Long Opposes Poems
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VILLANELLES IV
She Always Grew Roses
by Michael R. Burch
a belated eulogy for my grandmother, Lillian Lee
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she always grew roses.”
What the heart would embrace, the ego opposes,
fritters away, and sometimes bulldozes.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she loved nonetheless, as her legacy discloses—
she always grew roses.”
How does one repent when regret discomposes?
When the shadow of guilt, at last, interposes?
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“Too little loved by the ego in its poses,
she continued to love, as her handiwork shows us,
and she always grew roses.”
Too little, too late, the grieved heart imposes
its too-patient will as the opened book recloses.
Tell us, heart, what the season discloses.
“She always grew roses.”
The opened-then-closed book is a picture album. The season is late fall because it was in my autumn years that I realized I had written poems for everyone in my family except Grandma Lee. Hopefully it is never too late to repent and correct an old wrong.
Little Sparrow
by Michael R. Burch
for my petite grandmother, Christine Ena Hurt, who couldn’t carry a note, but sang her heart out with great joy, accompanied, I have no doubt, by angels
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
What did she have? Hardly a thing.
A roof, plain food, and a tiny gold ring.
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
“Hosanna!” angel choirs ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
Whence comes this praise, as angels sing
to her tuneless voice? What of Death’s sting?
Yet, “In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering.”
Let others have their stoles and bling.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!
“In praise of Love and Life we bring
this sacramental offering
as the harps of beaming angels ring.
Little sparrow of a woman, sing!”
Keywords/Tags: villanelle, villanelles, refrain, roses, angel, angels, sparrow, sacrament, sacramental, family, grandmother, heart, ego, season, seasons, legacy, elegy, eulogy, remember, remembrance
Some countries were built on more lies.
You can hear their citezens claiming to be
Majority Christians while they look like
pharisees and scribes because of their acts.
Christianity opposes hate and discrimination categorically.
What type of Christians are they when majority
of them don't conside other people as human beings?
Don't they push us to question some early preachers
who preached the unjust countries?
When we visited some churches in some multi-racial countries and found people of same colours only
allowed to be there.
It was shocked majority of us when we were told
that they could not allow some people of other colours
( or tribes or from other countries ) in their services.
Jesus said,"Love your neighbours as you love yourself."
If you failed to love the neighbours how do you mean
to love God whom you don't see?
Do you really know God?
They claim to know God , but their actions they deny him. They are detestable, disobedient and unfit for doing anything good.
Titus 1:16
Whenever a hater means to love and know God,
he "she" is lying to himself " herself."
Many apostles were killed innocently
because of teaching and preaching the truth.
75% of believers of the world hate the truth while
claiming to love Jesus Christ.
Jesus answered , " I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.
John 14: 6
It is so hard to go to the Father when you hate the Truth... (Jesus is the Truth)...
The Way has truth which sunctify followers.
He is the true way which leading to heavenly God.
In other way , some Evil people learn the true word of God to repent their sins( to change) and become pure
in the eyes of God.
When a hater " or discriminator " means to be pure in front of God 's presence , he " she " lies to himself " herself."
It is time to rebuild on the truth , else where hell will continue receiving more clients.
Notice:
This message concerns all the people of different races who made hate and discrimination as their masters.
" All the people who still in wrong doings"
Don't feel guilty as your name is not pointed ...
It is a global message.
It is up to you to read,
or share
or comment on it...
Thank you.
October 22 Scripture Meditations Based on Acts 9-12
Key Verse – Acts 9:15 But the Lord said unto him, Go thy way: for he is a chosen vessel unto me, to bear my name…
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING ME AS A VESSEL UNTO YOU
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my unworthiness
Due to my sinful nature that shows my unrighteousness
Here am I surrendering to You my own weakness…
Please use me according to Your sovereign purposefulness.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my limitation
Due to my obvious debility that hinders my determination
Here am I casting to You my shallow devotion…
Please strengthen me by Your mighty fortification.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my infirmity
Due to my worldly activity that confirms my vanity
Here am I yielding to You my perilous frailty…
Please heal me by Your cleansing purity.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my ignorance
Due to my doubt-filled disposition that hides my arrogance
Here am I submitting to You my lack of virtuous endurance…
Please enlighten me by Your wise assurance.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my discontentment
Due to my shallow commitment that obstructs my development
Here am I giving up to You my grievous sentiment…
Please satisfy me with Your sufficient fulfillment.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my inconvenience
Due to my uncomfortable situation that leads to my afflictive disobedience
Here am I laying down to You my fleshly resilience…
Please assist me by Your compassionate patience.
Thank You for choosing me as a vessel unto You in spite of my losses
Due to my wavering faith that opposes divine praises
Here am I entrusting to You my heavenly causes…
Please uphold me by Your powerful forces.
