Long Conceive of Poems
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You offered me sincere hope
With a longing deep inside my soul
Assuring me that I could cope
With whatever comes you convinced
That I don’t ever need to mope
There is always that second chance
You reminded me that I must have faith
The kind that awakens sweet praise
Promising my heart that it would saith
All that I needed to hear, holding dear
The memories that came like a wraith
Enlightening, inviting, mesmerizing my spirit
You gave me the best of all, your love
With the sincerity of one who knows joy
Incredible elation that comes from above
Shining with shimmering pearls of light
Stunning in ways that I wouldn’t conceive of
Showing my heart that it had been blessed
You extended to me the grace and peace
That only comes with sincere belief
Lingering laughter that would always increase
Comforting my fears, erasing all the tears
Declaring our love, our light, to be a masterpiece
Worthy of every moment we shared our lives
You showed me that this love was a romance
Worthy of our hearts, our souls, our dreams
Love so alive seems to happen at first glance
To those who know that love dances through time
Brings happiness beyond words if you take a chance
And love like this is the last day, last way, last say
You bestowed your affection on my entire life
Granted me acceptance that taught me to care
Taught me that this love would cure all my strife
Penetrate my heart with kindness and inspiration
Feelings that would guide me even in the afterlife
When I know we’ll be together always and forever
You are more than treasured – you are more than unique
You are my heart and soul – you are my love
You are my special dream – the tear caressing my cheek
You are the dance of light that comes from above
Without you, my dear… I can’t imagine how to seek
The joy that comes from knowing you and holding you
You are the love that inspires my soul
Thank you for a love that is always in control!
Forever My Love Valentine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
January 1, 2022
MEMORY OF NOTHING
Listen:
Drag branches comeback
Across the forest floor:
Knowledge of the rough¡
At water’s edge
I gather some things up:
“Happy Ending Story”.
We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower
A close reading.
Awful good, Tú
As Roy A. Rappaport’s
Ritual... as Communication and as State.
Our preferences might be
Toward more emphasis
On species places:
Smooth textures of dead wood
Knowledge of our hands on arms
The body-art of ********
Drinking cocoa
And tend to the faith
With a Vampire’s short stick
That smells of infinite urine
As Madonna.
History reveals itself to us
In this way:
Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets
Of impossible interest
Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal
Voices-plant
Voice-life of Earth
As Dan O’Neill’s
Holiday for Cynics.
Look, little one
Courtney Love
We live this close to disaster
There is no turning back
From the tops of the trees
Which are so dense
Almost no sky is visible
Only the odor dilates the nostril
And quickens the heart
On a marijuana tortilla.
The buddhists have been tellig us
That the Self (Ego)
As we conceive of it
Is an illusion.
A good tip
Thinking about Gurney Norman’s
Jack and His Ego.
Is it?
It is that we are of a Time-Sexual
Wherein all species has been joined
To the Wo/Man
Of *****Sapiens
And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals
In constantly elevating towers
Of Bureaucracy.
Nothing in Somethingg
Something in our Nothingness.
His scriptures whisper words
That color hearts in hues of hope
Leave souls filled with a song
Encourage faith to grow strong
Erase the doubt and dread
Shine like stars through the dark
Healing and comforting with reprieve
That longs to know the grace
The peace that is like a vibrant
Truth, reflecting the wonder
Inside those who feel His touch
On every dream, each moment,
All the feelings that are felt
By hearts who melt with this relationship
This never ending feeling that stirs up
Hearts and souls with God’s love
His sacred scriptures inspire
The heart to believe, the soul
To conceive of all that is loving
All the joy and wonder, the light
That shines through the heart
Beckoning to those who need Him
Yearn for His kindness, His grace
The beauty of His wonderful face
With His blessing of pure love
There comes a beauty that sparkles
With delicate dreams and sweetest
Peace – serenity that sings of faith
That is alive inside, like a psalm
Of the soul, guarding the holy hands
Who embrace His spirit like a friend
His scriptures, words to live by
Inspire, reassure and awaken hearts
To the kindness of a Savior
Who died for us, knowing from the start
That some would reject His grace
The love that abounds with this faith
In the One who died and rose again
Giving every soul a chance to be saved
His scriptures are the answer
To doubts and dread and darkness
They abound with precious blessings
Pure joy, peace and the wisdom
To reach out to the One who gave us
A second chance, a new life, mercy
And grace that relieves all our strife
His scriptures reveal His love
If we only believe in His word
We can have everything worthwhile
A new heart, a new hope, a new life
Someday, a home in the sky…
With the One who gave up His life
That we can know the wonder
Of His grace and love, His deliverance!
Inside they know he's been the one
since conception with delusions of grandeur
aside, his introspection gives birth to
prophetic lessons
Those that do, know there are no
shortcuts through this line nor do they
discount these leaps of timelines
His grandiose nature is as grand
as the sun
yet he's as humble in his ways
as they come
A contradiction without problems with
diction, he voices his opinions without
apology
Not even astrology can explain
why his life went the way
it did,
but he can elucidate as liquidly as he
did when he fathered his kids
The whole world is your child for you
create from that sacred space
It pours through him in volumes that are
too loud for most & too tart for taste
Yet some are able to capture the attention
of his ghost
so, he resurrects when needed with all due
respect to his host
He is as gracious as grace itself, but will not
be tread upon like tires without care
His long hair doesn't care as it grows like vines
& weeds
up the walls smothering until even air can't
breathe
Don't try to impregnate a mind that doesnt
conceive of the act of standing still
for that is the definition of one's honest &
true immoveable divine will
I have no sorrow, for sorrow is small,
And can't be held guilty for choices made.
