He died for you and me
His death, a victorious testimony
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
Jesus paid It All
He had the receipts
Jesus paid it all
No more spirit of defeat
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
It was a proclamation
we've been redeemed
prophecy fulfilled
God intervened
the battle was won
the sentence was served
His mission completed
the resurrection most deserved
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
No more suffering
No more sin
His death for us
A triumphant win
Jesus paid It All
He had the receipts
Jesus paid it all
No more spirit of defeat
It is finished. It is finished
Jesus gave His life
It is finished. It is finished
The ultimate sacrifice
#1
nine red-violet
idols intervened to
deliver an enliveningly
violent diversion for
our toney tender loins
#2
no fewer than
four woeful felon were-
wolf loungers re-
newed growling aboard their
newly tainted yellow-green and
grunge-splattered gurneys
#3
for blue-mean burgeoning
golf states the
best way to retool blonder
hair shaft maintenance is
through nebulous
globalization combined with
the further whirled onset of
bald faced lies
Brain betrays his reaction,
Eyes and all skull.
He went asleep while my orbs opened ajar, Sorrowful moment of heart.
Brain sleeping but heart breathing fearfully,
All dress wrathful, because mind lacks peace
Toward test to be held on 20th of April.
The Day I’ve longed for here, fearful,
my hand seized.
Suddenly sorrow arose,
And my finger refuse testifying my identity.
My hand, why have you turn your back at me?
Why have you put me in this forlorn state of mind?
Blood, why have you put me in the shadow of impossibility?
Vein, why have you not called for your blood? Biometric suddenly turned "The Life Changer."
But why did my finger hurt me that way?
It ignored every treatment.
God, your authority is of no one to question,
But why have you watched from that far distance?
Why have you not intervened quickly?
Ten fingers of mine ask you on your way,
But certainly, know you knows it all.
night sky intervened
by the brightness of street lights
jealous for attention
A Quiet—calculated—Corridor—
Where Trust—was led astray—
The Smiling Guest—became a Gate—
That opened—Night—to Day—
She moved—as if in Lantern’s hush—
A Courtesy—refined—
Yet underneath—an Architect—
Of Ruin—pre-designed—
For Innocence—she Scouted—out—
As one might choose a Thread—
To stitch—another’s Shadow—on—
A Child—uncomforted—
Her Duties—never spoken—were—
But Whisper—serviced—Need—
Till Justice—slow—assembled—Proof—
Of Purpose—turned to Deed—
The Gavel—fell—like Winter’s Stone—
No Petal—intervened—
A Name—once dressed in Silk—became
A Record—cold—Serene—
And now—Confined—her Seasons turn—
All Windows—facing In—
The Echo—of her “Quiet Tasks”—
Reverses—into Sin—
So Memory—keeps its Ledger neat—
No matter—what is known—
For Truth—though late—arrives—intact—
And claims—its rightful Throne—
"In memory of Eliza and Emily"
Twelve Years a Slave, Eliza Berry's life marked by cruelty, a tragedy of slavery.
She rose to lower heights as she plucked the cotton with
her bare hands
Stooped over she pulled the cotton from the bolls, fine cotton
that it was !
Twelve years of slave-hood, her daughter taken for her beauty
was separated from her youth...
Haggard, hollow-eyed and filled with sorrow she worked soberly
for she would not be sold, she was not for sale !
Eliza wept tears of grief but, there was nothing she could do,
her daughter had been taken away from her.
Come back—don’t leave me—come back, mama, was her last cry
until distance intervened and then all was finally wholly lost.
Foot Note: Eliza never saw or heard of Emily. In the cotton field, always and everywhere she was talking to her. Only when absorbed in that illusion or asleep, did she ever have a moment’s comfort, afterwards.
Problem Statement, cook county, sheriff in style !
My father’s daughter was engaged to my father’s sister’s son.
My father’s mother opted out to have a side to join the festive eve.
She (narrator) stopped as she (interpreter) intervened.
O yeah! Your tortilla and your taco and your feeling!!!!!
Self reliance and legacy of family tradition.
Whom to say? To usher a may?
My father’s niece was engaged to my father’s nephew.
My father’s mother opted out (to die before) to join the festive eve.
My brain is on holiday
Sure wish it would alert me
I'm cruising along having a ball
Then WHAM!!!
“Sorry, I'm on holiday”
Doesn't happen often to me
But when it does, I freak out
What if in my remaining years
I never write another poem
Yikes! What a calamity that would be
Still got lots to write about
I think I have... I know I have... I'm sure I have
But what happened???
Something is short circuiting my thought box
Write the first line, then scrap it
Write the first line, then scrap it
Write the first line, then scrap it
Help!!! Someone please tell me what to do
Have the “thought police” intervened
Have I exceeded my yearly word count already
Please oh great overseer of verboseness
If I have exceeded my limit
Can I buy extra words for the year
I'll pay big dollars...
To my vision; all around some very good poetry, here abounds.'
