Long Identify Poems
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An unfamiliar voice received his miss dialed call, as he was standing at his 'crossroads of life'.
There was no flashing lightning or rolling thunder. Nor were prophetic words glowing in neon lights.
Determination was persistent, but not a trailblazer type. Destiny was very much alive, but very disciplined and patient.
One day Determination boarded a big bus name 'Quest'. He was among others heading for a city in the Mid-West.
Uncertain, and boldly charting a new course; but teary eyes lit up as the bus turned North on a Highway called 'Trust 49'.
He knew where he wanted to go, and assumed he would identify and recognize Miss Destiny when he met her.
Good advice, wise counsel, and persistent prayer, had brought him safely to a 4-way intersection.
He then boarded a city transit line called the 'X Train'. Before long, at the end of the line, he exited the train
and made a phone call. Searching for the next step leading to Destiny, he dialed the number. He had every reason to
believe that he had miss-dialed; but he inquired further,
and strangely enough, he was directed toward Miss Destiny.
In a way that he could never have imagined, about a year
after arriving, Determination met Destiny on the corner
of Availability and Uncertainty. With God infused assurance,
Determination had not found everything he was looking for;
and he knew that sometimes rain turns to deluges; but he
also knew that God would pull him out when he got stuck
in the mud. Determination had learned a few things on
the Highway of Trust; and he knew he was on the right path.
Through persistent prayer and Determination, he had found
traces of Miss Destiny. By God's Grace, he remains on course.
04042017 cj PS
A SOUL IS DIVINE
Poems about a soul, got me to thinking … perhaps we identify what it is we are discussing.
A soul is really something very very special my friends, but exactly…
What is a soul?
When did the soul come into existence?
Is it immortal? …. Is it immaterial and invisible?
Popular opinions differ, and offer vague unfocused ideas. friends please note I am not sharing my opinion or world’s popular opinion.
Perhaps you’ve been taught KJ version,Hebrew. 6:18 It’s impossible
for God to lie.
So you’ll agree, the Bible’s as good a place to begin our research,
According to Gen.2: 7 “Man became a. living soul”
God did not make a body and put a soul into it. Like putting a body
into an envelop of dust.
God formed man’s body from the dust, then by breathing divine breath
into it, God made the body of dust live.
The dust did not include a soul, the dust became a soul, a living breathing creature!
Clarifying scripture,KJ version, Joshua 11:11 - And they smote all the souls that were therein with the edge of the sword, utterly destroying them:there was not any left to breath.:
God presents a clear picture of a soul. He’s answering opening questions.
Is soul Immortal? No! When stopped breathing, soul was destroyed
Is soul immaterial and invisible? No! Had to be visible to smote it with
edge of the sword.
Hope you agree it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the concept of a
immaterial immortal soul—distinct from the body is not supported by God’s word, and he cannot lie.
So I’d like to leave you my friends, with two questions. Why are pagan lies more popular around the world than the truth regarding the soul?
Why have worlds religions refused to show and teach God’s truth’s
Hope this opens the door to in-depth concordance research.
Contest: A SOUL IS DIVINE
Sponsor: Mohan Chutan
According to the local reports
The 24 hr. ATM on Main Street
Opened on time again forever
Today and every day as predicted
Aint fake news great in America
They also say at 11:00 am the ATM went missing
Jack was ninety. Jack was nimble. Jack was quick
Forget about the candle stick
He used dynamite for the job
And wore clown shoes size 49
And makeup to keep it real
And brought his favorite stilts
To make him taller and less conspicuous
Harder to identify in a line up
Strapping the ATM on his back was tricky
One stilt broke in the get away escape
We don't know why but we can speculate
Perhaps the weight ...or height..or cop chase
Navigating gets harder as you age
The ATM never saw it coming
Made it to hour 23 today they say
As Jack hobbles or hops away
One stilt and plenty of cash on hand
Aint life grand.......grand theft that is
Song:- 1990
Mother Mother
love me love me
love me love me
I need your love
(repeat)
why don't you like me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
where is your love?
where is the safety I think of?
when I hear -
Mother Mother !!
