Long Forsakes Poems
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I am the hunter with belt and sword.
I am captivity and desires searched for.
Great my name has become.
My dynasty is vast as a Roman Legion.
I stand for truth and honor.
Many have tried to defeat me.
Many I have defeated.
I am glory and shame in a world devoured.
So overwhelmed that we sputters to speak but overcame undefeated.
I am Law and Justice.
My government is Monarch.
I am the Emperor and Judge.
My engagements are that of Poet and Philosopher edification to instruct my people out of darkness.
So obfuscated, they splutter to speak but I am there as their teacher.
Mystification is our world.
Those who find us are forewarn that we are given life by God,
therefore, we are sentient to what is said.
If he or she sojourns, he or she must learn our ways.
So distinguished we are.
We have conquer multitudes.
Delegation to our land we deploy.
Emissaries formed and our people adhere.
We rejoice over our victories.
Measures are not require.
We know who we are.
This is our Empire beyond the stars.
Galactic bears as named.
Galactians are woman, man, and child.
Our minds are affixed.
Our hearts are forbidden.
We are not forsakes of love.
We are the image of unions.
Neither he nor she achieves without some form of unity.
Here is our belief and our creed.
We are the Galactians of Orion.
Constellation on the equator east of Taurus, we are one world diverse.
Our people are multifarious.
We are unions unified.
Our missions is to remain distinguishable from all others.
Strength of our brothers is strength to all.
Solidarity is domain, which includes woman and child.
Diversification must form.
Mixt we are colors all around.
Amalgamation is a twilight zone.
We are the Galactians.
Once discovered, we embrace.
Conformity is our aspect.
We informed with a straight face.
Life is not lost here.
Our horde will segment.
Our ways must be sought.
To those that come, whether by choice or coincidental, we inform.
Our creed is our belief that anyone can be a Galactian.
Within a dream, we may live.
Within in a world, we are.
If you are the choice or the coincident, we are your protector from enmity.
We are the Galactians.
We are warriors and man!
As a Roman Legion, we possess the power and the strength.
_________________________________/
Date Written: March 29, 2014
For the Roman Legion Contest
He saved my life, bid me "Repent"
My sins then on His cross were sent
I could not hide before His eyes
No way to pay, the cost too high
A Righteous Judge, though sinner I
"I knew Him not", my alibi
He owed me not one bloody cent
But on my debt, His blood was spent
I could not pay the heavy cost
Broken, hopeless, lonely...lost
In His light, my darkened soul
Washed in His blood, He paid my toll
Bridging the divide for me
I was blind, He made me see
He is the Way,
To Victory
He Is the King
A throne to rule
The debt of sin
He paid in full
The Lord is not slow concerning his promise, as some regard slowness, but is being patient toward you, because He does not wish for any to perish but for all to come to repentance. ~ 2 Peter 3:9
He who covers his sins will not prosper, But whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy. ~ Proverbs 28:13 NKJV
Repent, then, and turn to God, so that He will forgive your sins. ~ Acts 3:19
8 For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: 9 Not of works, lest any man should boast.
~ Ephesians 2:8-9 (KJV)
“Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross;”
~ Colossians 2:14 (KJV)
9 And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation;
~ Revelation 5:9 (KJV)
There is only ONE who knows me well enough
To silence the dark inside me, sprinkle light that decides
For me to hear the joy inspired by sun and moon,
Stars who glisten like a mirage of glitter dancing beneath
The heavens, erasing all the fears and tears
With beautiful that believes in the promises He gave,
Promises of hope that lives forever, faith that creates the
Pleasant, grace that never feels better…
There is only ONE who can assure me
That love will never forsake me, His light will never burn out
He will never fade into my memory – He’s alive
And always bringing the assurance of a peace
Beyond my wildest dreams, peace that fills me to the brim
With sensitivity, gentleness – a feeling of belief
That never leaves, believing that is forever seeing
The way through the worries and sorrows, past the doubts
Into the miracle of forever – where He is there, together
With those who know Him as Savior, those who hear
Him stirring the angel’s breath, the amazing, the prayers
There is only ONE who can bring me through the shadows
That linger on the night, dimming the joy and silencing the
Wonder – the awe that comes from knowing He is here,
A constant hope, a forever faith, grace that can only compel
The heart to listen to His promises, His scriptures and His
Miracles, who remember that God never makes mistakes –
With Him, there is eternity and He never forsakes.
