Long Only when Poems
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If so.
Do you like poetry?
If so, I will write something for you.
Do you need someone to love you?
If so, I will see what I can do.
Do you want to be wanted?
Do you need to be needed?
If so, I will be here for you and I will tell you my truth.
I could picture you being happy with me.
I could see us walking hand in hand.
I can still see your smile,
Each morning when I wake up from my dreams.
I think you are drop dead gorgeous!
I love your style.
I think you could be growing on me.
Only when you leave do I lose my leaves
And your summer dress is replaced with winter’s tears.
Is this the only way that it can be?
If so, you are still the only one.
The one I want to spend my time with.
You are my energy drink,
You give me wings.
You make me believe that this could really be love…
A love at long last that is bound to last
And if so and it truly is meant to last,
Then I will be forever happy,
Because I saved the best for last.
Let me be the first to compliment you on how beautiful you look today.
I took a second look,
Because a thousand horses couldn’t drag my eyes away.
I cannot just forget you;
That is something I am unable to do.
It is not every day, or any other day,
That I get to see a woman like you.
In fact it has never happened before;
You are unique.
You I could adore.
If only you would want me to.
If so, would you please tell me you want me too.
I will be over here waiting through another ice age;
Waiting for you to breathe new life into my veins.
My air; my water; my sun shine.
Say it ain’t so, or say you will always be mine.
If you want to be loved, then I will love you forever.
If you want me to go, if so, then I will be gone.
If you think you could one day fall for me like a feather,
Floating down from up above, you are sent from God,
Then here I will wait for you to land safely in my arms.
I will wait for you,
I will carry you,
I will lift you,
I will hold you,
Because you are the only one,
Who could make my chaotic mind become calm.
You could guide me to a place of peace in stormy seas.
I could love you, always, if that is what you need.
Do we share our empathy with each other?
Or am I just a loser?
I need you to tell me…please.
Here is my heart, it beats only for you.
All I say to you is true.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The little one came and asked the elder
How did things come to be?
The elder answered in abstract
A truth for all to see
It didn't happen all at once, but over many years
It happened with joy, laughter, and many silent tears
Like death from a thousand cuts, we just didn't want it to be real
Now all we have left, is just a bad deal
Its not that we didn't know, about the moments of despair
Its not that we didn't care, about the sordid affair
We just saw problems bigger than the sky and thought, who would dare?
And thus became a world that wasn't fair
We thought if its not us, maybe its not so bad
We can just enjoy our entertainment, and be plenty glad
And that's how it began, at least our part anyway
Even after so much has happened, we still have so little to say
The little one sat and asked the elder
Why did we do these things?
The elder answered in abstract
A sample of our selfish dreams
We did it because it felt good
Better than being good to ourselves
Better than loving thy neighbor
Better than the highest health
We called lies little, when they are quite big
Marking the beginning of our disgrace
We treated our future like it was a blooper
Without ever willing to embrace
We covered up truth with makeup and masks
Now we are the ones defaced
Our religion became follows and likes
And so we lost our faith
The little one stood and asked the elder
What can we do now?
The elder answered in abstract
With a head heavily bowed
The one thing that is our purpose
We no longer do
Because we look up atop our ivory towers
And only see a zoo
We believe that one can affect change
As long as its not us
So the answer to your question
Is to once again practice love
Have the conversations that create community
Not just for our favorite friends
Overcome our bias and impunity
And false prophets will come to end
The little one turned and asked the elder
Will you tell them I left?
The Elder answered in abstract
As a smile touched his breath
I will tell the story of the one
Who decided to be changed
And became the foundation
For this story to be reframed
When they come and ask
Where did the future go?