Reflections are scrawled on my mind's dark wall,
And will leave stains as they begin to fade.
Time passes without a sense of motion.
My lost dreams disappear with wrinkled skin.
Traveled paths contain my life's emotions.
Leads from a world not to be seen again.
Though eyes perceive what the heart desires,
Long to conceive of perfection not found.
They see the way lighted by hopeful fires.
A clearer path to stay on fateful ground.
The distance traveled, the lifetime spent.
Hurried times unraveled without lament.
date written...10/16/15
Birth of a Nation, Revisited.
Yo, In this birthing of new imagination,
Competitive flows stifle my creativity,
But in the inertia of lifting my sisters,
I am catapulted to new day and night dreams of joy,
My budget is tight cause’ I care more about poverty than riches,
And my freestyle flow is kinda weak, cause I’m a geek from the suburbs,
But God loves me still the same,
Tupac, Breed, Clapton, Mayard, prophets spanning generations,
Barak, a new kind of king that trades his crown for true democracy,
Democrats prayin’, Yo that’s a new day dawning,
Cause now its all over,
Cause when progressives start seekin’ the Divine,
That’s the whole code cracked,
Yo this path I walk is tired,
Yo this path I walk is tumultuous,
But when I see Barak steppin’ out of shells of racist idolatry and uniting a nation,
Then I know I chose correctly.
Yo this path I walk is tired,
Yo this path I walk is tumultuous,
But when I see apostles speekin’ of justice, mercy, and faith instead of straining
over gnats of imposed sexuality, and swallowing camels of foreign fears,
Then tears flow, and I know its all worth it baby!!
Just me and Jesus, Just you and Jesus, Praisin’, Worshippin’, and putting up
free swim centers in the projects,
What a Nation!
Not quite yet, but in the makin’
I can’t quite taste it, but I can see it,
And seeing is the beginning.
Yo can it be, I ask you?
Can it be, that we be the first Rome to voluntary step off its thrown of hubris,
To step off its thrown of unjust domination,
Economic silos destroying other folks sense of belonging,
And say to the World, “Yo God loves us, However you conceive of her, she loves
us, and that’s enough, so let’s party!!”
While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
behind their eyes.
That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.
Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project--
say a poem about a bridge--or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
war
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.
I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
rules entirely.
Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.
The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
more noise.
When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good--
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio--
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.
In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say Drop that goddamn gun and he blows me
away.
To sit and daydream upon the farthest hill
Let my eyes wander across a meadow green
Conceive of rainbows whose colors spill
And paint the sky with a glorious sheen
Free my mind to drift like children spin
And find a child like joy to fulfill
To picture little feet as they run again
Trying to capture the light of day until
Escape to skies of sunsets and starlight
Lose myself in beauty they beseech
To fly on wings like creatures now in flight
As they glide horizons out of reach
Dream of worlds my mind will come to form
And want a life that's filled with waterfalls
Where colored wings of butterflies begin to swarm
To daydream on this hill 'till forever calls
1/16/17
contest A Lovely Little Daydream
When a life well lived has ended,
it leaves an incomprehensible hole.
How can we ever conceive of
the disappearance of a soul?
Yet, I think what's even sadder
is when the things that could have been
remain undone, never flowering,
finished before they could begin.
A new mother, with undying love,
how her heart is harshly torn
by the unfathomable tragedy
when her new baby is stillborn.
Untold words of a lifelong, faithful friend,
the words of passionate love
that can no longer be spoken
to a would-be lover up above.
The unattempted dreams of a man
afraid to try, only to himself, betray,
a little grief each day, waves on a rock,
slowly wearing those dreams away.
Amazingly, your eyes gleam freshness from heaven.
Before you were seen, you were resting in God's heart.
Clinging to mine, it cannot cease to overflow.
Drawing meaning into life's every crevice,
Each given breath you take awakens mine.
From the moment I first felt your ripples inside me,
God gave me a wink of a new beginning.
Hope filled blue painted ceilings and little drawers.
In a father's mind, his name would carry on.
Joy so grand became our parents' inheritance.
Kicks affirmed your livelihood nightly.
Laughs and tears were shared in placental connection.
Monitors suggested your precious health was well.
Nestled in my womb was the safest place for you.
Oranges and burger flavors reached new taste buds.
Prayerfully, we rested in the unknown outcome.
Queasiness came as contractions strengthened.
Rushes of adrenaline kept my birthing body vigorous.
Surrealism saturated our minds, studying each feature.
Thankfulness touched us like your new skin's warmth.
Unable to conceive of this mystery, opaque joy flowed.
Vast gifts were given, but that of you keeps on giving.
Wonders await each new stage we'll embrace.
Xerox copies of significance collect in your photo box.
Yesterdays accumulate practiced artistic expression.
Zealous praises stretch to heaven, for we are blessed.
2/15/2020