With Him, there is a reason for every day
With Him, there is a second chance
With Him, there is pure grace
With Him, there is a way
There is only ONE who can take away the sins of the world
He is the inspiration for love that never doubts or dreads
This is love that is forever – faithful and so very rare
His love is like breathing the freshest air – it is eternal
It sparks the repentant prayer – making the heart and soul aware
That He is the reason we can know life eternal – love that burns
Away the doubts and leaves us with the promise that He is always there
He is the only ONE that can bring us through this life
Without fear of the death that will take us into His presence!
There is only ONE and He is the ONE I believe in.. .Jesus is my King
And my heart always sings of His glory, His grace, His forever embrace
In the tremble of the evening and the rustle of the unfinished letter,
My aged hand, shrouded in the mist of memories, writes the last farewell,
Under the blue cloak of celestial silence, waiting for the silent echo of your pride,
A proud oblivion that dares not gamble with lost words.
Seasons, stepping over us, corseted us in tombs of leaves and thoughts,
They have coiled in the whispers of our souls together and apart, in snowdrifts of indifference.
I see bleeding sunsets where each day concludes its aria, a somber procession
Beneath my eyes frozen forever gazing towards the sunset, in the waiting of a dawn I have lost.
I, remaining immovable as you knew me, just a little more hunched by words unspoken,
The eternal white blizzard has blossomed in my hair, a winter poet with a heart clad in ice armors.
And here's how shades of gray weave their bed in the canvas of the soul's dusk,
Coloring darkness over the love that bleeds, a flame that extinguishes in the horizon that forsakes me.
The star of my eyes is extinguished, and the sky only illuminates me in hues of longing,
It is a portrait, an old and cracked painting, that even time refuses to touch,
Hidden in the sweet kiss of things no longer, I find my solace in the dust on abandoned furniture,
And feel how without your presence, life slowly melts away, like a candle in the wind.
The snow of indifference has buried our whispers, and blizzards of despair blow us towards separate fates,
We will always remain the same figures, like two timeless clocks, the man of the sunset and the woman of the dawn.
Somewhere, in our story, that unravels and falls, we remain two strangers to the world and to ourselves,
Lost, you in the red light of the evening, me, a residue of a star flickering in a forgotten corner of the sky.
And when these lines will fall away, just as the shadow detaches from the body at dusk,
I will navigate in silence among galaxies, an anonymous cartographer of the way with stars and memories,
A mute bard, stripped of the sale of sentiments, severely ill with the euphoria lying in my chest,
A last page, a last verse, woven from longing, of your odyssey, admirably sad, divinely beautiful.
The Mansions of Heaven
I’ve birthed poems that still miss attention from friends
that are company to me. Downpours? Keep me dry!
Life provides, both in comings and goings (some fear).
I find joy in the knowledge some things can’t get grasped
that we’ve worth past our ‘sell date,’ own space on love’s shelf.
All sea’s shells still grace beaches whose fate is just sand
when their colors have faded, their spiral caves smashed.
A child’s wonder can visit both sand and God’s love.
All life groks that life is! Is it Death that pretends
its thoughts count in this life? Does Death laugh? Can it cry?
Tell me, what can Death own that a fool would hold dear?
Is there something Death hopes for (can Death’s hand be clasped)?
If Death ‘IS,’ then what’s death without life? Is ‘itself’
to be treasured, its absence a victory stand?
Hmm? If nothing had value, would nothing get trashed?
Should a hand you would prosper count less than its glove?
Words Muse links are each mansions (1) past ancestors carve
out of air whose mute poems form cities that shine
on a hill (with worth seen from a distance), each star
that inhabits the heavens though blue-washed by day
(sky obscured but still there). Words are pearls we secrete
to smooth what pricks the flesh in the shells of our time.
