Long Lengthening Poems
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My heart is inditing a poetic matter
My tongue is the workmanship of a divine potter
My glossa is the verbal-scripter of a meditative writer
These words are the instinctive outburst of my soul
Liken to the boiling fountains of geysers of shoal
It is so sad when the heart is cold with a good matter
It is even worse when it is warm with a bad matter
I speak of the things my tongue has composed concerning the groom and the bride
Words can never describe how we all feel today
Such feeling will be expressed in poetic words than kept, yet
With all the splendor of such a feeling, there is one most important thing
Love is the most important thing
What a word we use for an idea so immense and powerful
What a one syllable for a theme so divine and wonderful
Love is a mighty power, not just to propose with a Rose flower
It has altered the flow of history; it has solved every unsolved mystery
Love lightens every burden, and bears every hardship as though it were nothing
It renders all bitterness acceptable and delectable
Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing stronger
Nothing higher, nothing wider, nothing more like fire
Nothing to desire, nothing fuller or better in heaven or earth
For love is born of God, Love flies, runs and leaps for joy
It is free and unrestrained, love cannot be chain
Love ardently transcends all bounds, Love feels no burden
Takes no account of toil, and attempts things beyond its strength
Love is not fickle nor a tickle, nor is it formalities nor vanities
Love is a revelation, a desire deeper than civilization
Love’s dimensions is built on Christ foundation
To the glorious groom and beautiful bride
One elegant, one glorious, evoking admiring glances
Two loves passed down the long wide aisle
Between two lengthening rows of smiles
God has brought you together, not to be torn asunder
To be united in His love, with faith in God above
This is not a mere ceremony but a Holy Matrimony
Today as you begin the rest of your life
Together forever as husband and wife
May your dreams come true, with love and more
Adventures to have and the world to explore
As you celebrate your wedding this day
As you exchange your vows, I just want to say
These wedding memories will linger in our heart as a treasure
And seeing family, love ones and friends here is a pleasure
June 22 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Proverbs 1-4
Key Verse – Proverbs 1:7 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY WISDOM INSTRUCTOR
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my understanding’s perception
Thank You that Your justice enables my judgment of equity’s reception
Along Your divine knowledge and discretion
Toward my learning midst counsel interpretation.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my grace ornament
Thank You that Your law hinders my heart from sin-enticement
Along Your reproof against iniquity-entanglement
Toward my prosperity, protected from transgression-defilement.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my obedience to Your truth willingly
Thank You that Your precepts illumine my mind radiantly
Along Your guidance for me to walk upon Your ways uprightly
Toward my zeal to dwell in Your will constantly.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my days’ lengthening while from You, learning
Thank You that Your direction points my heart to heavenly leaning
Along Your correction with loving chastening
Toward my peace midst pleasant faith-refining.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my meaningful happiness
Thank You that Your statutes smite my foolishness
Along Your assurance against hopelessness
Toward my security, shielded by Your goodness.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my doctrine attendance
Thank You that Your principles propel my spiritual endurance
Along Your teachings against destructive arrogance
Toward my discipleship of faithfulness-sustenance.
Lord God, You are my wisdom Instructor
for my warning from spiritual departure
Thank You that Your Scriptures guard my soul against worldliness’ venture
Along Your exhortations bracing servanthood-posture
Toward my victory in ministerial loving gesture.
June 22, 2023
A thousand bees never settling down,
buzzed within his head.
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drumbeats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
limbs receiving discordant commands,
He suddenly hurtled into the streets,
stepping out from regimented norms
and breaking loose the tether of reason,
never walking, never running
but scuttling from side to side
like a piece of driftwood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
suddenly, he into a prophet grew.
stood with arms outstretched,
waiting for the crumb of bread
to be dropped
in the manner Elijah was fed
by the raven in his lonesome cave.
Seeing the audience swelling bigger
he was enthused, greatly cheered.
The riff- raff and the scraps
swarmed around to see the show.
Mounting the steps to the pulpit,
in unfaltering voice
and with fire in his words,
to the congregation,
surveying him with fun and sneer,
he thundered………
“The Doom’s Day is near”
With finality in his tone, he said-
“Repent and flee from the wrath to come.
The tree that doesn’t bring forth,
good fruits shall be hewn down,
and cast into eternal fire.”
The transition was quite easy.
He scurried from Elijah to John the Baptist
and from John the Baptist to Elijah
oscillating between
sense and non-sense.
__________________________
March. 28.2023
~ Placed Second~
Writing Challenge, ‘P’ Words
Sponsor – Constance La France
In my school days, I used to see him very often in junctions and bus stops. He was unshaven and ragged in appearance, but in his eyes, there was a kind of fire and he paced about restless east to west and west to east as if he had an urgent mission to accomplish. His words still ring in my ears. My heart goes out to those whom we call lunatics!
An inarticulate artist,
I wanted to paint
the lone life’s landscape,
effervescent,
the construed course
of a river called desire
unrestrained,
meandering its way
in self-possessed pattern,
I yearned.
