Long Similitude Poems
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Adam from and by his side Eve blessed to replenish to rule over the things moving land air and sea giving meat to all the green herb the fruit bearing seed after His kind it was good Blessed Poet potentate and man saw everything good on the sixth page heavens and earth finished with multitude to dwell ending his work on seventh page blessed set apart this day for the gracious Host rested even now men search for metaphors similes to fill pages poems and prose words of worth to artfully describe creation life imitates life after His kind even in a fallen world after satans pride Eve being naive Adam listening to her voice rather than God's the Poet maker Jesus in similitude yet He is without sin humbled Himself being born like we the true light came to heal creation walked again on the water for all to believe the Lamb's blood shed thy sin be forgiven thee the Lord of the sabbath still plowing the way the Seed died and rose again God said bringing forth much fruit watering with words blessed are the poets of love saved justified redeemed resting in promised words from above waiting to fly away to greener pastures a new heaven and new earth we look forward to our Maker's life within the Poet's breath
She comes to me when e’er she will,
When starlight sprinkles my windowsill.
When the dew finds rest upon the grass
She taps upon my window glass.
I go outside to be with her,
To share a moment soft and pure,
But she soon glides away down a wooded lane
And I who follow think I follow in vain.
We amble through the night time woods,
Past curled up ferns and dark monk’s hoods,
Past spiders in their silken weavings,
Long past when night surpasses evening.
I follow her deep into the glen
To the reedy edge of a foggy fen
Where cattails sway in a subtle breeze
And glowworms float in airy ease.
She pauses by a drowsy creek
And turns to me as if to speak,
But saying nothing moves farther ahead
And alights on a nearby milkweed bed.
She bids me listen to a joyful tune
The crickets play beneath a full white moon,
The notes flutter, then fall, gentle and sweet
In dappled moonlight at my feet.
We listen in silent similitude
Afraid to disturb the delicate mood,
Yet soon she starts to converse with me
And I am richer for her company.
We talk about many wonderful things –
About robin’s eggs and butterfly wings.
About caterpillars, elves and gnomes
And where she claims to make her home.
We talk about love and the joy it will bring
And how it can make a lonely heart sing.
I then smile at her but she turns away
And I, left speechless, have nothing to say.
And so we share the passing night
And greet the dawn’s creeping light,
But before the night succumbs to day
She once more starts to glide away.
She lingers near the waking brook
Then disappears in a rocky nook.
Looking in I can see her no more –
She has returned to where she was before.
Morning has come too soon it would seem
And she has left me alone to ponder my dream.
A dream? Perhaps, but real I know
For she had deigned to make it so.
What a bright does the day
When her lantern lights and laughs
I ruminate your replica
But I’d say you are who you are
Bright as just the day
What a father does the day
For impregnates the night
For his lantern reflects
For a new day to be birthed
For God’s creature to abide
In the morn
At noon
In the evenin
What a mama does the day
For births days in day
For creature to breed and occupy
In the morn
At noon
In the evenin
I ponder your similitude
I’d say you are the good
For you conceive each day
And born the day
When a night sinks the day
And the day rest for the day
And creature goes to rest
Eyes shut,
What next?
A new day is birthed in land of the lord
For just a day is life in world
O! Creator
On my knee I pose
This is my morning
Innocent of the day
Energy is no doubted
On the ladder of needs
What a sweet is life
When a goal is acquired
I am a bird
Powerless to flutter
High above the ladder
With weary wings
I am a horse
Having marathons to run, not jog
Yet lesson legs
O! Reviver
Comes to my means
Strengthens my wings
Strengthens my legs
Against my noon
For in the noon
Muscle dwindle
For a run on the ladder of goal
Makes my an eagle
Revives my feathers
Want to fly beyond the ladder
Makes me Achillie Tang
Want to have a smooth swim
In this sea if life
Makes me an air, unseen
Want to dance in this lively life
Without a halt
With less effort
Against my evening
For in evening
Weary and crackled bone
As leaves kissed by the sun
And no more run to run
But my labour I shall reap
As famer reaps the crop
And I await the day to sink
And when the day sink
And closed are my eyes
Though darkness
A new day is birthed in a land of white
Where dwellers dress in white
And I shall honoured
With angels ballad
Achillie Tang is a fish.
Lakota, Arapaho
Cheyenne, Oglala
Minneconjou
Where are they now?
