Long Shawls Poems
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Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
The soul is but a vast ocean of vigilance
Streaming with incresent colours towards life
Infinite within its parhelion possibilities
Relentlessly searching, betwixt the everflowing tides
Whereupon all things approach these providential probabilities
Of endlessly prolific visions thus beheld
Within the grasp of pristine pictures brushed and painted
Afore the overtures tubular bells; now sounding
Strewn, beneath the curatives silverish moon
Sirventes tunes, born, within fascinations bloom
These meant to be rhymes, amid Dorothy Gales times
Over somewheres prized amphoric rainbow
Arched imaginations, of fantasias floriferous creations
Breathing their pollinating light, within every breath that they breathe
Escaping the carcinogen caverns through torchbeared passages
Beyond the flesh rent falls and encumbering shawls
Carved crude, these animus meshed jackets
Encased within the chamber once laced
Unto broken bricks of concretes chained
Like Percivals plight....
Unmentioned between the lores, this wondering upon metaphoric shores
While barricaded by the calibrated stone engraved
Until antinomy could devise no more; yet
"If all we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream?"
Scream, and shatter these williwaws window panes
Awakening, beyond their oblique orbs of obscurities, void
To find 'The Holy Grail,' amid incarnadines blinding night
This veil removed, as clarity becomes now focused
Stepping from the shadows of the corners once webbed
Crossing, these sunsoaked sands of sunrises preached
With reaching hands, to touch the braille upon windings trails
Which only led back to the same gruesome pangs
Of a souls once upon a times, bound in maimed
Reading the writings on the wall, as cascading waters broke
The pinnacle of lost, tumbling and crashing to the reef
Belief, of a life breaking free from the dampened day
When faith became submerged beneath the assailant currents of
Hopes castaway possibilities....
Branded into their eyes, by the father of disguise
But no more as the clock struck three, and inversion, began to flee
Awakening from a dream, where nothing, was what it seemed
Dorothy Gales amphoric rainbow, draped upon a cross ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Percivals Promise!?
Form:
The soul is but a vast ocean of vigilance
Streaming with incresent colours towards life
Infinite within its parhelion possibilities
Relentlessly searching, betwixt the everflowing tides
Whereupon all things approach these providential probabilities
Of endlessly prolific visions thus beheld
Within the grasp of pristine pictures brushed and painted
Afore the overtures tubular bells; now sounding
Strewn, beneath the curatives silverish moon
Sirventes tunes, born, within fascinations bloom
These meant to be rhymes, amid Dorothy Gales times
Over somewheres prized amphoric rainbow
Arched imaginations, of fantasias floriferous creations
Breathing their pollinating light, within every breath that they breathe
Escaping the carcinogen caverns through torchbeared passages
Beyond the flesh rent falls and encumbering shawls
Carved crude, these animus meshed jackets
Encased within the chamber once laced
Unto broken bricks of concretes chained
Like Percivals plight....
Unmentioned between the lores, this wondering upon metaphoric shores
While barricaded by the calibrated stone engraved
Until antinomy could devise no more; yet
"If all we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream?"
Scream, and shatter these williwaws window panes
Awakening, beyond their oblique orbs of obscurities, void
To find 'The Holy Grail,' amid incarnadines blinding night
This veil removed, as clarity becomes now focused
Stepping from the shadows of the corners once webbed
Crossing, these sunsoaked sands of sunrises preached
With reaching hands, to touch the braille upon windings trails
Which only led back to the same gruesome pangs
Of a souls once upon a times, bound in maimed
Reading the writings on the wall, as cascading waters broke
The pinnacle of lost, tumbling and crashing to the reef
Belief, of a life breaking free from the dampened day
When faith became submerged beneath the assailant currents of
Hopes castaway possibilities....
Branded into their eyes, by the father of disguise
But no more as the clock struck three, and inversion, began to flee
Awakening from a dream, where nothing, was what it seemed
Dorothy Gales amphoric rainbow, draped upon a cross ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Percival's Promise!?
Form:
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Note: This is not aimed at anyone in particular; surely not humanity!