Though we shed words like skin a cicada forsakes,
they inhabit the trees or the shrubs of our choice
till they don’t, till they’re sand too, or food for a voice
that finds own ‘hill’ to climb. All life has what it takes
to give breath to a city that struggles with rhyme.
Though rhyme’s only breath’s air, it’s still shell at God’s feet.
Can a poet not dream there’s a God, or just pray?
If life ends, we’re still blessed to have been who we are,
not just one in a trillion but branch of True Vine.
Oh, it’s not from a lack of God’s love that fools starve.
Long Tooth
January 6th in 2022
Poet's Notes:
(1) Are there not entire universes waiting to be discovered in each drop
of water? Has a 'word' (of any language) ever been uttered that does
not 'source' a mansion in heaven that shelters God's children?
The heat soaked day drags on: each daisy sweltering
every buttercup melting into the dry ground,
a golden oozing of petals. I watch them through the window knowing
that I could not be ready, this I that’s still unknown
plucked before the first blossom. The hum of the sun
repeats like an assembly line, robotic, in essence,
clawing its way into the conscience
and residing in the mind like a panther. I, too,
am reclaimed by the ground.
It seems to pulse, reaching and breathing me in
dragging my limbs into its dark depths.
I let it go on from the white bed, sterile- so I’m told.
Even the sky dulls me with its aqua face staring vacant and shallow,
its vague features too-sea-blue for me. The seed that’s cracked inside disintegrates,
the doctors say, “it is no threat”.
But I feel the leaking egg rise in the heat
trying to engorge itself like a cat eating its tail.
I want to grasp a handful of the straw-grass
covering the ground like a yellow wound, to watch it
infect the air and bleed into the wind.
My hand reaches for the stomach,
cupping the heat that steams from my skin, unstretched- as far as I can tell.
I know when it happens, I knew when it fell,
feeling the red spots, all the blotches of myself
costume my insides like a cracked cauldron, the unhatching complete.
A sea of suicides, as the dark lump rises to the throat.
If water is life, I gargle and spit its corpse from my mouth
like a cactus. I imagine the tumour deflowering,
its thorns still jagged like teeth or as black as a squatting toad.
Before the window, out of captivity, the flowers’ faces all resemble death,
each seed trembling with my pulse, afraid to look into the eyes
of the lifeless that forsakes being. Dead trees with ringless bones,
boughs bent into unnatural contortions
like deformed ballerinas performing offensive dances
I watch with blindness. I rise and leave withered shell remains,
the parasite shrivelled and discarded like old skin.
In the window view, the snow rises once more as the sun turns to bone
whilst the wind passes through me. I am a mine, full of black on black
atrocities, that has dead birthed the unknown.
Wonder's Mother, Misery
Digging up the philosophical topic:
Disputing bliss as the ultimate state.
Argues that striving for worthy causes
is crucial to satisfaction.
Told as a narrative:
I settle for serenity before empathy emerges.
Fortune arrives! Freedom's apostle forsakes anguish
Gifted infinite Bliss, my solace destined deservedly
Stream of clarity meanders a universal language
Friction's absence nestles purity imperviously
Embalmed in Calm's acclaimed lake, swan flossed
Rythemical ripples push potent satisfaction
Praises recited by besotted Constancy credulous
echo honey hive hums of hexagonal exaction
Departing debaucherous City vividly abhorred
Putrid brutality writhes with tired rivalries
Beanstalk brings salvation, stem thrust forward
Garnered ease guarantees Eden's glories
Possessive Bliss demands spellbound devotion
Heaven threatened if Bliss discerns disloyalty
Clouds combine to combat empathy's erosion
Chastise my facile option of blind buoyancy
Fog's fugitives scowl at my serenity tenuous
Big top brandishing condemns complacency
Stampede creatures wet sterile to spectacle
Aloof cautions, storm's rampage prophesied
Thunder's scorn in boisterous cloud growls,
" Are your horizons devoid of curiousity?"
Lightning despises consolation Bliss allows
" Ventures usher insight, mishaps carve tenacity. "
My plaintive protest, " Bliss gives reality reprieve."