October 22, 2022
I like the smell of leaded petrol,
pure, unadulterated,
the destructive euphoria of which intoxicates me
innocently unaware that it has forsaken me;
before I could realize that
olfaction influences gustation
and addiction is not a hoax,
I had become a car
that wouldn't run without petrol;
like a plant that requires photoperiod-
except my plant overdosed on sunlight.
But I drank all my water yesterday,
and choked and coughed
to drink the black gold again.
I like to see the impasto yellow,
the paint that's toxified by lead,
the real natural joy, the drug I need,
like a rat gnawing on my living skin;
we fail at realizing that
the eyes, sometimes, have it,
to activate the taste buds;
I had become the kalsomine,
deathly pale without some paint-
perhaps, a thick layer of it.
But I tried gobbling up real food last night
I couldn't gulp it down my gullet,
because my throat had inflamed
that wouldn't let me eat anything, but the paint.
I am faded, and wasted,
moreover tired,
my muscles spasm one after the other,
you could see the burton line on my gums
while I uttered incomplete sentences
whose sounds my pinna refused to collect,
my senses have deserted me-
you put one finger up and I see three,
I bite my own tongue
and my teeth grind each other-
while pieces of my brain explode,
but my skull opposes their projectile;
yet, there's enough lead left to score.
The doctor gives me some popcorn to eat,
and makes a list of the things I shouldn't eat-
that consisted of all the things I love to eat,
and another list of the things I must eat-
all the things I choke on.
I tell him about my sore fauces-
my voice breaking, trembling,
doing its damnedest to sound stern-
and with a well-crafted professional voice,
he tells me how he would starve me
if I ate what should not be eaten;
so I go home and self-medicate,
with more petrol and some more paint.
Loving was mother’s hand that convinced me to understand
To give was better to than to receive, this I do believe
For life is no bed of roses for a weary head that opposes
What man unjustly delivers even to trusting givers.
Compassion was mother’s rule, to never be cruel
Or make fun of others including sisters and brothers
Get along even if you are wrong, it will make you strong
For good is might, be polite and don’t fight, no matter who’s right.
Mother’s hand was gentle and kind that would often remind
When you stepped out of line with a swat on your behind
She loved you still even until her days’ end she did fulfill
Never to forget her affection and her bonding connection.
Often mother would make me laugh for my sake on her behalf
When I was down and out she turned my world about
Made me smile even for a while, with her words she did beguile
Stern with a heart made of gold, never cold, a perfect mold.
She often guided my dream whether or not it was extreme
Letting me decide before I tried and before my worlds did collide
Getting me to see what was there for me and what could be
If I took the road where rivers flowed and avoid carrying a heavy load.
Mother instilled a character of kindness without social blindness
Always respect the older generation they are our foundation
They had interesting stories to tell that would impel a lasting relation
With such imagination and non-stop conversation with no reservation.
Mother’s hand is with me still, to this day until we meet again
Her thoughts follow my heart, in my art; I know we are never apart
Her words are what I write; she’s never far, or out of sight
She has left these gifts for free, so others can see her soul in me.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "Life's Personal Impressive Meanings” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Freeman
April 1, 2010
The Westboro Baptist Church
By Elton Camp
(A note of explanation: This is written of a church that
makes a practice of picketing funerals of soldiers and
gay people. It is meant as a rebuke to the group (especially
to its “pastor”) and as a call for basic human decency when
one opposes practices held to be wrong.)
The way a church he could begin
Was to fill it mainly with his kin.
On the conscience of most it’d grate
To support a group so filled with hate.
Divine wisdom recorded from above
Says true worshipers must show love.
If one follows the Prince of Peace,
Only then may the gospel increase.
If part of what he says could be true,
The way he acts is not the way to do.
From every type sin one may repent.
He says for gays, that is not meant.
That once they get out of line,
They’re condemned for all time.
And he just delights to tell
How they’ll writhe in hell.
Belief in such a hell is a bunch of rot,
But it sure seems about all he has got.
He never thinks it would be cruelty dire
To burn a sinner forever in such a fire.
The pastor paints God as a fiend
One who toward torture is leaned.
He will have to account some day
For all the vile things he does say.
It should be his main job to persuade.
That’s the way new converts are made.
“Teach them to observe what I command
If before me you have any hope to stand.”
To make it known that of a death he’s glad
To any standard of decency seems very bad.
What does he think gives him any right.
To picket a funeral and scream in spite?
And when the pastor finally passes away,
Would he want his family treated that way?
The words of Jesus are certainly true:
“Do to others as you want done to you.”
What opposes enlightenment?
Endarkenment?
You know, like dusk,
evening,
end of a day
through end of time
on living Earth.
What opposes empowerment?
Disempowerment.
What might oppose Earth's enlightenment
and/or empowerment?
For me
or throughout all multiculturing history?
Possibly both?
I see ego darkness,
depression,
fecklessness?
inability to cause
and/or perpetuate health,
safety,
individual powerlessness.
