunset.
The hem of her skirt,
Billows,
With her fond sweetness,
As she upon her stilletos,
Balances,
Within,
A diamond stillness,
Her hem,
Sighs,
With a nostalgia,
Of romance,
In the undulant wind,
Waves of surreal petals,
As the moon,
With its exotic flowers,
Singers,
And dancers,
Blush,
With a serenity,
Of rhythms,
That kiss,
With adorations,
And loves,
Firmly tender wings,
Her Beauty and hems,
Vast loveliness
Reynaldo Casison
These shaded scars may alarm,
Yet in my eyes, they are surely painted.
Scorned love that which won’t harm
In my sigh of relief I cry to this, tainted.
Fire lustfully denies the everso carnaging fate.
Torn apart by the advantage of its flaws,
I am morley sewed up in these lion claws.
I am surely bowed up in famen i did cause.
Take my flower
And take my name.
Don’t leave a crumb.
Don’t leave me numb.
Apologies won’t phase
In this love-land daze.
Bruises I Hem, in which shade,
Paint over the pale flesh I jade.
Flying in a strong state of contentment,
I turn back to find my eyes are closed.
I am nothing but a seeping resentment
In a life of dreary follies, now disposed.
They answer questions seldom asked
tend to the mundane, "lesser" tasks
their halos tilted scally caps
homilies of wilted raps
soulless homeless shooting craps
rattling unnumbered dice
you may win once, never twice.
These voices of the lesser god
bedeviled by a life unshod
still reach to touch the garments hem
of gods that turned away from them.
3/30/2020
SO THAT WE MIGHT TOUCH HIS HEM
heaven’s masterpiece
steps down from His throne
no fear of a baby born here
we identify with our own form
our Master gentle and kind
the Creator shows us the way
God’s perfect mediator
Himself incarnate
still we look up and see the stars
look down and see the orb
we stand on as it hovers in space
not easy to explain
His holy kiss
the washing of feet
the tears and hugs
the transfiguration—
the A-W-E of God
walking on water
the W-O-W of God
this newborn babe born in Bethlehem
will be called
Wonderful Counselor*
Mighty God
Everlasting Father
Prince of Peace
At His awesomeness we fall like dead men at His feet
As a starlit babe we view Him in a way we can understand
both Man and God, Deliverer and Judge
Christmas day upon us, may we hold His hem, kiss the Son
Let us stand, raise our hands in awe of Him, who commands
12/23/2018
Isaiah 9:6-7 Old Testament prophecy
I have pieces of sewing machines all over my house.
Most of the pieces are there, but not all of them,
Of course I do not discover this until I want to use them.
One is missing the front dial,
Another is missing the thing that holds the bobbin in.
A third is all there except for the pressure foot, which is sort of needed.
Pieces which were taken off by curious children, or lost by me.
It is hard to say which,
Missing pieces nonetheless,
Annoying when I want to hem something once or twice a decade.
So off to the store I go when I want to fix something or make something or something.
To pick up another sewing machine.
As you can imagine, I always buy a cheap one.
The puppy was attracted to
The hem of my long skirt.
His snapping sharp-edged baby teeth
Kept me on the alert.
A smattering of scabs adorned
His owner’s hands and arms.
Restraint in puppies never ranks
Among their many charms.
So once I saw the damage he’d
Inflicted on some skin,
I figured he could nip my hem
So I’d be safe within.
TOUCHING THE HEM OF BEAUTY SEE
Beauty of a beautiful brunette
Brings me back to a brittle moods
Bright eye, eye bouncing
Along a blind alley
I counted the moon that rises
As the farthest of galaxy, making me to
Dawdle to talking broach of a royal bird that struck
My heart pendulous
Thus daunting the processing of my dating agent
Still in my brittle mood
The mood that moves
Pure as the starting glory of the day break
Singing the chorus of the dawn
Her winding air are numbered
Piercing my inner mood
With the thought as Damocles
I filled, head over heels, with love
With her vibrating self
Whereas her head dress head casing
The head hunter which all coming to touch the hem
Of her flowing garment that heals the lovesick
Another day, i saw her
In a close lane
I saw her, keeping her head down
In all her all attractive elegance...
So i planned my request
The muted discuss that reincarnate in thought
My deep shy feelings was en covered
Giving me much words that woos.
The book
That was to HEM us together
Tore
Us like old under garment
Threads
Of emotions
Hanging from under skirts
And sleeves
Of shirts
I saw you shredded in disbelief
Right below the rash
Moment showing
The self indulged will
Destroying
Pages upon pages
Of expectations
When the dam broke
It was not mere spotting
It was a torrent
Not knowing how to separate
The frivolous fromm the wanted
Making the meaningless
More important than the life time
I held the tattered leaf
In a wind
Battered hand
My thoiught like strings
Stranded
In your presence
And was not afraid
To make my choice
Again.
We were more apart then
Than close
As letters
Getting meaning from proximity
When you left
I was still at the boundary
Of my faith,
Torn between your healing
And your discard
To the plattitude
Of silence.
You would go crazy
If you knew
How innocent
I am,
And how emotionally strong
Searching for the lamb
In your wilderness
Of meaninglessness.
Restorative faith
Spiritually renew
Touch the garment’s hem
hem•or•rhoid, oy
I thought that was some android toy
Then it happened one day
While on a cold surface I did play
O’ boy, O’ boy, O’ boy.
Burglary at daybreak -
turquoise eggshells languish in the dew
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