Long Furrowing Poems
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(A Long Agonizing Conversion.
Out of the dark forbidding night,
I Struggle now to see the light.
I never felt this way before,
Loved the lair of darkness more.
Was careful in nothing, no good to see,
No miserable longing nagging me,
Then, out of the past in agonizing flight,
Out of the deep I search for sight.
What roused me in my dark domain,
And showed me that the light was gain?
Who made me desire this other way,
Through pain into the light of day?
With knowledge comes uneasy dread,
And regret 'bout the place I fled.
Things have gotten complicated now,
Rending my heart and furrowing my brow.
Self love is such a natural thing,
No concern for sin the heart to wring.
Grief for sin, I've come to know,
In this vile vale of tears below.
Might I find a way of relief,
From this unexpected pit of grief?
This struggle out is laid on me;
I had no thought the light to see.
Seems, like a bull, I am turned this way,
As a pull on the rein comes into play.
With my old will I would refuse,
This shaft of shining light to choose.
Why has God's power upset my way,
Remolding me as a piece of clay:
Turning about my heart and mind,
Into some calm and caring kind?
Is there a purpose in all of this,
A value to gain and a loss to miss?
Is good reason given to me at last,
A way of emergence from my past?
Finally my sight emerges clear,
And I begin to lose my fear,
Oh, what a gift; the gift of sight
With thankful heart, I embrace the light.
This change of heart was born in me,
A hope of Jesus the Christ to see.
I'll no longer covet a life of ease,
Some foolish way myself to please.
Because an eternal joy will come,
When this earthly life is gone.
Stay with the light whatever the cost,
Rejoice in God's saving of the lost.
For the sight of Christ upon the Cross,
Shows great gain comes at great cost.
So with the light, will come the pain,
But, oh the wonder of the gain.
"Light came into the world, but men loved
darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil." John 3:19
"But ye are a chose generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people,
that ye should show forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his
marvelous light." I Peter 2:9
Long Ago,
I gave my life to a vision beauty,
And it ruined and blessed my life forever,
I met a taskmaster, who was relentless,
He showed me my sin, sin after sin, and I could barely bare it,
But through it all his still small voice said, “Woody I love you”
And there are moments friend, There are moments, when he opens up the
Sounds of Heaven to me,
And I feel a peace and a joy that are unequaled by any time I could imagine,
Like for instance, today, I preached at one of my best friend’s Churches,
And I preached the theme, when a seed becomes a Storm.
And my friend read poetry,
And my friend arrived in laden apparel,
And it was a like a dream of old, come true forever more,
The Fantastic Four, knocking down windmills and furrowing eternal friendship,
And at the end of the day, my wife and I sat down and cried tears of empathy and
passion and healing to Gridiron Gang,
I tell you this world is harsh,
And so my King must be tough on me,
He must relentlessly remind me of my emptiness and inadequacy,
But in all of his chastening there is the still small vision of a beauty more
captivating than any World Wonder,
I tell you my King is tough,
But beyond his toughness there is a soft still comfort,
And my love for him is so deep in this moment,
I yell and scream at my savior sometimes like a jealous wife,
I curse him out, I dare him to show himself,
And time after time, he responds, “My son, you are beautifully and wonderfully
made and I love you”
I tell you, in his service I have suffered horrors I couldn’t have thought of in my
wildest nightmare,
And yet his protective hand has always been on me,
He is the King of all I tell you,
And I am unafraid to embrace a Buddhist or a Muslim or a Jew or a Hindu as
sisters or brothers,
For I know of my Saviors protective Jealousy,
He does not fear my adultery,
For he is confident,
He nudges me to explore the universe and see him in Vishnu and Siva alike,
And like the Sivites I sometimes say to him, “God where is your mercy?!”
And he answers with such sweet caress,
And he answers with such sweet murmurings,
He is the End and the Beginning of my joy,
He is my coach, my lover, my friend, my King, my confidant, my brother, my father,
my boss, my master, my life, my heart, and I will love him forever!!!
John B. Jackson
1880-1911
Norma knew.
Norma, my erstwhile friend of a thousand hunts;
Only she knew the feel of my beading thumb,
As we sought out promising locales, and
Our clever quarry, from points near and far.
From the salty marshes by the Pio Pico adobe,
To the broad summit of Sycamore Canyon,
We left tracks only the night ‘coons could find.
So, did we learn anything in life, me and Norma?
I once spied a tern furrowing in a breach.
Norma was ready and loaded for the kill,
As I drew a long bead,
Held my breath, and pulled the trigger.
She, my Winchester 1895, lever-action,
Reduced that tern to feathers in an instant of smoke,
With white pillow plumage in complete upheaval,
Flying all about, and interspersed asunder!
That single memory was on my mind,
Before slipping eternally through the veil.