I will tell them the past only hopes
For the future to grow
That if we seek the future
We must put in the work
That we can move forward
Only when we acknowledge the hurt
Still knocking on the heaven door
I saw a soldier man crying
At an after victory
Oh man why you cry
Asked I with a confusion
He said
Tell God I asked why it
Must be me
Ask God why it has to be
Like this
For right now am
Still knocking at the heaven
Door
Still knocking on the heavens door
Once I saw a brave man cry
That a lot it tells
A word is enough for the wise
So this words so deep he said
Tells us a lot
Once he was young
With an innocent mind like
An empty glass
Time goes so he got educated
With an identification
Of some enemies
The empty mind now corrupt
So with time he became brave with
This knowledge to war
Time goes till he was a soldier man
Ready to defend his country
Off to kill the enemy he goes
Like a scam of war
He saw a deferent face from
The enemy he knows
As he realise the war was false
The real enemy was his gangs
Back home
Who sent him off to war
So betrayed he felt as already
So many innocent he already
Sent to lay in peace
On the ground he bleeds
So brave now he cry
As first he asked why it must
To be me
Ask God why it must to be me
For right now am
Still knocking on the heaven door
Still knocking on the heaven door
Once I saw the brave grief
Wonder why so I ask
Soldier man why you cry after
A war victory
You will never understand
First he said
The war is not over
Not until I feel peace inside me
With this hands I slain
So I worth not to live
War are not what you perceive
Is better love than war
With the gun I murdered
So I worth not a love
In me the war is not over till
I know why it has to be this way
For right now am
Still knocking at the heaven door
I know God lies behind this close door
Still knocking on the heaven door
Have you ever seen the brave cry
Is like to see an eagle without wings
Life is like a zero
As wars is to vanity
So on this Quest
Only on this note
You see the brave cry as the
Soldier man now
Still knocking on the heaven door
Still knocking on heaven door
Hope he found his peace
Hope he finally meet God
Behind the close door
For so wars will never be over
Until we feel love and peace
Inside of us!
That only can come
Only when the close door
Of our ignorance is open
To love (God)
Until then all we can now do
Is only but
Still knocking on the heaven door
Was the purpose of your absence an attempt at causing me pain?
That crippling feeling, a spider spinning its web inside my mind.
That arachnid, poisonous, jeers the word space like a handicap.
That parasitic relationship forms a cloud covering the moonlight,
A fog that swirls like a whirlpool in your absence. How rapturous
Your paradox forming a bridge made from our memories. Broken and
Reshaped they become the foundation to a journey in that sea you
Created within me. Your withered emotions and fleeting empathy
were a false proposition of hope only a jester would find funny.
An exhibition of animosity lies in the silent waves – waiting –
for our sunset. How beautiful its rays are against the black water;
falling into the abyss, hidden under that rain your pseudo blanket.
Does the sunrise when you are blind? Does the moon set when
You can’t see the sky? That colorblind man sits there on the beach
Looking in silence. He cannot see his reflection within the water, he
Stands and walks to its surface. There he finds a crow crippled, limping
In the ripples where his reflection should be. That psychedelic feeling
Draws in his drowning breathe, falling into the sea. Paramount to his
Survival the man drowns, his understanding a paradox in his memory.
Only he, the crow, remembers the light of the moon. Its pompous shape,
that transcendent light, a memory to your decay. Only when yellow hits
the eyes of the crow will that white light fade beyond the thunderstorm.
He cries to the heavens, yet his speech murmurs under the weight. That
Black water suffocates his prayer, but he finds comfort in his anonymity. In
the presence of absence the crow longs for loss. He who is stolen from
wishes to be further buried, lost in the waves. That siren sings a fading
melody back into his ears. His own prayer an anchor tied to his feet,
crippled in your memory. Fractured in his own faith, what god heard
his suffering, his murmurs clots of air in a salty sea; black as the blood
from the wound you carved out in his chest. What blessing filled
his misery, that pseudo composition you create is a platter filled
with the feather of the crow. His words held sweet your grace,
an ensemble dancing in the mind of the forgotten. in the sea of
his followers he is Poseidon, yet still the crow sank, anchored in misery.
To look back now,?to the times when I was young,?there were so many unknowns?that the girl I was ?didn’t realize existed.?I did not know?if I could ever trust a man to care.?I did not know?if I could ever be half the woman she is.?I did not know ?if I could even make it far enough to question what wasn’t promised. ?A seven year old me,?pink streaks in her hair?and a smile,?a real one,?on her face did not yet know how the world would ?funnel into her ears one day,?trying to tell her everything?she already assumed was true.?She didn’t understand?how people ever left other people?or how sadness was an actual disorder.?She thought a smile was a cure.?I did not know ?that a father was supposed to do more then leave healing wounds?and set a dinner table.?I did not know?that love is fifty/fifty only when the other is involved?and willing to say he cared.?I did not know?what it meant to feel no hunger for anything other then a bed sheet?and voices other people could hear.?Because a seven year old me?blocked out the slaps?and believed it?when she said she was crying because?her back hurt.?I didn’t know?that some days I was worth nothing more then the price?of a punching bag?or?that feeling so alone in a room full of people?can make anyone crack.?And it wasn’t until?the only man I’ve ever come to trust ?held me after I saw a girl almost get assaulted?in my house, on my own couch, on my own lap?that I knew not all men were evil.?And it wasn’t until?she told me about the sadness in our veins?being a battle I’d never get to escape easily ?that I realized I’m as strong as she made herself.?And it wasn’t until ?the winter of no lunch and ?spring of bad habits and ?summer of broken hearts?that I came to terms with the place I was trying to get to.?I have a boy who’s like a brother.?One who built a place for me to ?watch the world before joining it.?I have a mother who lived to tell a tale.?One who now discusses with me?the poet that saved my life?and the lyric that started an epiphany.?I have a disorder that some people don’t survive.?One that, some nights, is so strong,?it escapes through fingertips or ?words of mouth or ?limbs I once dangled from the edge of the world.?I have unknowns.?So many that I did not realize needed answering.?A seven year old me once saw the world?as a place for only her,?but now,?I’m just trying to find a place to stand.