Why is there so much dust
Over a fillet of memory?
The smoke fires are dead
And the discords of our life
We write as history.
It is significant still
The shallow content
In which we drown for glory
It is I
Remnant of a forgotten tear
That must tell
The similitude of a coordinated hell.
Despair is a state of mind
A featherlessness
Of warriors wings ... a moan
Leaking from a drum
On deserted prairie afternoon
I watched the ghost dancers
Cried with their feet,
And never saw a thing more desolate.
These men freed from the bondage of their souls
Came slow circle
Through the trance of disbelief
Lingered in the music of drums
Retired from the melody of their hearts
O how they danced
The ghost dancers deserted by their magic
They danced
For the return of the buffaloes
They danced
Invoking the prairie grass to gallop
From the horses feet
Bowing only to the mastery of the wind
Like fodder bows to fire and change
And the black cloud stood stagnant
Lethargic in the emptiness
For from the black breast came
No white milk to put out the fire of shame
Before the women and children vacant eyes
They danced for the land
That had aborted their dreams
And corralled them
In the tragedy at wounded knee
I don't care how we limp from it
Regrets are only the arthritis of desire
The buzzards roof the certainty of the eye
The heat is white here like a bone
Beneath the grinching grass
The hoof beat dies
And the ghost dancers caper
In an agony beyond reconciliation.
I did not plan to be a single cell amoeba
or this me, a conglomerate jigsaw of a being
a million times removed from primordial goo.
I was peacefully inanimate at times
endowed only with a little foggy awareness and contentment.
At one time I was George Washington’s commode,
Shortly before that, King Georges Whoopi cushion,
yet there was never any great blueprint
for my random appearances on this fat round globe.
No design, only once in a while,
an accidental hominine arrival
panting from a million journeys, a similitude
of what a human could be - given very much more time.
Reincarnation is a flawed theoretical conundrum.
No one ever claims to have been something made
by a bored passing tinkerer, yet creation is creation
after all.
Hundreds of times has Cleopatra
been lived-in like an old recliner in a nursing home,
is it any wonder that her image now
sags like a broken concertina?
I once (maybe several times) was a dog,
once a dogs dinner dish.
animation is often overrated; being stoically stiff
has its own rewards.
Dogs on the other hand,
are pretty good prototypes of a model human being.
Many ladies have been inhabited
by my wolfish lechery,
alas only I do not recall those pleasantries.
It’s not easy being a multicellular organism
I long for simpler times,
however I can do this, I may even devise a plan
to jump a generation or two of aspiring exemplars,
but I must wait for my brain to stop swelling
then shrinking like a bullfrogs throat
which recalls to mind a time
spent wallowing in Mississippi mud -
passionate nights I remember all too well.
March 2 Scripture Meditations Based on 1Samuel 25-28
Key Verse – 1Samuel 25:33 And blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, which hast kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with mine own hand.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR ADVISING ME WELL
Thank You for advising me well constantly
According to Your Word surely
Against thinking of evil foolishly
So I won’t displease You deliberately.
Thank You for advising me about my spirituality
According to Your sovereignty of omniscient authority
Against backsliding because of iniquity
So I won’t provoke You and Your established Christianity.
Thank You for advising me well regarding my servanthood-servitude
According to Your example of submissive attitude
Against showing false humility along its arrogant and haughty similitude
So I won’t dishonor You with my ingratitude.
Thank You for advising me well concerning my worship
According to Your command within Your offered relationship
Against indulging in worldly, earthly and carnal friendship
So I won’t hurt You and turn from Your fellowship.
Thank You for advising me well within Your will’s protection
According to Your goodness filled with loving kindness’ satisfaction
Against complaining due to discontentment for seemingly lack of provision
So I won’t rebel from You toward my destruction.
Thank You for advising me well midst my unfaithfulness
According to Your merciful graciousness
Against disobeying You, manifesting my stubbornness
So I won’t neglect You and Your helpfulness.
March 2, 2022
Lurking amongst shabby, impenetrable, undergrowth,
cloistered effigy is sheltered from casual view,
languishing, neglected, forgotten... but content.
No longer possessing a name; no longer serving a purpose;
whatever inscription once etched thereupon is
long-since faded, lost to the whimsical wisps of time.
In bygone years, its bronze cheeks would be flushed;
embarrassed, apologetic even, for its very existence.