In prime youth
I thought I owned
solely
the whole canvas,
in self-satisfied strokes
I smeared
blithe,
the subterranean serenity
of psychic vales,
disappearing undepicted
in the fold of canvas,
blank.
Free will amalgamated
prodigal paints
with shades of ego,
copious,
contrived colors spilled
with spontaneity slide
from porous palette
of permeable mind,
expansive.
The banal painting
didn’t turn out
to be a masterpiece,
the hidden designer
created a mundane motif
of listless life,
destined.
Toward the hued horizon
of draping dawn,
drawn at canvas periphery,
my mental brush swept
spellbound,
striving with sensuous drive
to capture the beauty
of unique chromatic lattice
at the edge
of the nascent sky,
pristine.
In supercilious strides
I trampled
the malachite meadow,
turned wasteland,
where I walked
d i s t r a u g h t
on my shadow,
s h a t t e r e d.
On the bleak backdrop,
sinking forlorn
ordained,
within twilight zone,
rinsed by sedate rays
of the setting sun,
my consumed essence
gives perforce
now
the final strokes
of bare brush
at the edge
of convoluted canvas,
where my senescent mindscape
devout,
is illumined
by the eternal glow
of divine light.
Through the lens
of introspection
I see me
metamorphosed
into a lengthening shadow,
magnified
bigger than myself,
d i s i n t e g r a t e d.
The long, long night
Is winding down
From distant rooms
I hear the sound
Of fine old friends
As they take their leave
The evening ends
And I believe
The time to follow draws ever near
My heart is tired, my mind is clear.
The shining lights
Are fading out,
The dawn lies weak
On the walls without
The voices drift
And steal away
As we search for deeper
Things to say
Sands keep flowing from the glass
As present lives become the past.
- And we all grow old
- As the Earth spins around
- As we hold to the love
- By which we all are bound.
I don't want to leave the party
It's always been so much fun
Through all the years and tears and fears
It's like it's only just begun.
I don't want to leave the party
But I'll go, with all my friends.
Who knows what waits outside the door
When the magic of our living ends?
The hand that holds
Your glass of wine
Is cracked and aged
As much as mine
The shadows of
Our memories
Are lengthening
Into the seas
Of onward flowing history,
The days once shared by you and me.
The love that lit
Ten thousand nights
Is still alive
And burning bright.
The time we spent
On sharing dreams
Is further now,
Or so it seems.
The lives we built we can't forget,
And no one wants to leave just yet.
- And we all grow old
- As the Earth spins around
- As we hold to the love
- To which we all are bound.
I don't want to leave the party,
We're all having too much fun.
Yet while smiling we'll still disappear
Now that the play is closed and done.
I don't want to leave the party,
But I'll go, with all my friends
Who knows what's waiting just outside
When the spell of living softly ends?
Memories linger melancholy
as I approach the bridge
to the Gardens de Sol.
A picture forms in my weary mind;
Just a mere shadowed mirage,
like an old faded photograph
in a heart shaped locket
kept near my soul centre
for days, weeks and decades….
while
fall winds crooning blue zephyrs
frigid, incantations upon the
once verdant meadows
where the fawns grazed
and wild horses pranced
so breezy carefree
on fine spring days....
I whirled and twirled , a carefree dance
on patches of clover and dandelions
in the spring of my youth
Reveling joie de vivre of sun
Sol warming skin and soul pink
I remember our long, meandering walks
in a picture perfect rose garden
scented with redolent pines
and aromatic wild flowers
we conversed for hours,
my hand in yours
thrilling at your every word
infatuated by a fervent touch
You, idly picking petals off a rose;
the deep timbre of your delicious laugh
resounding joy to my acquiescent ears
as I cavorted playfully in the garden’s fountain
until lengthening shadows quilted the path
with reluctant to leave, sun beams
of a late summer afternoon
And afterwards, in twilight violet sky;
intimate moments by a blazing fire,
silent music of our hearts thrumming
a lovers sonata while
you kissed me;
gold specked brown orbs,
so pleasurable and beguiling,
warming my soul
full of tomorrows promise
and forgotten yesterdays
Now, as I picture this quixotic drama
rehearsed again and again
one solitary tear slowly trails down
and comes to rest on lines
that were not there yesterday…..
Dead cornflake leaves
crunch under my feet
as I walk the very same
bridged pathway to the garden
alone
my only audience
a solitary prickly cactus
in the autumn of my years.......
A thousand bees never settling down,
buzzed within his head.
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drum beats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
limbs receiving discordant commands,
he suddenly hurtled into the streets,
stepping out from regimented norms
and breaking loose the tether of reason,
never walking, never running
but scuttling from side to side
like a piece of driftwood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
suddenly, he into a prophet grew.
stood with arms outstretched,
waiting for the crumb of bread
to be dropped in the manner Elijah was fed
by the raven in his lonesome cave.
