Long Seeking Poems
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PHRASIS STREAMS part 5
Inwardly afraid,perfunctory &peripheral
the how&what of our choosing,these
whispered sounds of tender lasting
moments,ever seeking a rationale.
Waiting&wondering to pursue that
inner voice or proven better way.
Such a blinkered view so innocently
implored,innate but creative,these sounds
of words around a theme of venial
mistakes and oversights which knows
no bounds.Now to reason out & uncipher
or turnabout and startover.A chrysalis
changed & completely new,ready for the
fray,never to succumb.Uppermost in
the heart,a life of a different hue each
day a new surprise,soothing selfless&
sincere a challenge ,too sublime.
from my Streams of Consciousness 2003
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
On the Brink
Many do reach this point,
Death’s an option . . .
Not the only one though,
As illusion is here too . . .
Just wondering what this is all about:
Life, Death, Heaven, Hell, Glory, Sorrow?
Half-Empty . . . Half-Full . . . And . . .
Leprechauns with Big Buckets of Gold.
Seeking God’s solace,
Whilst finding Lucifer’s smirk and smile.
One’s soul—
The sticking point always,
And tonight is the night of
The Full Moon.
Why should I be surprised?
Maybe the Moon might know?
Looks like everyone knows anyway . . .
Looks like everyone is onboard with this event.
The Cat’s got your tongue?
Ah . . . now you’re not so sure are you?
They do say that blood drips and flows,
And that it dries cake-hard over time.
You can’t really explain and justify this one:
The blood, the stench, and death are too much.
A plea and fervent prayer are the truest options,
And remember that God is waiting and watching.
The bright-white, full moon no longer speaks . . .
And now . . . neither do you . . . but God understands.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 12, 2020 (Lyric)
The beauty of a honey bee hive
Miss queen how do you keep
These workers in order
Everything has to come together
In preparation of this honey to thrive
A constant temperature to keep
On hot days you say some of you all have to get out
While on cold days they come together
In One harmony and Accord flapping wings
To bring warmth and comfort
Some specialize in sealing out the cracks
So moisture does not destroy
While others make a insulation
Many fly around seeking tasteful flowers
So many jobs of these bees but they
All come together in knowing their part
To think of all the workers that worked
To not see the reward of this honey
But they knew this was for the true honey
That would give life unto many generations to come
Now ,the Ones after this Has been completed
Have been given access to taste this honey
And say this honey is good
Why, are so many still trying to make their own
For the word of God is true honey
Made Complete by the inheritance
Of the promised Spirit to reign within
I truly feel for all these souls that enter this door
seeking relief from their pain
be it psychic pain
or physical
they are in search of healing
some from the inside out
and some from the outside in
sometimes both
I wish there was something I could do
other than offer my ear to hear their stories
or offer a smile to lift them up
I could have studied to be a doctor
welding instruments to aid me in my craft
instead I am a receptionist
a greeter of the crowd
one who speaks softly
not at all loud
I truly feel for the people who come in through this door
some asking for nothing and others looking for so much more
medication or a counsellor for their pain
and I remain here
as they come in
answering questions to determine the shape they are in....
They are running from the self
try to satisfy their lives
the meaning that they are seeking,
it rarely arrives
Chasing hedonistic pleasures
when the answer lies within
Eliminate the anger
a new life will begin
They are flying into Bali
into Africa and Spain
A brief migration round the world
to ease the wretched pain
Entertainment thrives aplenty
to dull the anxious mind
Find peace and love and harmony
to leave the woes behind
While running on the streets
be it walk or jog
A mobile phone adorns the hand
to check another blog
There's legal and illegal drugs
bottles of red wine
They shove it down their gullets,
believe it's all benign
The ill begotten habits
that send them all awry
Does the illness that pervades the human race
fall out of the sky??!!!!!
What is the final outcome
of the twisted soul so poor
Direct the populace from joyousness
create another war
A solution that people must pursue
many times a repeat
Find the peace and love and harmony
which persists inside of you
Fireflies with green heads and purple eyes
Mysterious insects that illuminate our skies
We watch as they glow to attract a mate
Beautiful creatures they float in air like lakes
They live for a few weeks in summertime
Vision they have is great with five eyes
They are nocturnal yes sleeping during day
In grass or dense plants or burrowing away
It’s a mystery to me how they light up
Just as you and me do seeking love
Their light emitting chemical bright as star
Attracts a mate and grace from God’s heart
Little floating mystery with such a beautiful light
Eating nectar creating a perfect peace at night.
