Long In my own time Poems
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Life's passions all absorbed on green grasses
as the innocent treasures tamed and measured
accordingly we shy away the aftermath of past
stoned bridges enhance the connection point
while the cold calmness unwind the myths
for our must we define a place hidden where as
the teak wood stained with old disagreements
left unsaid and so morbidly left undone
as we hinder to blades of shame while
the light in the chambers of this excellent
brownstone manner as the banner swing
my own practice in my own time as this is
my space a place where inside looking out speaks
to the gnomes on the lawns why the rain leaks
the lost pebbles from pass over showers
distinctively poured like clock work and yet
the client approaches the foyer the beginning
of a sit down as the Lincoln doors are doing
an open and shut dance for the laws in the land
as I charm the gnomes at Cambridge arms
Symbols and signs,
Revealing the Divine,
I shine in my own time,
Climbing into your awareness,
Sharing in this experience,
I take a chance to light you up,
My cup full of information,
An imagination of creation,
Stationing myself for all to see,
The fire rising inside of me,
Blazing a path to eternity,
I burn through every entity,
Electricity is the force in you,
Use it to make it through,
The gauntlet within you,
View it from another angle,
A sign from an Angel,
A symbol to change,
Rearrange your thoughts,
You were taught to be small,
Crawl out from the stone,
We are not alone,
You've been shown the sign,
You are divine,
Align with the force,
Saddle up the fire horse,
Of course there is fear,
That is why you are here,
Clear away the old ways,
Stay true to you,
Through all the trials,
Smile at what you can do,
With the fire rising inside you.
It came to me in madness as my eyes began to dry, a tender love song playing and at last I
did not cry! I reached the gate of solitude and found peace in my own time, how gracious
are the Love Gods granting me the gift of kind!
Not kind as you would picture, this gift was flesh and bone, this gift the Gods had
granted me had solid form and tone.
They taught me of self loving and to be loved in return, seems I had strayed off the path
and a lesson I must learn.
But kind was what they paid me with for the blood, the sweat, and tears, a human Kind of
simpleness for my remaining years!
So if the storm clouds gather and the grey turns into black, hold tight to your religion
and claw your way right back.
One more time I venture to my much loved precious book, and turn another page of this my
life's truth, I started to begin the chapter and as this book it spoke, I glanced towards
the bottom where written was this quote....
'He who looks for answers in the bottom of a well, will surely find his destination leads
him straight tothe depths of hell'
I pondered for a while what those words could really mean, and was looking downwards in
your life as bleak as it does seem?
I am thankful for the wisdom that taught me to be free, but I'm thankful mostly to my
book, my beautiful Tapestry.
Heavenly beings.
Eternal in Heaven.
The day is warm, but the air is cool,
As I sit here watching an angel, who is sat upon a toadstool.
She plays the harp and whispers a song
And all around, children and their families are sat listening in silence.
They are loved; each and every one.
She is beauty in this place of peace;
Her blonde hair gently blows in the breeze.
Blue butterflies hover all around her.
The sun is shining on us all as she plays her harp
And softly she sings her words into the air.
Tiny gnomes march past and the children glance up and smile,
At the unicorn that accompanies the gnomes, as they walk on by.
They are heading off to see God and the angels inside;
While we sit here on the outside, in the morning light.
I decide to go with them and leave the music behind;
I have a job to do, so I must do it, but I can do it in my own time.
You see, I am a poet and this allows me to be free,
Of those things which hold other people trapped;
Those things like obligations and duty.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
I hold three magical rocks in my hand
Rolling them around and around and around.
Leaving this reality behind, far behind.
I close my eyes and the smell the fragrance of the early autumn sage
It’s aroma takes my mind back to another place.
A place where lush valleys with endless grass as far as one can see Surrounded by the glistening mountains that seem to climb upward
Passed the clouds and into eternity.
Here in this magical land I feel one of my passed lives was for me,
Here where I as a young girl grew into womanhood in a land that only few at That time ventured to see.
Here in this heaven on earth is where I started my journey in the land of the Cherokee
I was the younger daughter of a great chief and knew my responsibility.
I was to marry to keep peace and ensure prosperity
But fate had another life in store for me
A fate that would take me away from this land and my
Beloved Cherokee
To live among the white man and never again to see
My beloved mountains or the Cherokee
A cool breeze touched my face and a opened my eyes to see I was back in my Own time and space
I look up standing by my side was the young man who fell in love with me so Long ago and in this life made me his bride
A man who knew so much about my past and the prophecy
This warrior from my past now here in this time united with me.
