Long Watch and wait Poems
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we're all natural born watchers just looking around
at the TV, the Internet and newspapers all over town
be it something or somebody we usually just watch and wait
to look up to anything that may reinforce our faith
be it something constructive or counterproductive
to watch what others do and then try to imitate
to look at success and then try to emulate
the Wise Men, the Magi were 3 men you should look upon
for they knew to follow that star which was on the horizon
yet King Herod who was the ruler of that little town
could not spiritually ascertain what was really going down
he had heard that the nation of Israel would have a new born king
and then he became paranoid and anxious over everything
he was under the impression that God would have told him first
of the Saving Son who was about to appear on earth
God did a new thing in a completely new way
but many missed the true meaning of the birth that day
but the Magi those 3 Wise Men were in step with God
they were spiritually aware of what was about to start
it's not about man's logic, rationale nor reason
for God is the omnipotent One for all seasons
don't let anyone try to diminish the awesomeness of God's might
don't let anyone try to dim the brilliance that is His guiding light
making it great in 2008 by watching what wise men do
making it great in 2008 by believing that God is watching over you
to be struck by the mystery that is God's power
to believe that He is with you at any given hour
to follow that star whenever you hear the angels sings
to trust that God will guide you in everything
there's no need to fear the unknown or what's down the road
just watch what wise men do when they give God total control
by following a star which led them to a child born in a manger
and not to reveal what they found for to tell would have brought danger
and after presenting the gifts and thus fulfilling the prophecy
they left Bethlehem by another way and continued their journey
when God gives a revelation and then tells you to get up and leave
let no one stop nor hinder you from doing what you believe
don't ever put reason before revelation as reason will only go so far
for revelation is the exclamation that will reveal to you a star
so making it great in 2008 by watching what wise men do
and by following that star wherever it leads you to
—A Prophecy by the Last Watcher—
Beneath the veil of sacred land,
Where prophets walked on golden sand,
The iron winds begin to blow—
Saturn speaks, and Rahu glows.
A land once blessed, now marked in red,
Where ancient kings and seers once bled.
The trumpet calls from Persia’s shore,
And knocks upon the Lion’s door.
Iran shall rise, with fiery eye,
Its atom heart shall touch the sky.
The shield of stars shall twist and bend,
And empires crumble in the end.
The eagle’s wings, once proud and wide,
Shall falter in the storm and slide.
Allies flee, no hand shall save—
The mighty fall into their grave.
Jerusalem, O sacred flame,
Shall echo not its holy name.
For half thy walls will turn to dust,
And prayers be silenced in their trust.
From out the West, division wakes,
As brother from his brother breaks.
Civil fire and shattered pride—
Each state a nation, carved and wide.
The House of Stars shall bleed apart,
Its beating drum a broken heart.
The dollar dies, the markets choke—
The dragon laughs in crimson smoke.
The bear shall feast on fading meat,
While Persia plants its throne in heat.
A robe of black, a ring of light,
Will crown the East with silent might.
And those who once did rule by fear,
Shall see their end come drawing near.
The hunted rise, the hunters fall—
The stars will answer to them all.
Netanyahu, cast from thy land,
Will stand before a foreign hand.
No robe, no shield, no sword to lift—
But judgment swift, and fate as gift.
The halls of glass, where nations met,
Will echo loud with deep regret.
No more the UN’s solemn vow—
Its flag shall burn, then fade somehow.
And from the smoke, a shape appears,
A new world born from ancient fears.
Not East nor West, but boundless air—
A voice unknown, both just and fair.
But sorrow comes before the light,
And darkest is the final night.
The karma sown in wrathful pride,
Returns like tide, none may hide.
For Rahu turns the wheel unseen,
And Saturn balances the mean.
The wise will fast, the fools will feast—
The meek inherit last, and least.
But hush—O Reader, watch and wait,
The stars have locked the final gate.
And though the fire may burn the page,
It leaves behind the Golden Age.