Myths About Snakes
By Elton Camp
As to snake myths, a good place to begin
Feel and see. They don’t have slimy skin
Not matter how many this fib have told,
They certainly aren’t slimy, but only cold
Though many believe, there’s no way how
A milk snake could possibly milk any cow
In a barn that type snake may well be found,
But that’s true even if there’s no cow around
A hoop snake can’t make a wheel to roll away
“But I’ve seen it,” the uninformed man will say
If they could do this, it surely would be great fun
When scared, like any other snake they will run
Another myth that need cause no iota of alarm:
Snakes can their victims hypnotize or charm
But when a dangerous snake does come near,
Some animals will “freeze” in the greatest fear
Here’s another story that is simply of no account:
Calculate a rattlesnake’s age by the rattler’s amount
Each rattle show the snake have lived another year,
That a rattle is left at each of many sheds is clear
It’s untrue that snakes in pairs will always be found
In the brief mating season is when the male is around
A snake’s “mate” never on its killer vengeance seeks
Another falsehood is what that particular myth speaks
In great danger any person may become embroiled
If he believe a snake can strike only when it’s coiled
Because that foolish belief most assuredly, isn’t right
The fact is, from any position a snake is able to bite
To believe this dangerous myth, you shouldn’t oughter
A cottonmouth is unable to bite if it is under water
How could a water snake possibly eat and survive,
If it couldn’t feed on fish and other snakes on a dive?
Another widespread belief that is quite a bad mistake:
Is that there is such a fragile creature as a glass snake
Though such an ability would be an interesting sight
If it could, when threatened, break apart and reunite
But if someone whom you know insists these are true,
There is actually not a great deal that you are able to do
The adage may apply: He who is persuaded against his will
Will almost certainly remain of the very same opinion still
P.S. There is a legless lizard that looks like a snake except that
it has eyelids which no snake has. It can break into three parts
when threatened, but can’t go back together. The end with the
head may escape and later regenerate the missing parts.
Once upon a time there lived,
A beautiful girl and a man she loved.
So true was such their love,
There wasn't anyone who disapproved.
It had been love at first sight,
A fairy tale since that day.
The maiden had found the man of her dreams,
No one else needed to have a say.
They had done it all,
Candlelight dinners, shyly holding hands,
Kissing in the rain, dancing around trees,
Leaving intertwined footprints on white sands.
But it wasn't just another love story,
It was uniquely special like every other one.
They had eyes for no other but one another,
The best part of their lives had just begun.
They traveled around the world,
And she kissed her man at the seven wonders each.
People would smile at the storybook couple,
As they counted stars standing on a beach.
With her, he was the man he wished to be,
The one who wouldn't think twice,
About pulling her up to dance in a crowded train,
He'd protect her, keep her happy at any price.
He'd see through her weak smile,
All the way to the tears inside,
He'd whisper sweet things in her ear,
Hold her till all the tears dried.
Though they did have a fair share of problems,
They always came together again,
No matter what happened,
Like raindrops on a window pane.
On a rainy day, she had sat waiting,
Wondering about the surprise he had promised,
But he never came,
For the winds of fate had suddenly changed.
Five years after that day, she found herself alone,
Sitting on the porch, counting stars on her own,
As she recalled the day he had been taken from her,
'An unfortunate accident' on the next the papers had shown.
She hadn't cried on the phone, she hadn't cried on the way,
She didn't even cry when she had to identify him,
Not a single tear or a heartrending sob.
She just stared ahead with an expression so grim.
It was only when she had received his belongings,
The remnants of his last minutes, did she react.
She screamt and cried, laughed and wailed,
For among others, was a diamond ring beautifully packed.