Many born from 1950s and 60s express thoughts; emotions. That inspire no less!. Who were taught; by those from the
1920s and thirtys..My conjectue? Now on old schools qualitys i
Feel.' I Sense and so will venture. How many realitys caused this
Nomenclature? from a period quite challenging.' Iitself i beleive' I see
A very different manner.? Much more regard; for each other; a homelife
very focused on' by a father and mother, prayer at class
And full cream milk in your glass, fights in the playground
Unill teachers intervened at last; the piggyback rides and climbing trees, algebra caligraohy and math by rote, if you please,
Respect for the elderly was rammed down your throat.' Maybe
All was not perfect.? And i do not gloat! Yet such rich yeilds' From these people, and their ideals' it comes to me' that in all this essence grew; in many nations that their
Wide world knew' as Christendom, am i in error? Or is this all; historically true?
When sunrise first awakened our eyes,
My face, a vision, caught your loving gaze.
But it was your soul, so pure and wise,
That drew me in, and made my heart amaze.
Life was a canvas, painted with love's hue,
Until fate intervened, and our world anew.
An accident left its mark, my face, a scar,
I was shattered, lost, unable to travel far.
But you, my darling, saw beyond the pain,
Held my face, and whispered words that soothed my brain.
"I love your soul," you said, "not your face,"
And in that moment, our love found its sacred space.
And now, in sunset's glow, our love remains.
I don’t think she’s really aware
That the touch of her soft flowing hair
Takes me drifting through time
To that evening at nine
When she stole my heart without care
I had just held the door
Nothing less – nothing more
A flash of eyes blue
A whispered “thank you”
Made me wish to perform an encore
The hook had been set
Though she wasn’t fishing
I sat alone at the bar
Silently wishing
She’d said just a little bit more
Thus, fate intervened
As we left in the rain
Draped beneath our old coats
Leaping o’er curbside moats
Setting sail on an endless affair
All our secrets abide
Even those that we “hide”
In those quizzical grins
That mask all or our sins
‘neath the touch of her soft flowing hair
Reflecting...at the end of December 2009 I was homeless. However, in March of 2010 God intervened and provided me a safe roof over my head where I have resided for almost 15 years! He is a good and faithful God, who has never left me alone and I will never cease to give Him Glory, amen.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
H earing God above the chant of scoffers and being
O pen to manisfestations of true joy...I find that His
M ercy and grace 'neon lights'...negate the obvious
E xpected feelings of 'self pity'...thus this revelation
L eaves me with the 'treasure' of a renewed...deep
E stablished trust...that is profoundly and adamantly
S ubstantiated with increased love for a dependable
S ure Savior and a belief in the 'impossible' for 2010
Romans 5:3-5
copyright; jmbell-12/2009
Motivated by Lilibet Wallpaper
"Chickens will do." And a pause
"For another yard of georgette linens too."
And every capped reasons opened at last,
as a stair, for a stare, to ask about the rear,
"What about the full cotton fabrics or Chinese poplin?"
And impeccable time smiled on me, " Rather, this should be bobbling, that is inevitable."
"Ed good, this is still an issue room for mending.
Are you in?"
"Precisely! Exactly for what?" I heard.
"Is it the hall room? Or the ballroom?" I asked.
"It seemed a courtroom though." I heard my question answered, seemingly, in a bit startled voice.
"Nope. It is not a room, It is a table salt, tied to a prayer, that gifts the container, the neon, and the utility, and God willing, the next day we are expected to find the room." After a while, the assurance delivered.
"Though shawl thee!" I intervened.
"let's go home! Shall we?"
Yesterday, while walking home,
I saw some people who
Were gazing past the river rail,
But why? I had no clue.
Two cops were there as well and so
I looked to where they leaned
And saw the body of a man;
That’s why they’d intervened.
More people gathered and I learned
That he was still alive.
He’d either jumped or fallen;
No one knew if he’d survive.
Within mere minutes, boats arrived,
The rescue underway,
The efforts of our civil servants
Proudly on display.
They carried him onto a boat
Then to a nearby dock
Where an ambulance was waiting
For the stretcher down the block.
Up close, I saw he wasn’t young
And injured on his head.
I never learned if he pulled through
Or passed away instead.
It felt like watching as they filmed
A TV cop show, but
The victim, sadly, didn’t move
And no one shouted, “Cut!”
You made those quiet tears fall from my eyes,
No one around me, sadness intervened,
As the burgundy sun clung to the eaves
Like ice.Through my heartache, I watched a burnt
Horizon paste darkness against the stars.
A shard of nightfall, a hunter moon, floated
Far past the clouds. I dreamt of death, my eyes
Yearned for light, in that odorless dream
I've always had. Why were you there? Who was
That with you? What words were exchanged? Why do
Tears flood my being suddenly,
when dreaming
Shortens the space between us? My tears flowed
With my heart's song, and my blanket lay sprawled
Beside me like a thirsty grey bat. Still,
Still, still, it flapped away through the crepuscule,
Toward that gold moon, diffusing into cauldrons.
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