Form:
The soul is but a vast ocean of vigilance
Streaming with incresent colours towards life
Infinite within its parhelion possibilities
Relentlessly searching, betwixt the everflowing tides
Whereupon all things approach these providential probabilities
Of endlessly prolific visions thus beheld
Within the grasp of pristine pictures brushed and painted
Afore the overtures tubular bells; now sounding
Strewn, beneath the curatives silverish moon
Sirventes tunes, born, within fascinations bloom
These meant to be rhymes, amid Dorothy Gales times
Over somewheres prized amphoric rainbow
Arched imaginations, of fantasias floriferous creations
Breathing their pollinating light, within every breath that they breathe
Escaping the carcinogen caverns through torchbeared passages
Beyond the flesh rent falls and encumbering shawls
Carved crude, these animus meshed jackets
Encased within the chamber once laced
Unto broken bricks of concretes chained
Like Percivals plight....
Unmentioned between the lores, this wondering upon metaphoric shores
While barricaded by the calibrated stone engraved
Until antinomy could devise no more; yet
"If all we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream?"
Scream, and shatter these williwaws window panes
Awakening, beyond their oblique orbs of obscurities, void
To find 'The Holy Grail,' amid incarnadines blinding night
This veil removed, as clarity becomes now focused
Stepping from the shadows of the corners once webbed
Crossing, these sunsoaked sands of sunrises preached
With reaching hands, to touch the braille upon windings trails
Which only led back to the same gruesome pangs
Of a souls once upon a times, bound in maimed
Reading the writings on the wall, as cascading waters broke
The pinnacle of lost, tumbling and crashing to the reef
Belief, of a life breaking free from the dampened day
When faith became submerged beneath the assailant currents of
Hopes castaway possibilities....
Branded into their eyes, by the father of disguise
But no more as the clock struck three, and inversion, began to flee
Awakening from a dream, where nothing, was what it seemed
Dorothy Gales amphoric rainbow, draped upon a cross ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Percival's Promise!?
Form:
(It was 1860 when the English poet Robert Browning
stumbled upon an interesting artefact as he walked
through the city of Florence. It was a file of documents
from an old Italian criminal trial, and he would turn
this material into his masterpiece, "The Ring and the
Book".)
The Old Square Yellow Book
It was the kind of day they call a "stallion"
in Florence, with white sun, surpassing strong.
And it was noon. (In June, to be precise.)
The Englishman came strolling aimlessly
(or was it?) through Piazza San Lorenzo.
And, just as now, a market crammed the square
and foamed around the statue's marble plinth.
Here, plaster busts, there, flaking picture-frames,
and Garibaldi portraits (way back then,
in eighteen-sixty, they were giving birth:
Italian nationhood was in the air).
The tall "inglese", drawn towards the stall
which offered prints and books, picked something up.
He shouted "shop", and put one lira down.
The book was his. He managed to ignore
the girls, a-squabbling over tasseled shawls,
those burly porters, drenching head and neck
in Giovanni's fountain, braying mules,
cacophony and chaos all around,
to read his book. His blood knew, right away.
At last, he'd found the raw material
from which he'd quarry one great masterpiece.
One foot propped on the railing, near the step
which leads down to the fountain by the church,
he read, engrossed. Then, with a sudden laugh,
he threw it in the air, and caught it, safe.
What was it? Well, a book - but more than that.
It was the record of some long-dead trial,
some murder case of many years before,
with statements, pleadings, longhand notes. In this
authentic tangle lay a human tale
of fierce emotion, rich psychology,
if he could tease it out. So off he set,
re-reading as he walked, feeling his way,
along the narrow Giglio, then the broad
Panzani. Via Tornabuoni next,
so long and straight, down to the river.
He passed the Strozzi Palace, crossed the bridge
they call the Trinita. When he reached home,
the cool Felice, there was not a doubt.
His whole life's labour lay there, in his hands.
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Form:
Did you read the news yet?
There are unscheduled blood moons popping up everywhere.
Just yesterday one in New Jersey and another in Illinois.
Blood moon, blood moon, what do you really mean?
Is it that you are trying to tell the children of God something super important?
What message is it that you bring?
As I have the ear of the Creator I have a little insight to the mystery.
If you are walking in the presence of the Holy Spirit you can also learn of this news.
Israel is going to begin its attack on the rest of the modern world for beginning to isolate it even more into a corner.
Israel will not stand down.
How can Israel continue to exist as a nation if it doesn’t protect herself?
How can Israel go into exile and hide herself in the corner if it is the so-called “Nation of God?”
Israel must protect herself and Israel must not back down.
The world’s superpowers are like the mighty Goliath and Israel has in her possession 5 smooth stones.