That day that way we met
the nightingale sang while
whooping cranes bowed
their heads the sun danced
between the blue skies as
the clouds rushed by I
remember that day that
way you walked the way
you smiled that funny
way you dazzled me with
your cunning charm like
no other man ever had the
pink flamingos were wearing
my dress while gone fishing
signs hung about the broken
drift wood store fronts hot
sand caressed my skin the
turquoise waters released
a soft salty mist that day
that way the kiss was met
I awaited your arrival in the
midst of it all we knew full
well death would follow the
sullen hints betrothed frightening
were we wrong to fall so deep
in love destroying a brilliant
friendship by falling in love
a connection so valid why
were we wrong to hide such
a great love to covenant a love
that would someday blast off
shattering the moon sending
pieces of our love into the
universe racing sparks ignited
the stars that twinkled back
down to the earth that day
that fabulous way we met
painting a beautiful canvas
of cards hand written letters
photographs proses poetry
collection of memories that we
were forbidden to express love
hidden deeply breaking our spirits
envious minds colliding before us
an yet within warm tears flowing
shown only when a quiet storm
gathers I watch and wait
for raindrops to cover my face
this is our song for this is our time
to weep for broken hearts beckoning
thought desired to feel to touch
to only remember desperately
trying to hold on to what's left
what is really left the pain still
lingers it's truly apart of who
we are now nothing could pry
it from my aching bosom it
remains connected to my soul
like a permanent umbilical cord
that day that way our souls met
way before our hearts finally
introducing our bodies to fulfill
this sheer connection that lit
up the sky by and by my smile
and the wink of your eye why
we are but lovers clinging vessels
in time we now remain cherubs
cherbium and seraphim beauty
kelp our love an artform on display
unmoved untouchable burning flame
The emergency room of a hospital can be a scary and frustrating place…
You see worry, pain and frustration on each and every face…
And that is where I found myself…just the other day
as they ran some tests on a friend…(he’s fine by the way! :)
As we sat in the emergency room…like everyone, having to every God appealed….
we waited and waited and waited…hoping for good news to be revealed.
And there in that place of healing……surrounded by doctors, nurses and laboratories…
I had the chance to watch the people all around me…and listen to their stories.
I saw a person who was shot in the eye with a dart…a person with a bad cough….
a pregnant person who was scared…another person who cut half his finger off.
I saw a baby who’d swallowed some pills…with her Mom who was feeling the strain…
I saw many people, in all shapes and sizes…in various degrees of pain.
Everyone I saw there was upset…in different agitated states….
because when someone we love is in pain…it is difficult to watch…and wait…
I saw nurses and technicians…
no matter how inane the questions…no matter how absurd….
knowing these people were worried and vulnerable…offer an encouraging world.
I saw people sitting side by side reassuring each other…people they’ve never seen….
as the nurses helped to ease people’s minds and warm their hearts
by passing out blankets… like candy on Halloween.
What I haven’t mentioned were these people’s ages, their genders, or their race
I haven’t mentioned their sexual orientations..or the color of each face….
Because when we are united in the vulnerability of our stories…
our differences seems small…and we realize how in the end…we are humans one and all.
Perhaps if we all spent more time in an emergency room listening to each other’s stories…
we’d stop looking at a person’s color or gender…their sex…if they are young or if they’re old…
and we’d offer more reassuring words….
and pass out more blankets to each other when we’re cold.
Watashi Yoku........ Complained about his life. It gave him words often angring him into comparision. His father had left him with his five siblings. His mother raised them. But his father sometimes would appear only to disapear. As Watashi got older he became angry over his Mother beleiving his father was a good person. He never thought of her compairing the leadership between the two. He never knew when people spoke of them it was in comparision to his father. This lead him to feel out done and overwhelmed. He cited that he had missed 2 homecomings and two proms and he didn't knew how to datte, thinking of the value of spending money on a women who would altermittly refuse him. Once his mother said he was just like his father. He lost all track and scope of things. Someone you don't know and someoone you aren't willing to trust is who she say's I'm just like. He refuses to give us anything, or help us. And she say's I'm just like him,"I have gone broke so my brothers and sisters could go to Prom and homecoming" Our first car after he had graduated was a clunker. Dad came home and everything was going alright then one morning the Basasd Prompt( area right off stage was destroyed) was destrpyed. Demons sow seeds once sprouted the days of harvest is calulated. The day of harvest is determined by the ripeness and maturaty level of the crop. If the weather is fair to perfect we can gather. If it's not we watch and wait. Due to the need of pateints and making sence of time we take time to do things so that we can have time to labor and chore. But when that ignorance
of trusting allows you to be part of a lesson. He who wishes to teach often must learn.
There the gusty winds of tommorro shall drintch the morning and all shall freight and the sun shall dry the wet places that these people shall groove and move to the beat.
A scene from The Play
"One Damn Lie"
by Eye See Sumthang
and The Musky Hulls
Music Music Music
Over worked imaginations of a fine tuned mind of several misunderstanding thoughts that were dreams that changes daily like the seasons. I can't explain it; Its an emotional dreamer with shared thoughts that is expressed through poetic forms. Sometimes its turned into tears that hit the paper, call it my poetry over flow.
Always wondered how far I could and will go, not wanting the limits to be the sky, maybe Pluto. Touching stars along the way and maybe some hearts of those who will listen. Showing me some type of love, I'm lacking.
