Long Faithfully Poems
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God’s consistent plan as tapestried for man's soul shine
and blessing-stitched with enriched knowledge threads divine,
decrees that His cherished children each faithfully heed
all spiritual growth their pains may gain when hearts bleed.
Since the first sad tears from first eyes shed thundered rain,
God has lovingly, universally issued and used pain
that His children will yearn to call His name for insight.
Without dark as hurt fraught, many would never seek His light.
Wounds serve to swerve us towards knowledge beyond ourselves
for answers His perfect love-light shines brighter than all else.
Philosopher, they call me,
Following Pythagoras* of old,
A friend of wisdom it means and
Nothing more.
For years philosophy’s principles
I tried to understand and
For decades her ethics strived
To apply.
Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Heraclitus
My subjects were,
Thus
Faithfully myself devoted to
Their teaching
With
No great success, on my part,
I confess
However, this was not because of
Lack of trying.
And now,
As life’s end, I discern clearer as days,
Are passing by
To my horror, unfortunately, came to realize
That
Although a loyal FRIEND of WISDOM
I have remained to this very day,
WISDOM herself NEVER thought of me
THE SAME WAY!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 June 2021
*Pythagoras, Greek philosopher c570-c495 BC, after discovering the Pythagorean Theorem, the Greeks gave him the title of " SOFOS" which means WISE as the custom was at the time to call all men of learning. Pythagoras refused the title and called himself " PHILOS TIS SOFIAS " FRIEND OF WISDOM, because he said WISE was only GOD! Since then the title of Philosopher has been used to this day and every man of learning gets his Ph. D. (Philosophy Degree) which means that he accepts the limits of his knowledge since only GOD knows.
When we think of Jesus 12 disciples
there's one who gets branded to doubt
this is Thomas who was keen to know
all that Jesus said the gospel was about
When Jesus had risen from the grave
all the disciples except Thomas saw Him
where Thomas was the scriptures don't say
but he would get his opportunity another day
That day came as Jesus was in the midst
there Thomas and His saviour face to face
here Thomas wanted to be certain
this was Jesus the crucified one of grace
Thomas confessed my Lord and my God
the evidence was there so he now knew
would we not want to be sure who Jesus was
put in that same situation needing a clue
Thomas gets a raw deal
being cast as lacking real faith
while he wanted to be truly sure
proves later to faithfully endure
Faithfully, so faithfully we cling to her
As though she were the thistle and we a burr
She exposes herself to those who listen
Those who trust that all Heavenly stars glisten
She comforts those who sorrowfully grieve
and offers salvation; to our souls a reprieve
In whispers, soft whispers we humbly pray
Giving thanks for reasons we wake each day
When sadness looms on our faces as a frown
She reminds us that a carpenter wore a crown
She swims inside our hearts on tranquil lakes
Offering a safe haven when fear brings quakes
Humbly, so humbly we rise from bended knee
When she grants us a glimpse of eternity
She springs eternal without limit or scope
This encouraging grace, referred to as "Hope"
Faithfully, so faithfully do we believe
She offers salvation; to our souls a reprieve
Shaking her wet ears, uncertain
How her purpose may be best served
Stagger concealed in immersion
Shown the pasture that she deserved
Frolicking safely within a flock
Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
Faithfully bides time, tick clock
Offer of grace to God signals her limit
Wool washed, cleansed by clan
Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton
Shepherd held title, simple plan
Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten
Bristling beneath her softness
Fibres frayed at what her life signifies
Dismayed to only boost profits
Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice
Fuming, she rips off her fleece
Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
Roars revenge, discards peace
Trek to reckless, divorce her informant
Taught to shelter, even in harm
Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
Savage feline, leaving the farm
Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate
Sacrificial Sixteenth November
First picked Summertime cherry
Dew glimmer marble blood clot
Taut fruit platter embitters sweating cheese
Liver pate shivers jiggle jelly
Nepenthe Mountbatten hidden chicken
Lays a tablecloth festive
Red checkered rewashed faded
Season with sea swell returns faithfully
Sickle slender silver moon smile harvests
Follicle forests expanding to full
Bright verve verdancy bursting
Peril of temporal balls
Metered to melt before resuming build
Knife blade moonbeam ripens the coming crop
Basket bulge fibrous beckon buyers’ bids
When the ceremony’s over
Feasting has ceased, linen’s off
Pink penned love letters are scrunched up thrown out
Reform engorged nightcap warmed moon omen
Sun demurred eclipse naps, menopause opaque
Unborn bends branches for Mary
Dulia in bloom banquets
Written for Contest: Seven Ten
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
September eleven, two-thousand-one-
dark age of homeland terror had begun.