Wriggled under the weight of myriad strangers' eyes,
recoiled from attempts to elicit illicit secrets,
perennial trepidation of exposure to ridicule.
But that was in the past... before the truth was embraced.
It can no more alter who it is than it can deter
the sun from setting, dissuade the tides from rising
or discourage the Earth from spinning on its axis.
And it has no wish to do so.
Feathered vermin perched atop its head defecate,
careless and carefree, contributing to the
guano collage caked on its carved countenance;
the similitude is not lost on it.
So it sits... silent and unobtrusive; stoic but stalwart:
the epitome of art imitating life imitating art.
Languishing, neglected, forgotten... but content.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Written 1 September 2017
Entered in "A Poem I Wrote and Sent Drifting" Contest, sponsored by Broken Wings (judged 11 October 2017).
(7th Place)
Originally for "Artwork" Contest (judged 6 September 2017)
I have been pondering for quite some time,
Is there a permanence to the meaning of the word ‘greatness’?
Whatever does it mean ‘to be great’ or ‘to feel great’?
You see, from ever since, I’ve attached its meaning to superiority,
Something unreachable, beyond my wildest imagination.
With branches beyond the skies,
which climax at levels exceeding human capability.
And thick, fibrous roots so deeply entrenched,
that they become onerous to deracinate.
But over the years, my realisation has surprised me.
I have recognised that greatness has distinctive,
yet instinctive qualities.
Much like a budding and unfolding bouquet of roses,
Its perfume is subjective.
Pungent to some, but fragrant and elegant to others.
Its vessel comes in different forms,
Some curved, thin or well figured.
And its florets can bud, bloom, change colour or even decay,
depending on the level of care.
Similarly, I have discerned that greatness resides in each of us.
Its aura is unfastened by our creativity and vision.
And it is unbarred by the similitude of unreached potential,
encasement or bewilderment.
And, at last, there cannot be any fixity to its meaning.
Rather, there is much subjectivity, intuitivity and reason,
that we must open ourselves up to receive.
I hope you receive and accept your feeling of greatness,
in whatever form it appears.
Love & Light.
07/04/21
Supremacy permitted to carry out his work
greatly loved by heavenly beings
disaffection spirit, ripened into revolt
once again, get caution of the supremacy
thou refused to be cautioned
sophistry and fraud pioneer
hard to discern, genesis deceiver
supreme neither deceit nor flatter
that, he imbibed
apparently, waged dishonour was highly honoured
veering rectitudness cum fidelity
delve the frail of humanity
getting men similitude you
the thing himself, unmasked deceiver
why is thy path zigzager
manufacturer of sin and his clang
extirpate spirit of rebellion
modified the given tenet
against divine government
nature of sinful nurture
come on! you longing to rule?
yeah!
no obligation, rule the caliber of your sinful nature
forget not the allegiance of God's creature
rest upon a conviction of his justice
we are all acquainted where you will end
heavenly infernos
peerless you, with your clans
caliber of sinful nature
tainted sinister folks
ponder not, am not a stakeholder in your entity
not single I, but multiple dextral folks
solid rock I stand, not to be betake
prepare, zillions depart thy darkful cage
enter lightful space
... the hour has come to liberate the world!
divine inferno is thy ward
collectively citizenry crowd
greatest controversy ever seen
black snake under the black grass
Oh! death knell of yours was rung
Haaa! "it is finished"
The story of life
The story of life
almost there, a bit more to go
the story of life
almost there, a bit more to go
possibility, within an interlocking may
possibility, have a say
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps
the grassy spread, a parable casket
look for a sky leaning close to rest, abreast
the river, icebreaker melt, a path to chant down the mountaineer origin, reverie!
the bird will find the way back home
once the setting sunset hue is finally gone!
possibility, within an interlocking may
possibility, have a say
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps
A vibrancy of colors, worldly, roundtrip, humane
along the itinerary , a thousand pauses with a flickering say, similitude, did I see you, anyway, anyhow!
A certain oblivion, incognito, once the sun
is set and gone is she! Finally!
possibility, within an interlocking may
possibility, have a say
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps
there will not be anything anymore
to scope in time, in timely, perhaps.
The story of life
almost there, a bit more to go
the story of life
almost there, a bit more to go.
Based on a song of Andrew Kishore