Long Reconstructing Poems
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Feedback,
A poet strive for perfection
Someday his work will become a worldly reflection
Of whom he is
With each line he procrastinate,
With each verse,
Reaction, pro action and anticipation
To the point
Of debating or reconstructing his latest
Despite receiving favorable reviews
Should I read it out loud?
Or should I let it simmer
And invited samplers to sample my work
Too many mind and voices
Can be influential
Unlike a Sunday buffet his poem
Is not the main course?
His work is his ode
So he becomes a prolific composer.
Author note:
To be or not to be this is the question
Our Lady?
You are our lady
of grace.
And now your dress?Is flames.?
The beauty of your sunken dome from a drone
Is a poem in itself.
Written by us and
Destroyed by chaos.?
This is what we do that rivals the stature of the gods:?
To astound ourselves and each other,?
With the wonder of?
Pure, enduring creation.?
The sacrifice we all make to our better selves
Who gave buildings wings and
Laid the foundation stones of our own perfecting.?
Epiphany is not found in the act of worship
It is to be found in the insight gained by gratitude for the world. ?
Exactly the way we built it.?
Exactly the way we know it to be.
Whispered prayers are but poetry?
That none other than you will listen to?
But it is good to talk to yourself?
To sing in harmony with all those other selves
?Who are listening, ?
Wearing?
Not false, but true masks
Revealing the kind of truth that can only be told with a lie.?The subtler architecture that creates heavens from grand spaces on this earth.
Reconstructing what can be seen behind your faces,
Behind all the saints who guard you,?
Behind the divine grace of your stature.?
The sensuousness of your catastrophe is breathtaking.???
© Igor Goldkind 2019
Jesus is the Master Potter
By Franklin Price
09/14/2023
Jesus, is the master potter
We, the followers His Clay
He molds us into shining lamps
Reconstructing day by day
He lays His hands upon us
Kneads and shapes us 'til we're done
He is the Master Potter
Who recreates us, He's the one
As cracks appear, remolds us,
Provides our structure with relief
Then fuels us, and lights us
To be His lamps that shine belief
He trims our wicks when needed
To even light the darkest hour
Leading others to salvation
His lamp has given us that power
He adds a globe of glass or crystal
To let the light burn in the wind
To guide lost souls to heaven
For since the garden, all have sinned
He cleans our globes when they have darkened
And our lamps are not as bright
And we doubt that we are able
To shine out believing light
If Jesus had not died for us
On that cross upon the hill
Would be no need to have our lamps
For other's nights, our lights, to fill
when her shadow cracked
fragments entered her mind
shards of false gold
pierced façade and persona
left her in pieces
splintered images and illusions
the mask had been held tight
a rope strangled the puppet
clown’s grimace incised
by strings of attachment
and forced assimilation
a mirage in the making
projection of fake courage
pied piper tune on the march
dissonant shrieking contour
silhouette of crushed empty words
with no choice left
she picked up the pieces
and timid surface tension
adhered to the task
of reconstructing a narrative
without othering
gendering
ab-normalising all rupture
when she looked at the mosaic
the patchwork montage
appeared more sustainable
self-sufficient and rewarding
as the sum of all parts
had been hidden in a whole
where the light needed to fill
crevices and fissures
and she began to accept
time lines and gaps
which assembled
the shape of outlines
of necessary change
12th August 2021
Scintillating muse providing inspiration
Jettisoning convention for innovation
Scuttling old patterns without expiation
Countermanding discourse with new creation
Alternating rhythms for lofty oration
Imbuing myths with crafty animation
Ennobling verse with majestic simulation
Abridging meter with stimulating catechization
Utilizing parody to intensify gratification
Brandishing riddles with crafty illusion
Burnishing irony in stunning profusion
Instilling prose with deeper alliteration
Suddenly, faltering in my bridled station
Confronted by seamless repetition
Disrobed of all callous pretension
Jaundiced at my mindless ambition
Reconsidered sages merited position
Re-read Homer, Virgil with more appreciation
Studying Shakespeare became new avocation
Bequeathing to the ancient bards greater approbation
obliquely opaque
opaque – soft light sifts through stained drape
filtered through muted sunshine’s dancing shape
trapped within dim confines - dust covered trust
love’s charred remains - victim of unbridled lust
awakening to darkness – blinding brightness
stumbling sightless through outdated rightness
alone with thinking’s disconnected fears
seekers reconstructing new frontiers
layering more dust upon the Grail
adrift amid the thoughts they never sail
searching without - for that within
saddled with past - and future sin
oblique – soft angle breaking stride
questioning the truths - that “must abide”
within the hearts and souls - of all but one
awakened to the truth - that there are none
8/27/2015
I am a poet, an artist, a writer
A lover of humanity
This poem I write is about the Grenfell tower story.
Kensington,Kensington
What have you done
Blood stains and tears are scrolled upon your veins.
For a dollar , a pound or two
You brought plastic instead of foam
You thought their would never burn.
Kensington,Kensington
Hypocrites and thieves
You brought these souls to their knees.