Vehement gust howls, " Glassy serenity smothers"
Truth edits template, discards denial' s dry leaves
" Necessary Misery is Wonder's Mother."
"Wonder's discoveries honour researchers who develop them
Trials and triumph craft tapestry immaculately woven
Showcased esteem denies distinction endless spectrum
Taunting tranquility extends pledges inevitably broken."
Narcotic Bliss persuades with privilege of inaction
Compassion scaffolds resilience duly collected
Pragmatic rain alerts to a pertinent maxim
Intrigue's face created by Misery's descendant
July 2020
Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ho toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.
Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates
invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.
Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.
Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season
of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day
Love blinds
Blinds us to imperfection
A sinner turned a saint in our eyes
What once was ghastly
Is now flawless
In our eyes
Clouded by love
Veiled by love
It overwhelms our being
Our soul
Our sin
Our love twists
And turns
To have beauty
That is blinded
That is not bound by our oppressors
Our shackles have been released
By love
That is not ruled
By tyranny
By hate
By sadness
But
By passion
By friendship
By love
Phobos has released his hold
On me
You have stolen
Stolen
Taken
Looted
My sight
My heart
My strength
All
Is slave to you
You
In all perfection
In all beauty
In all discord
But
Time is master to us all
That forsakes me
On my quest
By
Stealing him
His beauty
His heart
His compassion
Death
You have forsaken my heart
You have taken all
Of Me
Of him
All that stays
Is his cold hand
Eyes of many different colors
Deadened
By the cold hands of death
All buried
Surrounded by posies
Blessing of the world
Has left to heaven
Angels sing him
Sing my love letters
Sing my compassion
My love
Please
Stay with me
Your breath upon my door
A quick stolen kiss behind velvet
Instrument playing your love
All
All of it gone
Disappeared
Veiled from memory
All a story
Please
Stay with me
You behind me
Your diamonds adorning my hand
You in the future
Till
When
Time lets us join
By bonded in the clouds
I will always rever
Rever the moments
Moments of young love
Of humor
Hiding the affection
Hiding the attention
Please
Stay with me
Guide me
Love me
Teach me
All of the moments when it is
Fear and Hate
Embracing me
Please
Stay with me
Forevermore
Where Death cannot break
Bonds of young love
Bonds empowered
By truth
By compassion
Please
Stay with me
Throughout it all
We
We will be together
Death will not be our king
But
We will
Love overcomes all
Please
Stay with me!
Jasmine sunset, collapsing between the stars
Like tangerine laughter in expressions of poetic
Wars, with everlasting passions,
Hesitating on the breath of a song,
More powerful – glimpse of God’s gestures,
Coloring the twilight with the flow of flames,
Smashing through the gentle pines,
Releasing the music that brings silence her grace,
Melodies between heaven and earth,
Listening to the tunes that tremble through the soul,
Unbending into clever thoughts of still light,
Flowing through the warmth of the spirit who knows
God is with us – in the melancholy moments,
In the seas of precious solace,
In the winds that restore our purpose,
In the dreams who prepare us to risk failures,
To find the answers in themes of praises,
To ask whatever our heart measures as reflecting
Kindness, mercy, visions of holiness,
Left by prayers, clinging to destiny’s curiosities,
In gossamer threads, like the spider’s silken web,
Heartfelt and heated noises from the summer
Who bends to the winds and stirs joys,
Brought to life on surreal echoes from memories
Sincere, genuine silhouettes – in the shadows,
Where the sun casts a heavy breath,
Relieving the darkness of its doubt, restoring
The serenity in each blessing felt
By hasty hearts, bound for the wisdom
Connecting the meaning of a lasting faith
And the heart healed by fate,
Who is unescapable – His plan never fades,
Never fails, never forsakes…
His plan doesn’t neglect the honest praise
That lingers on the souls of those who can see
Beyond the jasmine sunset,
Into the twilight melody – the sea
Of grace, genuine and unaffected by the tide.
It is the promise when heart and soul collide.
It is the eternal where believers abide.
It is the moment in time when I first decide…
To love as He loves,
Without self-seeking relations,
With altruistic worship of the Son
Who lives beyond the sigh of a setting sun!