Do disease
and insecurity
and lack of effective power
feel like ways of experiencing poverty,
absence of healthy robust choice
for you,
as seems to be true of my experience?
Yes,
but poverty does not feel like a synonym
for dark feelings
or disempowerment.
Poverty, like racism,
feels more political,
economic,
more ecosystemic.
What is the opposite of ecosystemic enlightenment
and/or empowerment?
Ego isolation,
unsystemic pathological darkness
and/or disempowerment,
disease,
nonemployment,
absence of meaning or purpose,
economic depression,
recession,
political suppression,
dissociative sublimation,
narcissistic idolatry,
monoculturing rage,
violent zero-sum win/lose capitalism,
religious-cultural apartheid,
ecopolitical suicide,
globally generic genocide,
climate exhaustion,
ego-autonomous annihilation
Do these seem to oppose global
and individual
and local enrichment
for you?
as they do for me.
Perhaps what opposes positive multilateral energy
is always some unilateral form,
political
personal
familial
social
psychological
neurological
theological
ecological
economic
cultural
religious,
of impoverishing experience.
(alternately titled...
whoops rites of spring
prematurely ejaculated).
This livingsocial mortal opposes
rigor mortis deadened waiver!
Great slabs of ice thrust
from Perkiomen River
competing forces did deliver
contraction and expansion
giving yours truly,
a frightened shiver
hurled with heft of Goliath
smashed into a bajillion pieces,
akin to alms giver
momentarily, sans freeze-
frame (courtesy J. Geils ghost)
suspended, hallucinated
me accursed and destined,
grim fate akin to drunk Mini driver
city, viz frozen blocks buzz
feeding frigid air, a sliver
of Ice Age dam axed
face of Paul R. Vortex
as he launched a
thousand shrieking banshees,
an narrow escape as I did quiver,
hence explaining thunderous crash heavily
argh...no time to mull
battering (ramming analogous to
more'n one angry red bull)
Highland Manor Apartments
little imagination needed
to envision skull
and crossbones harkened full
Nelson deathly hallowed
grip inescapable pull
aghast and petrified to brimfull
(of mine non hull
king manlihood down
to the last drop),
nonetheless didst cull
atavistic adrenaline
laden fight flight, never a dull
moment whirling as
a "FAKE" undercover agent
with an off humorous bent
(what, that might earn me ten cent),
plus considering myself civil gent
(yea, really no time asper hero to invent,
such as the unassuming Clark Kent),
ah...wishful thinking misspent
mere seconds to spare sought
shelter in makeshift tent
deep sea diving into blanketed warmth
this whimpering poet went!
We should blame our bad habits
for our illness and take the heaviness
off our chest doing some profound reflection:
does our rage come from rebellion,
or our stubbornness to admit failures,
not following intuition, only wits?
Could Heavenly Mercy be denied to us eternally?
Is it hard to turn around and repair damage?
Too little concern and endless anguish
conflict with each other until we'll perish;
We have missed the blessing constantly,
thinking that no harsh punishment
would be given to us through sinful conduct;
we tarnished this image to avenge purity,
and be less concerned about our pilgrimage
to the House that's never without light?
Who opposes to bow down will be condemned,
I bow down, ask for divine mercy and plead!
A slow return to awareness is compelled
by spiruality and that sense of great bond;
I'm returning to the old life of worrilessness
where all roses despite their colors
had a scent and this boy didn't hesitate a bit
to bring some to his mom awaiting;
wasn't joy a possession never appreciated:
when the simplest things had an impact
on each emotion intensely exploding?
Wasn't happiness the source of all we loved,
and a declaration of devotion to mother and God?
Could anyone explain what defiance amounts to,
and which consequences we cannot undo?
Does our rage that comes from rebellion?
Can He take us back and end all frustration?
Inflict pain on anyone and God can be far from kind;
enrage Him and everything becomes chaos for the mind!
The slaughterer came to the market
Dancing and wielding a matchet
He sang songs of sorrow;
And wrote rhymes for his victims of tomorrow.
He grabs lands at his will
There is nothing he cannot steal.
He has stolen people’s identities
In his quest to commit atrocities.
The slaughterer’s threat is real
With the devil he had struck a deal
To kill those who opposes him
For in his face we are all Gohim.
The slaughterer detests peace
With him the world is no longer at ease.
He spares not innocent children
And he blackmails his brethren.
The slaughterer swims and drinks
From the gruesome river of blood
Of women and children he had killed
In the face of the world’s hypocrisy.
The slaughterer in Tel-Aviv has gone mad
From the boarders of Jordan, Lebanon and Islamabad,
He longs to destroy those he stole their lands.
And return homes back to dust and sands.
The slaughterer’s cowardice is imminent
When he meets his match on the battle-field
He runs to his accomplice in the devil’s own land
For money and the tools of his crimes
And now that we know the slaughterer
That maims children and women at will
He calls us all anti-Semites;
A name he stole from those whom he now oppresses.