All I wanted to do is lip-sync, you may say
In my tiny room, in my own time, as you may say
Your wish is my command, is it not?
Who will say that they are nominated people for welfare?
Not to discriminate, not to dominate for a nonending perennial time.
Be it a film actor
Be it an anchor
Or
Be it the president.
I am loosing myself in your eclipse of total recall
An autobiographical whim.
Know for sure, I never needed or never will need your autograph.
As a song is fading in you too..
A faded tune of a far away song.
On a melancholic enigmatic evening.
Which is felt only moments before to bid farewell.
I go online so I can see my sales,
how many books did I move in the night?
These projects that I gave six whole months to,
the stories that give meaning to my life.
But the bar is low, sometimes it’s not there,
nobody much cared what I had to say,
these characters who have lived in my head
are unwanted, most hope they go away.
When I’ve seen people who have half my skill
write a bestseller it makes me see red,
unappreciated in my own time,
perhaps I’ll be famous after I’m dead?
I write a poem that speaks to the heart,
craft the rhyme and flow to move perfectly,
something that requires a lot more work
than those writers who prefer their verse ‘free.’
Put it online so others can partake,
hope what I say might just stick in their minds,
but come next morning my readers are few,
I’m lucky if one comment I can find.
There ain’t much demand for poetic types,
for emotions that are rhythmically said,
but maybe they’ll read it far down the line,
maybe I’ll be famous after I’m dead.
I look at all of these famous writers,
how few of them lived it up while breathing,
Kakfa was nuts, Dickinson was insane,
old Bob Howard was surly and brooding.
Even the ones who found recognition
weren’t exactly living the free and clear,
Tolsoty couldn’t keep his marriage intact,
Hemmingway’s fame couldn’t fight back his fears.
We all dream of setting folks’ minds aflame,
of selling millions and rolling in bread,
but that’s the exception, all we can hope
is to become famous after we’re dead.
It makes a man wonder why he does this,
since there are much easier jobs out there,
is the creative urge worth the effort
when it so impacts our financial cares?
If all of the appreciation that
we can expects comes when we’re in the grave,
is the price of our own satisfaction
worth the hours of working like a slave?
To create something nobody asks for,
ro silence that nagging urge in our heads?
While knowing the best that I can hope for
is to become famous after I’m dead?
Eh, who am I kidding with this. You’ll forget my name before you finish reading this poem.
You have, haven’t you?
One last time
The stage is mine
The Media's stunned
That deal now canned.
What were they thinking
With clearly no inkling
I'd throw in a wrench
And create such a stench.
Congress in tatters
The Senate all flutters
Biden in hiding
With me still presiding.
As to those in the country
Needing such bounty
In my own time
I may give them a dime.
Some might well suffer
Just makes them far tougher
Christmas or not
I won't be forgot.
Bottom line folks
And this isn't a hoax
They robbed me this time
But the country's still mine
What's a few years
Watching Biden in tears
I'll show that has-been
By getting back in!
It came to me in madness as my eyes began to dry, a tender love song playing and at last I
did not cry! I reached the gate of solitude and found peace in my own time, how gracious
are the Love Gods granting me the gift of kind!
Not kind as you would picture, this gift was flesh and bone, this gift the Gods had
granted me had solid form and tone.
They taught me of self loving and to be loved in return, seems I had strayed off the path
and a lesson I must learn.
But kind was what they paid me with for the blood, the sweat, and tears, a human Kind of
simpleness for my remaining years!
So if the storm clouds gather and the grey turns into black, hold tight to your religion
and claw your way right back.
One more time I venture to my much loved precious book, and turn another page of this my
life's truth, I started to begin the chapter and as this book it spoke, I glanced towards
the bottom where written was this quote....
'He who looks for answers in the bottom of a well, will surely find his destination leads
him straight tothe depths of hell'
I pondered for a while what those words could really mean, and was looking downwards in
your life as bleak as it does seem?
I am thankful for the wisdom that taught me to be free, but I'm thankful mostly to my
book, my beautiful Tapestry.
I am at the stage of my life where I can do what I want.
If I say no, don’t, beg, give me guilt or try to cajole.
I will not take any guff or persuading, so you had better hunt
For an accommodating person who will care more for your goal.
I have my own interests, things that can make my day fun.
I gladly entertain myself and do things in my own time and place.
I do not care that you need day care and you are under the gun.
I have already put in my time, been contributing member to the human race.
Now my time is my own, and I do it up proud.
I paint, and cartoon, and I draw pictures of stuff.
I live in the moment, away from all kind of a crowd.
I do whatever I want, and I will not take any guff.