If only I could change this horrid past-
alleviate deep pain from grief at last.
Three thousand souls were lost forever, then.
Three hundred forty-three were brave firemen,
so many whom I'd come to know before,
when they'd stop by our fire equipment store.
Our County is just sixty miles away
from New York City, South of us, and they
would often live more North in New York State,
commute each shift- but many met their fate.
One family resided on our street.
That morning, he left home for death to meet.
So many others we will never see
who purchased goods from us so faithfully.
For those who died, whose bodies were not found,
we gifted presentation helmets bound
to loved ones for the funerals they held.
Such awful, somber days, unparalleled.
If I could change the past and turn back time,
erase that day of tragedy and crime,
my heart, with all the others, would rejoice
that these poor souls could live a life of choice.
The moments we share are a gift,
uniquely qualified.
A magnetic shift, of consciousness,
of honed homing sense equalized.
Through the protective layers it
sifts, like the hungry for a meal.
Moments weigh us in the balance
like a scale,
scaling what can be, and becoming fare.
Selling us there the fabrics
and colors possibilty wants to wear.
Window-shopping with depth charge,
buying as the damages can afford,
to live large.
Aloneness is shared and blotted out
in mosaic chemical.
Effervescent instant instance of oracle.
Willful in the persistence of time-
skillfully forged sign by sign.
A mystery of union encompasses
small in its spaces, compasses with string,
attachment, attaching all in its placement.
In heart chambers of containment.
For a moment is really not a moment,
it is continuum of continuity.
There is magic in relation to experience
and its mystery.
A convergence of paths intertwine,
encompasses our way back machine,
back to the place we
were conceived of the Divine.
A moment is an immortal stare.
A segway to Eternity, raw, rare.
The building block of here.
The moment you are there.
As faith faithfully undresses,
dresses doubts wound.
Vulnerability-confesses,
caresses- open, bare naked truth.
A moment.
Bares a question to mark,
what is the meaning-"to share" to spark.
It peels away the distance between us,
lightning from the dark.
The invisible doors of the soultiverse,
and its keeps and its moors.
They lead hand in hand to a place
more and more.
Love answers stark in a moment
and with no quarter taken.
In chemical equasion,
it is the answer, never to be forgotten by
the spirit professing the formula
for a tear.
Of joy ever partaken.
She was just a regular girl
Not different or unlike any other
But lived in a fairytale world
And dreamed like no other.
She set herself faithfully apart
Unavailable for anyone else
And waited from the start
For her prince nonetheless.
Though hard was the waiting
She stood in faith steadfast
Though tough was the going
She dreamt bigger till the last.
And one fine, summer morning
Through the glowing sun beams
After years of forlorn waiting
She met the man of her dreams.
Something tugged at her heart
And she knew almost instantly
He wasnt just of her life, a part
But the crux and her destiny.
She loved him from a distance
Unsure of how to approach
Scared if he would at all sense
Her interest and turn to reproach.
A man of marvellous integrity,
With blinding radiance he beamed
Full of compassion, joy and humility
Exactly like what she had dreamed.
Day by day, her admiration grew
Her waiting and longing relentless
Of what to say, she had not a clue
Except that her love was endless.
In surrender, she turned to her Creator
One who nurtured her from the start
She made Him of her story, the Author
To help her lead him to her heart.
And so one day, just miraculously,
The man happened to speak to her
Nothing special or extraordinary
But felt something soothing about her.
Within days, he was drawn to her
Surprising himself at the suddenness
But it was their love for their Maker
That made them feel such closeness.
They never knew love could be
So beautiful, pure and complete
And that the taste of painful waiting
Could be so magnificently sweet.
I woke to you exploring my coastline
finger tracing every hidden, jutted stone
weathered wood
and whipping titanium grass
Your muffled voice in the dark
filling up the creaking tide pools
in india ink
careless and velvet
I find I can only proceed
when it is accidentally breathed in
By muttering into your mouth
words that feel full like marbles, such as:
'I don’t want to say I love you any more'
And so, You flitted in the dark, like a feathery moth
For one singular moment
until I was fairly sure that you were dead
You once told me that you used to fear
I would explode like a firecracker in your hand
Leave you stranded
in gas station bathrooms with leaky mirrors.
Forget to pack your lunch before bed
Slip you words into your pocket
That linger sourly all the day
I'll even forget to write the Christmas cards on time
Faithfully, I remind you
of the fast filling swimming lessons in turquoise green
The abrasive pad of your finger sending me drifting-
though I am tethered hundreds of thousand years beneath
You wake me instead from starry night dreams
the sound of coffee pots brewing
pushing open the airways in my lungs, taking hold
to root themselves in clay instead of dream.