Mother Mother
are you mine?
why don't you love me?
why do you hate me?
why do you hit me?
Mother Mother
How can I live without love?
I hide in the dark
I build walls in my mind
For I can't believe
Mother Mother
You don't love me.
I have posted this for others that are facing suicidal questions.
This was a healing song written to release my own walls that I used to protect
myself from age 4 and onwards. Was reading Daisy Tyrell request for feedback. Hope it helps a little. I could fill a book on the subject of the fight for life. Will attempt to put some in words as I can.
And it is a fight - those that are willing never to surrender will live. I remember, one time - stuck in a noisy hospital wing, a friend also suicidal at same time in another city. I wrote every moment, filling a large A4 pad. On my knees, crying - I was writing " I want to live" I am willing to live. Over and over. Line after line. Page after page. Also writing to my friend -
encouraging him to fight and live. I won my fight that time -but my friend
did not. When I heard of his death - It put me right back in hospital again.
The fight started all over again -never easy, but I won that one too and several more after that!
Daisy's poem talks of wanting to find beauty within. That may not be what there is to find. A great truth is found the point of rock bottom. Mental health counsellors term it 'bedrock'. When you find bedrock -you find your truest self. It was to my great astonishment I found my bedrock housed an
unquenchable spring of joy! Once I came to terms that this was the real me -
I was able to identify what was capping that well of joy. It took another 15 years to free myself from all those restrictive people. Once totally free never had another mental health issue. Funny that.
I have only shared this to hopefully encourage others. These times are long gone and totally cleared for me. Live a joyous, happy clownish though late starter life. Love always - Virginia
Poetry to me is a very beautiful thing,
It’s about your identity and community,
About friends, family and kind feeling,
And it’s about how you place in society.
It reflects upon your sexual partners,
References them as your mind’s pivot,
What love’s base is, about its garners,
And what should be loves fine ingot.
It explains sociology, culture and trends,
Shows your diversity, admits your choices,
Specifies any displacement for kind amends,
Any disorientation for your readers’ voices.
I believe poetry can just be for yourself,
For your own edification and collection,
Because if by it you identify as an elf,
You won’t be defined as uncanny deviation.
Indeed, deviation does not exist in poetry,
Nor does it form the reason for its writing;
Poetry embraces honesty, love and sobriety,
With an imagination where truth is flying.
The credibility of poetry goes unquestioned,
Because if you lie by it, you’ll feel the traction,
It always takes you seriously unreasoned,
Never disqualifying a difficult emotion.
Your awkward emotions are disquisition, code,
Eagerness and enthusiasm are their reception;
Sociology by it can become your chatting mode,
And politics can become your injuring person.
Poetry as a literary art is fructuous with stance,
Offering a handshake to any from a dumb;
Sets alight concepts and feelings to enhance,
Lives that may otherwise be under the thumb.
My house is perpetually full of stuff I do not need.
Diapers? No.
Hair bands? No.
Pens that do not work. No.
Patterns? Who sews these days?
Material? No.
Stuff I have dragged in myself after dragging other stuff out.
Like stuff.
Stuff so similar, it was silly to exchange it.
I am looking at an Easter banner that I took down and put on
The TV set last April or March.
I did not even see it again until
This second, and it is November.
My piles of stuff is staring at me.
Glaring at me.
Laughing at me.
If I had to identify what was in the pile in the corner
Right now or a guerrilla would machine-gun me, I would be murdered.
I would be luck to guess two things in that pile.
Death might be preferable to
Cleaning out this stuff.
The lines on my hand are baby-like soft, and pink with an almost
Imperceptible blue undertone.
there are bracelets of x’s around my wrist.
I stare at them fascinated.
It is said that the closer the lines are the same on both hands,
The more apt you are to living the life you had planned
Before you arrived.
Most of us have three deep lines in our palms.
The top Is the head line.