In the silence of the night, words flow like a river of deep longing,
She said it's just a poem, left on the windowsill to tremble in the wind,
The ink is wet, uncried tears, a silent call,
Her vulnerability, like a secret that cannot be told.
I felt the chill when the sun set behind her,
Her silhouette bare and distant, like a faded memory,
How I miss her, the light in her eyes, the lost laughter,
Fragments of us, like whispers of pain, fade with the sky.
The lake looks at me like a noose, pulling memories beneath the glassy skin,
The sigh and whisper remain, a name that no longer belongs to me,
How I miss her, the light in her eyes, the lost laughter,
Fragments of us, like whispers of pain, fade with the sky.
Shattered fragments, like sharp glass in the mist of the past,
I trace them barefoot, blood flowing on the silent grass,
My voice, a weeping flute, notes that once were music,
Now silence grows, where once we lived under a spell.
I was your mountain, stoic and strong, smelling of rain,
You curled up like a secret, my eyes made you dream,
Until midnight came, you danced without my hand,
How I miss her, the light in her eyes, the lost laughter.
Oh, how I miss her, the light in her eyes, the lost laughter,
In the echoes of love, I still call her name, seeking solace,
Every memory whispers, a bittersweet rhyme of a dream,
I search for her face in the depths of a night that never ends.
Dark is the heart drowning,
gasping for breath between each tear falling.
Clasping fingers into my skin without thought,
leaving impressions until black and blue.
Crying out to no one.
Seeking answers to questions,
that come like arrows with no end
For pain is never gentle,
it pierces the soul unrelenting,
leaving the body drained of passion,
becoming nothing when turned asunder,
held captive by time, its slow passing.
When day turns to the blackest night,
and night becomes a cold, cold prison,
and I a prisoner chained in the cell of broken hearts,
losing all sense to swollen eyes of despair,
feeling nothing but loss, as I slowly suffocate,
drifting into the abyss of no return.
contest Words Drowned in Tears Poetry-Poetry Contest
10/20/16
Societal Issues & Perilous Times
By: Miracle Man
5/20/2021
Today, we are living in a world of chaos,
where many are engrossed in driving wedges.
Anyone who is different is fair game and racist.
Social justice, woke, and Cancel Culture is the narrative.
It’s like living in an old class B western movie.
Gun sales are skyrocketing, and many conceal carry.
We destroy past things and modify what we teach,
in an attempt to change History by polluting young minds.
Too many have the victim mentality seeking something free,
and demand compensation for wrongs that happened years ago.
Count your blessings and pray for our elected leaders
for truly we may be living in the last days.
Tom
2 Timothy 3:1-13 King James Version
3 This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. 2 For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, 3 Without natural affection, truce breakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, 4 Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; 5 Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. 6 For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, 7 Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.
I want to peer through tomorrow’s eyes.
Not a thing already old,
not a yesterday word
only temporarily paroled
from a moribund dictionary.
These words
newly dead now for millenniums.
Words old enough to have echoed from Eve
as she howled
from her guttural heart to a mute moon.
The newborn always come in the night
always in-between the past and future.
I want to be the parent of that birth,
not a distant and feeble uncle already
replicating an old understanding,
not a gummer or mummer.
I want words born in a universal forge,
their fire burning bright still.
Not any part of an effete scribbling
far removed from an Ur meaning,
its archetypal images already diluted
in ages of misreading and misdirection.
The etymological root of everything
is just the one word for everything.
Instead I only have these words
seeking to be new while still wearing
old, borrowed clothes.
Sometimes I wake up
in the middle of the night speaking in tongues;
a language so luminous
that star travelers from the distant future
could converse with me
from any compass point of my mind.
I want new eyes to drill down
to the pictographic roots
of every linked letter and script.
Words then would be individual revelations,
direct arrows from a new bow,
each a poem in itself.