No matter who is buying up all the property in Israel, and no matter how many mosques are built there,
Israel belongs to King Jehovah and His Son Yeshua.
No piece of paper or international decree can undo what was initiated in the heavenlies.
So get out your lawn chairs and your prayer shawls and await the time period surrounding the next and final blood moon.
It should be a milestone for Israel and it should be a blood moon to remember.
I also pray that anyone who reads this prophetic poem and does not have a sincere relationship with the One who owns all the real estate in Israel to get down on their knees today and pledge allegiance to the One True King.
The prophetic clock is winding down and the Lord’s soon arrival is any day now.
Do not delay doing today what needs to be done.
Do not be left behind to suffer the atrocities of the Great Tribulation.
If you think the world is bad now, wait until the Beast takes on the full authority given to him from the Lord of Hosts.
It may only be for a season, but it will be the worst time that this planet has ever experienced.
Bar none!
Give your heart to Jesus Christ today!
Tomorrow may be too late.
ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL AND THE TRAMP
Thousands, perhaps millions of wily, desperate tramps have always been,
But this one far away across the seas was an unusual scene,
Lying on a slab of stone,
He had no existing home,
Thin, dirty and hungry, present in a place so pristine!
There are so many around and everywhere about,
But this tramp, above all others, no doubt stood out,
We saw him on holiday,
Whist on a trip to the UK,
T’was a man, couldn't’ tell alive or dead, but stout!
Where did we see this aging, neglected human being
At St. Paul’s Cathedral, in the foyer as you walk in,
Could see that he meant no harm
For inquisitive tourists, worked like a charm,
I felt awed by the spiritual presence of God, ever seeing.
Sunday, had gone to early mass, chilly put on our shawls
Humbled with its historic architecture and solid walls,
Princess Dianne married Prince Charles here,
She had no clue her funeral was near,
Forgetting everything, took part in mass in total enthral!
Heard angelic unbroken voices of pre-teen boys choir
Our family was spiritually enveloped, never been here prior,
We took our seats, no other noise,
Service ended with hymns from the boys
All dressed in rich red robes and outfits, ecclesiastical attire!
People permitted to walk around the cathedral, we saw tombs,
Royalty buried in this remarkable place, perhaps died with gloom,
History took place inside St. Paul's,
With its secret passages and halls,
And many controversial theological disputes solved in back rooms!
Remembered the tramp, was he OK, was he breathing,
Someone nudged him he didn’t move, another started her healing,
Were concerned, thought it should be reported,
He was dirty as soot, his hair knotted,
The tramp, nonchalantly sat up, stretched and disappeared, hymns singing!
Packets of food and milk were tucked in a corner,
And two blankets and a duvet, and an old pullover,
People from around and all the priests,
Saw he had essentials, no whisky treats,
The tramp was happy in his sanctuary like little Jack Horner.
Last night I watched in silence
At the end of the road in forest deep
I hid amongst the trees watching in awe
As gypsies dance while others sleep
Under the violet hue of evening sky
Haloed by evening's golden moon
I watched gypsies dance and sing
As flames from bonfires leaped high in the air
Dark haired women in shawls and beads
Happily dancing and twirling without care
Casting their spells of magic and enchantment
Performing their honeyed seductions
Blended with aphrodisiacs of scent and sound
Gypsy men with kerchiefs around their necks
Hoops of silver adorning their ears, singing joyful songs
Children laughing, dogs barking
As if they’re singing right along
Oh, I so wanted to join them as I stood watching in awe
Envious was I of their freedom and joy
Caravans painted in bright images and colors
Tambourines jingling as velvet shadows danced in the night
Skirts swirling, gold and silver bangles on their arms
Dancing 'round the bonfire's fiery light
Accordions singing, with happy notes from a fiddler's bow
As they sang and danced barefoot under evening moon
In the coming dawn once again...
It will be time for them to pack and move on
With a last meal served...
The caravans are readied to make another journey long
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
As their wagons move along dusty trails
They'll be looking for a place to camp
A place to call home... at least for awhile
A place to hang their colored paper lamps
Until...
Suddenly- a cry rings out
"Stop the wagons, ring the bells
We've found the perfect place
The perfect place for magic spells
Tomorrow brings a brand new day!
Let's feast, dance and make merry
Come on let's get things underway"
And so...
The journey goes on
And never ends!
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on, time to leave
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"