His surprise, the laughter in his voice,
The excitement, the secrecy of the evening.
He had been right, it had left her breathless,
But he wasn't there to see the sorrow it did bring.
Even now her eyes brimmed with tears,
As she looked at the ring as it sparkled,
And thought of that time when there lived,
A beautiful girl and a man she loved.
- Miliya Parveen
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
The rising of the seventh moon in an ornamental lampshade is equivalent to a nice round smiley dinner plate that had been recently washed,
Recently washed is neither a rotating wimpy wishing walker and neither is it a raspberry wafer wobbling,
It takes a lot of effort to squeeze a giant igloo through the eye of a needle,
And this is not pleasant for the spectating polar bears whose fish was being fried inside the dwelling holes,
But only a mini strawberry could flex the muscles effectively to cause a jam in a mile of traffic,
That is not good news for the jars who are already late and to be late is said to be as irrational as using a fork to make a morning brew,
A stew is far more intelligent than a gravy as many components equal more experience and more experience means that even a metric metre of labelled combinations could entice a bear from a sleeping hole,
But only when wearing a jacket made from paper,
It is nice and neat and true to form,
But format was often found to be a flame of frog leg on a carpet of mystical swirling frogspawn,
It is wise to offer up a little cup of cat milk to the buds then sit back as the colours loop in and swirl in a sky of answers,
But this can simply not be achieved nor archived when the moon is in the bin and the sailors are racing in the sun ship,
A trade is traditional and traditional trade can be nothing more then a hyper-fluted mini skirt of a skating rabbit on a promenade wearing 60 pairs of headphones,
Metronomes moaning making moronic motionless mixes,
And a nice little pair of glasses on the mantle-piece was swaying in the wind but not swearing for swearing was reserved for those who act out tanker talks,
Themes then?
Yes.
Where there were many now there are few.
But in fuse boxes the conversations are often quite absurd and who would put a floating camel in a tank then send it into a plane to cross the clouds,
Criss cross is a cleaning duty for a mission opinionated cloth wearing layers of clothing,
So what will one bring to the fair?
A mare
A single bud
A sanctified saint cushion with sparkles and satin.
And a heron in a pan of water with 60 fish to eat.
Consummation is the creational consumption cream of cropped chartered chunks. Said the 90 feet of cat by a door.
Z Leptailurus serval Z at 54 lemon sponge cakes laughing at 21 empty flan cases.
Form:
Only when the trumpets roar
Angels in chorus, enchanting all music
The day our creator calls.
I surrender my soul, O Holy One, to you
He who casts, out all shadows, from the darkness
striking at the devil's door, he himself will kneel, guilty
To our maker and his.Bowing down kissing his feet
We will raise our hands in prayer
In a regal Heavenly sound, holding the very air, we breathe.
Golden flashing silver chariots on fire blinding with his lightning, Grace
Flashing of beauty, Glory be to God
They come racing out, from the gates, of heaven
We will bow in shame adoring
Each and every single knee,they will bend
In honor to, our Almighty King
He who is reverent ,Father,Lord and Master
When a sun will forever sleep
The sounds of weeping,them bathing, within pools of, a beautiful light
Weeps upon destination, our final day, judgement.
Our redeemer has finally come,unto to earth ,in our salvation
The moon shades red, her light in sorrow
Clouds nacreous upon gossamer wings
sweetly floats, upon a whispering breeze sweetly
Aeolian blowing through deep Psiturism passions
bleeds on our Passover, have mercy
Suffering blood of our brothers and sisters
Generations of our sins ,in the Heaven,s speak
Our Lord and master has spoken
only no one heeds, his Holy voice, or call
All this talk of war, makes one weep, with sadness
suffering in a world, where we are all brothers
born from our mother,s womb, sacred
Sisters reminiscence in past sins
Brought up, with the peace,within understanding and love of God
We are all his flock of children, lost
So much poison, shown on the television
We all sit back guilty and say nothing
This world we live in, is our world
Each and everyone of us, has a very powerful voice
Our rights to, freedom of speech
Ataraxia to all nations calls
Very little love, within this world
Less today, let us pray for tomorrow
We are controlled now, with mans own greed
How heartbreaking sad, it makes one feel inside
Power is in the hands, held with love and peace
With gentle happiness and joy, it would embrace
this ugly world ,we now, live in today
Aeolian [rotating to or caused by wind]
Ataraxia [perfect peace of mind with calmness]
Gossamer [any thin,light fabric]
Nacreous [mother of pearl clouds]
Psiturism [the soul of the wind through the trees]