Twenty seven storeys
One hundred and twenty flats
Six hundred souls were all entrapped.
Kensington,Kensington
While you were sleeping
These souls were heating.
Higher and higher the flames kept on rising
Hotter and hotter their became
Calling out all in vain.
God how I wished it had rain
Kensington,Kensington
Look at your streets.
These souls you see is because of your greed
Kensington,Kensington
Stop your lies.
It's time you open your eyes
These crimes of yours is what you have reap
There are souls unaccounted for on Latimer street.
Numbers are increasing, mothers are still weeping
Kensington, Kensington you need to restore
Crowds are escalating.
Questions asked , answers concealed
Kensington, Kensington I fear
Your unanswered questions
May provoked a political war.
Five million why not a billion
You spend this much on nuclear wars
Kensington, Kensington the public needs answers.
Families are in despair
There cannot be repaired
Kensington,Kensington you need to start reconstructing.
These souls are everywhere
Mourning and anguish
Anger and fear won't disappear.
Kensington,Kensington the dead is knocking
Their ashes are spread everywhere
Soon their will be demanding.
False promises slow response
Will only awake the sleeping
Kensington,Kensington the dead needs to be resting.
April 26 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on 2Chronicles 26-28
Key Verse – 2 Chronicles 26:5 And he sought God in the days of Zechariah, who had understanding in the visions of God: and as long as he sought the LORD, God made him to prosper.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY PROSPERITY GRANTOR
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, restoring me in Your security
Thank You for Your salvation-certainty
That helps me to value Your redemption throughout eternity
While You build me up by Your loving authority.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, repairing me in Your graciousness
Thank You for Your fortification-steadfastness
That upholds me from frustrating fruitlessness
While You lift me up by Your righteousness.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, replenishing me in Your power
Thank You for Your pardon, being my sanctification endower
That enables me to grow in faith as Your Gospel seed-sower
While You strengthen me up by Your holiness-tower.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, restructuring me in Your transformation
Thank You for Your refreshing peace midst stressful situation
That prevails over me in my sincere submission
While You cheer me up by Your compassion.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, reconstructing me in Your sight
Thank You for Your Word of wisdom light
That delivers me from unbelief’s blight
While You brace me up by Your truth-might.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, replenishing me in Your fulfillment
Thank You for Your sufficiency against discontentment
That satisfies me to in my ministry involvement
While You straighten me up by Your encouragement.
Lord God, You are my Prosperity Grantor, reinvigorating me in Your sanctuary
Thank You for Your invitation to engage in sharing Your story
That settles me in Your perfect plan of glory
While You nurture me up by Your sustaining victory.
April 26, 2023
I am reading
"Democracy in Black"
by Eddie S. Glaude, Jr.
but continue reconstructing this title
"Hypocrisy in Only White."
Because
when I let my memory
look back to my own self-interests in history
as archaeological digging and prying and discovery,
adventure and curiosity
of my internal ecological development,
I reweave back
through still on-going matriarchal lines
that include,
are shared with,
anyone capable of reading
and comprehending
these words of regenerating memory.
Back
to darker
denser
richer genes and memes
of cooperative to still thrive today,
saving competitions for survival moments.
Back to
better to prey together
side by side
as neanderthal brothers and sisters
than to grow predative
against each other.
This Golden Rule
of dark Afro-Eurasian
equatorial resonant depth
of historical origin
in normative play
at least until we substitute capitalism's
supremacist agendas
for rationalism's ego-ecocentric
reweaving memory
of this original Earth Mom
magical and mysterious
then worshiped and danced
ritualed and cooperative ownership co-governing,
then more modern radical eccentricities
forgetting our shared matriarchal
regenetic
memory of dualdark
hypocrisies of merely white inferiority
complexes
disease
dissonance
despair of remaining fully
who we together are,
where we have been
predating history
where we could return
each morning
with greatest polyphonic joy.
To paraphrase David Holmgren
(Permaculture, p. 113)
Containers were one essential organic innovation
necessary for this cooperative agrarian revolution.
Opportunities to refill organically produced bodies
are enormous
transitioning into recycling energy descent
for shared cooperative memory.
Reimaging full organic containers
is far better than sending us
away and down and out for recycling.
Most official ecopolitical waste reduction strategies
place little emphasis
on organic reuse refilling re-educating
deep ecologically learning containers,
or confuse WinWin refueling,
reweaving,
with capitalism's WinLose recycling,
switching productive containers
into merely consuming eventual empties,
bleached-out white-washed faded hypocrisies
of purest supremacy against nothing
deeply densely
richly resonantly valued.
Weeks pass
and words cannot help but fail me.
The expression of the season
whimpers quietly on the sideline.
Waiting, wishing hoping and searching exasperate the mind
as nothing appears to raise my spirit.
A period of nothing but empty loneliness recalling years
when you were here sharing, celebrating the joy.
We are so deafened by the season
and in its brief life, relive memories of the heart.
Memories that tend to fade like the words,
reconstructing poorly what was us.
Come back to me
enlighten all we shared.
Return to me again
with the words and the love,
the dreams and the happiness, the life
that was us.