I remember closing my eyes, and there she was!
Appearing before me as a haunting ghost,
As she was, on the day she saw me kill the tern,
My disappointed mother, telling me I was cruel,
Cruel and heartless and mean,
For destroying “God’s creature.”
So, it was on that same day I put Norma away,
Lock, stock and barrel; stowed in silence,
Under the rafters of my humble bed;
I said a final goodbye and adios amiga,
To my once ballistic sweetheart,
And the love of my wild, youthful days.
Never again did I kill any living creature,
And found an inner wisdom I could never explain.
But, truth be known,
I wish I had Norma now.
Here in this dark cold grave.
I miss the tender touch of her cold trigger.
The gentle pull of her icy hammer.
And mostly, I miss the intoxicating power,
Of her fiery, exploding steel.
For together we traversed the canyons of Turnbull,
And the rolling vernal pastures of Workman Mill,
Tasting many a delicious quarry.
It’s true, my friends,
Norma knew.
Only she knew the feel of my beading thumb.
Unique Love
By Rick Rucker
I have found a Love, so intense,
That it overrules my common sense,
I don’t mean that it is bad,
Just more incredible than I have ever had,
At first, I thought that it couldn’t be,
Certainly not to me!
When we met, she had this European charm,
I wanted her always on my arm,
She has a Netherlands accent,
I knew that she was Heaven sent,
I guess I didn’t blow our date too badly,
Although all I could think was “I want to kiss Her madly,”
We have been out many times since,
Thinking back, our first date makes me wince,
We now get together at every chance,
To further nourish our Romance,
Conditions cause us to live apart,
But She is ever in my Heart,
I have asked her for her hand,
To wear each other’s band,
She has said that she will,
If she only knew what a thrill,
She has given to me,
How proud that I will ever be,
Just to be able to stand,
Next to Her, and hold her hand,
As the preacher asks us to recite our vows,
Our Love, each of us will espouse,
Even thinking of it now,
I am furrowing my brow,
To think that I could really get,
The most thrilling woman that I’ve ever met,
Could it really come to pass,
That I’ve won this comely lass?
That I have grabbed the Ring of Gold,
That we will forever hold,
Each other in our Heart,
And from whom we will never part,
To be in Love like this is madness,
Deliriously happy, with no sadness,
It shouldn’t be able to be,
Certainly not to me,
I must have said my prayers just right,
Some dark and lonely night,
To receive such a wonderful surprise,
The One standing right before my eyes,
The One sent from High Above,
The One that is my Unique Love!
We live opposite a huge farm,
I find living here such a charm,
The cows and the sheep,
Abundant, as the farmer does his
His rounds in his Jeep
Makes living where we are,
A dream, but city life is not far.
This farm has horses too,
Though not too many just a few,
And pigs and goats
And pretty small winding roads,
It has a small river that winds its way
Beside a road, it takes all day
To walk along and pick wild flowers,
I adore sudden summery showers.
Mealies and sunflowers are planted
And manure is put down once a year,
Ridding us of sinuses, that’s quite clear.
The sound of the tractor ploughing,
A joy to hear, as it’s furrowing,
The land, planting seeds that grow
And look like soldiers such a show,
They stand up straight and tall,
Never have I seen one fall.
I pray for rain and fear a drought
So happy when dark clouds about,
And love a downpour feel the relief,
The mealies feel, for sun like a thief,
Steals a probable storm, but when rain
Pours and drizzles for days, mealies gain.
Beautiful plants that now must,
Wither and dry, and wait for first frost
Before they are harvested, or it will cost,
The farmer his whole crop, if not done
Just right, they will rot,
And the farmer will reap naught!
I watch this every year,
But now I sadly fear,
Will see my farm no more,
Which gave me joy, galore.
A new era starts on the 1st November,
Moving into a secure complex, so December
And Christmas will be in our new abode,
We have reached a crossroad,
Which I’ve decided to look forward to,
A move which had to happen, we knew!
Footnote:
In S. Africa we refer to corn as "Mealies"
... long ago
in the timeless now,
we traveled, when
came a shaman
giggling in the glee of bringing us chest-to-chest,
his eyes mirroring our
lustful wonder of nipple-kisses
in burnished darkness, a dawn
flooding our mouths in feverish melding, and
the wind opening, ravishing us to
find our roots in olive groves between the pillars of our thighs,
temple incense, earthy aroma and soil-pores
birthing obelisks taut and sweetly anguished for
the suckling moon-circle of our lips,
and the shaman sighing in sanctifying the curve
of my nether realm as
your mount of worship fed
on your furrowing seed, sung
by hissing, the sacred pleasure of
toes curled like
your hair washing the valley of my neck,
your fingers against mine counting, then crushing
the blasphemy of time spiraling giddily
into the flirtation of your eyes
challenging the irises in mine, asking,
begging for us to meet again and again
until the sun is finally watching,
begging
for a temple of its own
and us inseparable
by even the sword of its rays
while the shaman smiles in sleep,
exhausted by our satiation -
… yet, come, there's morning on
the far side of this orb, but
no more luminous than the furnace of our lips
embracing our ageless now
… so, kiss me - kiss me, love, again, again and again...