Seeing the audience swelling bigger
he was enthused, greatly cheered.
The riff- raff and the scraps
swarmed around to see the show.
Mounting the steps to the pulpit,
in unfaltering voice
and with fire in his words,
to the congregation,
surveying him with fun and sneer, he thundered....
“The Doomsday is near”
With finality in his tone, he said-
“Repent and flee from the wrath to come.
The tree that doesn’t bring forth,
good fruits shall be hewn down,
and cast into eternal fire.”
The transition was quite easy.
He scurried from Elijah to John the Baptist
and from John the Baptist to Elijah
oscillating between--
sense and non-sense.
Tupac was a young revolutionary
Don't try to understand him
The visionary and child
Ahead of the game, while the game
Was making him into a paradox.
Do not put him in the collar
Of pop culture
To corner him in a box.
This was a bird that needed wings
To sing slave children's truth,
He is the oracle confronted by the brute.
Tupac did not understand ... the rope lengthening
And he the old tree of a young self yawning
How history made him ... and all of us
What we did not want to be ... him
Growing up loving his father hating his bars
The noble soldier against a racist system
Sentenced to silence, swapping the children for rats
On a piper's plan ...
And all the while his mother lived far away
In a time when the sons of her sisters
Are no longer profiled and crucified
For sins that all our dying cannot cleanse
There was no other choice than this:
Exiled in the free embargoed land
Sierra Maestra sentries everywhere
Pictures of Che under her pillow
Theorizing the redemption of her son
Through a classical education
As if a polite mind would simply be enough
To hide a child's soul from the visions tough.
Tupac, my scholar poet
Turned to his imagination
The Eldridge Cleaver of the microphone
An isolation of our exclamation ... unmuting us in word
Tupac, malignant in my memory
Poet, soldier, scholar, mankind's
Boldest son
Prisoner of history and the streets
Killed by derision
Before the hunter's bullet found
Their mark ... exploding the candle
Of a better dream
My warrior song for the warrior scream
Tupac, lovely as a lilly
And no ressurection in the streets again
Nothing here balms the odyssey of pain
Until death has done its dirty duty.
Submerged in the flood of the maddening crowd,
I see a verdant valley carved out by covert ingenuity
within my lonesome mind, drifting away entranced,
displaced from the still stratum of suffusing sound
of converging cacophony, resonating loud in quiet thoughts,
as dreams cluster within the unanchored mind.
In the colony of dreams, incubated in psychic thicket,
I wander on the convoluted contours of confusing life.
As the rising sun of promise bursts with convivial colors
on the calm canopy of hope with golden beams,
the yearning leaves sparkle in the spectrum of splendor
in the sea of silence where I sink within sensuous serenity.
In beguiling breeze rippling in the assembly of dreams,
the enchanting fantasy lattice dances to its cadence,
makes mystique motifs with light and shade matrix.
The design weaves for me the tapestry of imagery
where sprouting dormant dreams congregate on stage
to perform for me the kaleidoscopic show of ecstasy.
As the raucous reality invades the realm of dreams,
I invent words made of time’s sand, composing no lyric,
nor creating the beleaguered ballad of Greek tragedy,
for then I lie languished under the debris of dreams.
I become a flockless bird with broken wings in time tempest
when the sky falls on the consumed colony of dreams.
Walking the last mile in the lonely path of twilight zone
in the remaining hours of the fading sunset glow,
I seek the soothing shade to rest for the last time,
step into waiting woods of resurgent reverie once again,
see my dreams return, longingly flourish in their domain,
annexing the lengthening shadow of my memory.
2
Bourne loosely through the chill gusts,
Disordered fragments of summer's life go hurried by,
Harried to their last resting places
Into piles of brittle, browning drifts
Scattered on stiffening ground.
A cold sun, coursing ever more briefly
Across these hard, blue-white skies,
Presides above a sleeping landscape steeped in dying hues,
The last fanfare of the greens of life
Draining now into starkness
As nature sheds her flesh and slows
To pose in cold stillness between her cycles
Of life and death,
Waiting, now Winter's uncertain, barren bride.
In the house where the anger rang against the walls
Red thoughts of their minds have burnt away
To leave behind that sour feeling
That sinks to sorrow
Now pride has stepped in to break the bridges
Of charity they might have built back to one another.
Between them those virtues which bind us all together,
The formalities and incidents
The long parade of small things that make up a shared life,
Go on together as always, in smooth procession day to day
The image of harmony exists,
Though not its substance.
They know from this the weight of awkward silences
Falling between them now and again
Dropping like stones into the deepening pools
Of unspoken discontents forming in their hearts;
Ripples of sadness climbing in widening rings
To skim the surfaces of their speech
As breezes blown down through the sapphire sky
Tear the detritus of summer's corpse from its enfeebled moorings;
Fling the bits of yesterday's blazing beauty
Into pell-mell drifts against foundations, sills,
As spark-scattered frosts gather more thickly
With every lengthening night.