The length does not matter.
Is it deep? That is the important part.
The middle line is the heart line.
Does it branch off? It usually does. There are marriage lines
And relationship lines, less noticeable, but
There if you know where to look.
The line that makes a half moon around your thumb is your life line.
Oh, my gosh, yours is short? No worries.
It does not mean what you thought for a second.
If you really want to be fascinated by your hand lines, check out a palmistry book.
Circles, whorls, loops, and x’s mean different things.
The length of your fingers, and the relationship of one to another mean something too.
I have no idea how accurate the study of palmistry is, but it is fun to study,
And if you lose your hands in a pile of hands,
It will be a lot easier to identify them.
And it all shall come to fall
Falling for us all to never once see
As do silence shall whisper its hall
We enter where shadows never be
And we do not see ourselves for who we are
We only see to another to be someone alike
Mortal beings beyond Gods so far
Can I identify someone like me before my sight?
Lost to oneself but found by everyone else
Almost certain I'm leaving myself every bit of the way
Even memories were forgotten when so strongly I held
Did I once again unknowingly led myself astray?
Have I already come so far to begin again?
When so far I have come to have a need to start anew
Forgotten memories for never life to remain
Can I once again recall what it is like to once more feel?
And it falls with barely a whisper in my hall
Falling to remind me of the mortal I can only be
As I silently watch... I remember its singular fall
Falling upon shadows I shall never see
"Piece of *****".
When I was eight, I think you forced yourself into my home, my safe space- a blue truck
pulled up to the front of my mother's, and father's house, a dad with a dark beard was sitting behind the
steering wheel, a dark haired child sat in the passenger seat- I think
I was trying to identify you, I know you had an ugly-eyes too close together-almost stupid, dirty face, and
that you were telling me you did not want to go back to South America. I was as always being nice to you, and
I was so much taller than you, and I was asking what you wanted to play-
I was assuming you
wanted to play-
and then you punched me in my stomach.
I guess you had wanted to abuse, that my hygiene was not being addressed properly by my mother-as intended by her mother- and I
shouldn't have been in the bathroom with you- you are male,
short, my blonde was coveted by my relatives so it was oiled to look
straight and dark-so close to the toilet with you that you could violently push my should- be-blonde head into the toilet, and then I shouldn't
have thought to still talk to you, think to go outside with you while you were only leaving my mother's, and father's house-shouldn't have still
thought that you wanted to play...
but my stomach was washboard flat. And my should be curly blonde hair was going to be very beautiful.
Florence they are honoring nightingales
Blazing an individual’s healthy trail
Having a firm grip on what is going on
When life unleashes an adversity bomb
And everyone needs to stay calm
Pressured not to fail
Problems needed to identify then nail
Telling disease you’re never getting out of jail
Being an assistant to the M Dee
Wall displays many lettered degrees
More school
To use sharp tools
For the purpose to maturely look inside
Body breathing taking things in stride
Watching over this serious situation
Nurses remain quiet and listen
Knowing the professional position
Letting the boss make the decision
During this lifelong mission
Where God gave them a knowledge and permission
After long studies
Hours never funny
Using modern tech
Designed to protect
Reading numbers
While a life crumbles
Never really giving an angry shout
Hearing what the patient talks about
Forgiveness is a rule
Even if the wrongful act was cruel
Like slipping around a party pool
Doing something like a fool
Respecting private information
Sensitively and directly facing
During a sickness invasion
Especially when moral issues are raising
Driving them crazy
Expecting to be amazing
Studying the injury
That created the misery
And distrust
Prescribing slowdown a must
A nurse is honest and fair
Removing the scare
Blind to anyone’s unfortunate dare
Where they have to examine the tear
That put them in hospital care
Then when the wounds heal
Finishing the Doctor Patient deal
Reflecting during the waiting
Computer website needs the grading
Due to good treatments
Stemming from higher academic achievements
Earned by the BSN
Registered to defend
All human
Facing ills
Using basic relationship skills