Long Infecting Poems
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My Creed
I live - a child -
Wrapped in feast days of divine whimsy
When the world outlines itself
In blue zircon sparkle
A child of the season
When glittering petals of snowflowers
Rest on barren branches
Casting shadows of bursting light
Into tumult
Where defeated darkness whines
In an ebony gloom,
Cowering
In the amber blush of an evergreen dawn.
Taking a holly branch in my hands
I choose to walk through the shortest days,
Into the longest midnights,
Embracing the fire of the Spirit –
Guardian of precious light
From all consuming blackness –
To stand watch at the apex of midnight bells
To celebrate
Heaving darkness back into its sneering leers
To walk in an eternal festival of the celestial.
I choose to embrace jubilee
Source of golden radiance
To make merry in an eternal gala
And join rejoicing joy
Infecting every fleeting crumb of time
Dancing with triumphant jubilation,
Ambassador to consecrated oblation,
Reaching
Always reaching to receive celebration
From eternity.
In the land of giving where orphans
openly share their palms of humility
upon the fist of rough winds
bearing the expired porridge
warmed by brown sacks of hope,
they flicker in candles waning blank.
This is the purest of a melody
soaked in gaunt eye-drops
singing alone,
infecting blue stars
to radiate into their creased fingers.
And the voice of alleys returns
with the same promise for another dawn
fading in yellow, stretching the reams
of grasses growing tall, taller
than the limbs of a city enduring
all the empty cans,
where mediocre socialite- smiles
don their thickened masks
on faces dark as hardened liver…
all this hypocrisy in the land of giving.
....................
Charlotte Puddifoot's Dark Poetry Contest
8/10/2014
What do you see in the mirror of your reflection?
your own body, or your own detection?
or the competition of another...the mindless mind occupy your subjective projector
Confusing, deluding...dreams know more order, dreams show more practical structure
The Ego is your master and you the acute apprentice infecting the weak of reality
using the close resources to master it's design in your mind
It's built your normality and to question is your own insanity
Feasting upon your wretched blindfold granting your desires \
it gave you your house, that house in which it made you.
the fatal awareness that mostly last breaths discover
a touching leap too late too seeped with much too weep
And by then too little to seek what then shall you do once you see the truth?
Could you even muster your own imagination and destroy natures enemy
Or are you the Anti-persona dripped in your own tragedy rippled and shelled
making a hell of a heaven or a heaven of a hell this is the abundant device
so rarely fought so quiet like mice so if you unveil this master of tricks
be sure to find your way out of it like shattered glass you may find yourself
lost without hope grinding deeper into the oblivion vanishing like air in smoke.
Is Judgment Near
Miracle Man
2/11/2022
It’s more than a virus infecting the land,
we awaken each day to a state of paranormal.
My thoughts are that God has removed his hand,
and things will never return to being normal.
Prophecy is being fulfilled as each day goes by,
are we nearing the day when man will succumb?
Protest is rampant, and for free stuff is the cry,
the peace that man seeks God says won’t come.
2 Timothy 3:1-5
'This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.'
A great unease has come, quite slow to flee.
To some it brings woe twofold. Constantly,
I feel its breath upon me though I pray
to see it gone. Instead, it’s wont to stay -
infecting me with insecurity.
And if it were a thing that we could see,
an albatross I’d guess that it would be -
with feathers changed from white to dingy grey. . .
a great unease.
This fretful thing that smells of misery
has spread its wings and grows relentlessly.
I sensed it in my land the fateful day
twin towers fell and blue sky turned to grey.
Events since spiraled, leaving not just me. . .
a great unease.
I have researched the issue extensively
and concluded most indubitably
The #1 problem we must confront immediately
is that the NBA is Tibetan-Nepalese free
I realize that this kind of news may just shock
both NBA fanatics and weekend warrior jocks
As there have been social media rumors of a plan
to load up rosters with ex-soldiers from Afghanistan
Well, I for one, will not let myself get distracted
The data's in, my words will not be retracted
At this very moment, President Biden's selecting a 5-star commission
to highlight the egregious wrong of Tibetan-Nepalese inadmission
Our nation has the talent, the drive and the will
to effect change to rock the world from Singapore to Brazil
For the NBA's bias against Tibetan-Nepalese is a vile disease
infecting every team owner privileged to speak Americanese
So, let us look forward to that great day
when NBA game-time rosters will look this way
Fifteen Tibetans versus fifteen from Nepal
~ as long as they sing our National Anthem before they 'play ball!'