----I thought I had posted this a while back...guess I didn't. Oops. : ) here it is...couple years old.
When sorry words offer but sadness and pain,
When weary thought drifts into the tides of shame,
When heavy darkness fills my soul,
Freezing last embers upon the coal,
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for I can never quite reach
The paths that entangle, while the demons breach
It burns in vain, for I try so hard for naught
My tears in a frost-bitten muddle—construed and caught
As snowfall sifts ice onto disdain,
As afternoons crawl into midnight shade,
As every mistake has torn me apart,
This foolish soul crushed—bashed from the start
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for reality is but a fret
Knowing tragedy shall befall, though it comes not yet
It burns in vain, for I have hurt you still
As I try to escape the furrowing doubts that kill
So now I cringe, and cower, and remain
So caught in your sorrow as I turn away
So sorry and hateful for what I put you through
For as I falter, you are ever true
The love in our hearts burn in vain
Yet, somehow the yester-embers among the frozen coals return
Upon the frost-bitten windowpane—somehow they burn
a woman's lust is as carnal as any
man's but has desires of the heart to match
necessary as breathing to have both....
the soft line of her body speaks to me
her eyes burn hot with meanings heartfelt
powerful desire to caress her lovely features washes over me
wanting and being wanted little game we play silently
she is feasting on my blatant lust
heart knowing the beauty of being desired so deeply
wanting to be wanted is its own fantasy furrowing deep in her loins
but a woman's lust is love's strength and body's craving in the same breath
true beauty is found when the two desires meet
when a woman's heart finds the heat of her lust
gives herself to it and takes it by strength of will at the same time
i feel it in her hard embrace while she softly caresses
her soft skin devours my mind
salted hot lustful
run my bare hand over its velvet warmth
and her silken skin speaks to me in
ways only a man can taste with his soul
...her pale thin lips dangerous...eyes closed
kiss long wet deep gentle hard hot
she bites lower lip soft with anticipation
by the nearness of me
i can feel her deep lustful breathing faster longing
her bare skin sets me on fire
her eyes drug me
her soft lips silence me
Day#4
Inquisitive Teacher
"What do you mean he comes into your room at night , and touches you ?''
Weather Announcement
Hale the size of gum ball's start to drop as if a meteor of shower's were to greet our entity. The humidity felt overwhelming, exhaustion rushed all
Editorial Omniscient Editorial
Teacher turn's around to see her class group together with big innocent eye's.
She take's a step closer pulling her knotted hair back into place.
Youngster
''When Mama fall's asleep he come's into my room to play a game , he call's it a nice touching game."
Inquisitive Teacher
"What kind of game ?" furrowing her brow's anxiously she inclined. Just then the town alarm start's sounding. Alarming everyone to duck for cover.
Youngster
"Mama's sick and we can't hurt her , I wanna , I need to go home to Mama!" He start's wailing with his hand's in the all crazy , rocking back and forth.
AS A WRITER , I DO APOLOGIZE ON MY BEHALF FOR MY FIRST WEEKLY THRILLER , AS MORE THEN SINCERELY IT'S UN PROFESSIONAL TO NOT CHALLENGE MYSELF AND POST DAILY AS I'M SUPPOSE TO ... I WILL BE MORE DEDICATED TO MY READER'S ..... APRIL LADAWN BELIN International Writer/ Poet
Form:
"I'm very happy being me, although sometimes I'd love to be a bird so
that I could fly." - Joy Fielding
Furrowing the crisp layers of thin air
flies the migratory songbird of charm,
the cheerful Robin on the frilled wings
soars to the fringe of clouds in the sky.
The bird of transparent crystal morning
tweeters the tune of sunburst horizon,
in the secrecy of its silky scarlet breast
pulsates the cadence of avian delight.
Over thrush wrapped in the silence of dawn
it sings to the melody of the nascent sunrays,
the welcome carol for the ascent of a new day,
in north wind the enchanting notes drift away.
While on smoky sky the storm clouds gather
little Robin sings on bough of wind-swept tree,
when the rainbow arc spans the drenched sky
it flutters with the rhythm of the celestial hues.
Outside my window on the green visage
the red bird perched on the lofty branch
sings the sunrise song that sails me by,
in the new unfurling sky it’s time to fly.
October 9, 2019
Contest : Writing Challenge, October 2019 - Bird
Sponsor : Dear Heart - Wiishkobe Ode