~ Not for Contest ~
Chop Chop Chop
Differences in swings
Chop Chop Chop
Change up the tempo
Chop Chop Chop Chop
Ill make a difference in them
Chop Chop Chop
If I trim a couple of edges itll be perfect
Chop chop chop
They’ve been my friend forever
Chop chop chop
Well I’ll go out with them once it’ll be fun
Chop Chop Chop
Why does this feel so good
Chop Chop Chop
Just one more hit, it’s just to relate to them
Chop Chop Chop
Im only trying to help, I’m just doing God’s work
Chop chop chop
What has happened to me?
Chop Chop
Why do I feel so dull?
Chop
Why do I hurt?
Chop
Stops
Your axe is dull
Nulled by the continuous swings at your joy
Your peace
Sweet release from small victories of
“I have no one else”
“You mean so much to me”
It’s all a plea to search for something that they long for
Because of comfort?
Because of formalities?
The struggles that we face
Are a result of the people we embrace.
So you replace His grace with their embrace
And by doing so you lose traction of your place trying to affect them
But in turn falling to the misery and infecting yourself with change
To disarrange your being,
your personality
It’s the analogy of “Iron sharpeneth iron”
But now the iron is dull,
The Damascus has lost its edge
Because of supplemental wetrock
When we chop into the wood of people
And we chop and chop to find worth
but in the end, they’re the ones that get hurt
by dulling yourself and damaging them
condemning the Idea of ever being loved again
So then you try and make it work,
And result in settling for less
So you digress the values of manhood
and add the boys who only get with girls to hide their insecurities.
Minus the beauty stolen from girls who add make up to make up, of who that guy wants them to be,
that double negative alone, equals a positive pregnancy.
And so she carries the baby along because that boy was reduced to a coward.
So his whole life ended up being devoured, now she can’t sleep at night because she cries for hours,
don’t you see this equation is missing a higher power.
And so I plea with desperation in my words,
To be able accept that people change for better or for worse
But to know the difference can cost you your worth.
The blotted ink of sky engulfs my dream
While nightfall's soot and fog darken the shore,
And I , a tattered leaf, tremble midstream
Infecting my solace much like before.
Dreary this roam, this dreary roam so cold
Attended by a willow tree's limp veil;
Like ghastly air with sordid woes untold
Of slumber deepening... its tomb, my nail.
And in a haze, snow circles tainted blue
As forceful winds begin their groan, one howl
My tassels unraveling to imbue
This cry for life paling as woods befoul.
Yet, branches of hope , they rain down on me,
For spring redeems ...bright as eternity.
Hello Palestine,
have you seen the headlines today:
400 US federal workers tendered their resignation over the war, seeking ceasefire. And a Vietnam war veteran donated his pension to Palestine relief fund. Also at Brandeis the president was sacked for violating US Constitution, and was seen packing back to a Kibbutz near Gaza. Send them back, I say, to disallow infecting American democracy such. Palestine will never be free when those scoundrels have the upper hands.
And this just came in, sky over Gaza is clearing, the mist is gone and plenty of sunshine for the foreseeable future, enough to bring the birds out again, singing to the tune of Glorious Palestine, from river to the sea, this holy land shall always be free from the smug of racists and supremacists, clinging to their dystopia of land without Palestinians. Their days are numbered and nightmare is over, hello freedom, hello justice's return after the snub of cold shoulder for a generation.
Gaza cafes are now open again, markets filled with fresh fruit, and children playing with new toys donated from good will citizens of Tel Aviv and East Jerusalem. It is good to live free again.
The jaundiced eye is yellow -
but not the yellow of sunny cheerfulness or optimism
Rather – the yellow of an alcoholic’s eyes
when after years of feeding his destructive habit,
he is stricken ill and is dying.
Like the bad drunk who blames others
for his miserable condition,
he of the jaundiced eye
finds his own hideousness staring back at him
in the eyes of those in whom his own misdeeds he sees
and then judges as worthless.
By viewing things through yellow eyes,
he is– in fact – yellow.
The yellow of cowardiceness
and the yellow of jealousy and anger
reside in the whites of his eyes.
He is sick, and his sickness seeps through his soul,
infecting his thoughts and actions,
which in turn infects those around him.
His negativity and bias may hurt others,
but in the end,
he has mainly hurt only himself.
Unless he makes a mighty change,
he will disintegrate ultimately
into the horrible dark void
of his own mortality.
June 29, 2021
for Unseeking Seeker's the 'Jaundiced Eye' Poetry Contest
July 12 for 'A Brian Strand July 13' Poetry Contest