Some dream of the sunrise and cannot see the beauty behind the sun. The moon is just waiting for its time to shine. Time is'nt forgotten or lost within the tide. nothing more to hide besides the washed up dreams that turn into beautiful nightmares, lost dreams that seems to be absorbed by the stars. And observed by on lookers; watchers that watch and wait for things taken. Their schemers of stolen dreams and its not their fault because of who they are. Perfection comes hard even for dreamers. Just keep moving like the water under the bridge leaving trails of thoughts, bubbles rising to the top.
Trapped in other visions. Vivid gifts transformed and misused. I often feel abused but from those who are chosen. Burnt offerings in a crystal ash tray, slow burning, thoughts going up in smoke choking images easily misunderstood but its clear. Choke on the truth, cough up what matters most not counting the lies. You know your wrong coming up with excuses its constant you're hurting inside. Coming to the people you know who shows the love "Im sorry", missing their true thoughts. What are you searching for?
No fear along side of mercy. Not concern with the things that could hurt me, Im just me man enough to take in my personal pain. Assuming my position of who Im going to be in this lifetime. Drying tears from my eyes. I love dreaming of my passionate beautiful nightmares.
There was a man I once knew.
His name was Norman.
You know how there’s a first for everything?
Well, he was my first.
Despite my visits to the nursing homes with my grandma,
I really didn’t know anything about them.
I had to learn what an Ombudsman was.
Despite having a little one,
I had to learn how to properly tend to people.
At the time, I was a virgin in every sense of the word but one.
I knew nothing.
I knew of no one.
I was made to keep my head down and learn.
Ask questions, but don’t argue.
I saw you there.
I would walk with you around your bedroom.
Somehow you changed bedrooms.
I was so happy to see you.
I was sad for your condition though.
All the hurts would spill forth from your dry, chapped lips.
Believe me, you had a lot of hurts.
It’s as if you’ve spent years in a trench.
Weren’t you a World War veteran?
You’d know what I’m talking about.
How people would get holes in their bodies?
I saw a lot of painful holes.
Oozing, goopy, gooey and painful holes.
You endured so much.
When you finally fell into an eternal sleep,
When I finally saw you in your black body bag,
As you were being rolled along the hallway,
I couldn’t help but feel like you’ve had a good, long life.
Until that moment,
I once again referred to myself as the medical virgin.
That was my very first time.
No, not with death in general,
But with being that close to a person’s final moments.
I would watch and wait patiently.
You would scream in agony.
Those deep, dark holes couldn’t have been good.
They oozed a smelly liquid.
I don’t take offense.
This was always something I never had to learn.
I’m the type who would talk about poop at the dinner table.
From that moment on,
I knew I was in for quite the adventure.
Mr. Norman.
Sir. Captain. General. Sargent. Colonel.
Whatever you were,
Father. Grandfather.
You were my first.
My garden is filled in pots I have no yard-no lots
I will need beautiful flower seeds I will need something to kill the weeds
Lots of lovely butterflies to pollinate flowers just watch and wait
I need more garden tools I also need a small stool
My garden needs a sky filled with sun Big clouds bring the rain for fun
Flowers growing bigger day by day All planted in pots made out of clay
My garden now very pretty Come take a look from the city
Date Written: 2/21/2021
2 Place
List With A Twist Contest Judged: 4/17/2021
Sponsored by: charles messina
Tying the little letter with the softest green ribbon,
I tucked it safely inside a large tree, the one she often leaned against in the park.
A few days passed, I eagerly awaited her return. Often I visited in her quaint little home.
She was alone in more ways than one, in the dark her heart was heavy, her mind
plagued with demons of adversity.
I stood at her door longingly as she cried into her cushions.
A week had gone, she ate very little. She just couldn’t bring herself to leave that dark room.
The rain came down hard that day, gushing down the rooftop, streaming down her window in a rage.
Worn and exhausted she opened the curtains to gaze out at the little park.
She could see not one tree through the streaming waters, and I thought she would break down in sobs again.
Instead I saw a soft gleam in her eyes as she quickly slipped on her coat and made her way out the door.
At last (I smiled) she had found the strength to return to her favorite spot,
even with the weights of melancholy clamping onto her every being.
She walked calmly though noticeably distraught. It's as if she were entering the Gates of End;
Her hands reaching for the tree till at last she clutched it and weeped in agony.
This was my last chance, I knew. She was saying goodbye to her beautiful park.
Those beautiful trees— her only haven amidst the glare of the world!
She was begging for relief, for the end, so with my hand, I wafted the wind one last time, vigorously.
Out of the hollow of the tree popped the note, dry and unscathed.
She stared at it curiously for a while, then sheltered it gently in her heavy coat.
I could only watch and wait and hope.
She looked around as if expecting this note to be for merely another
but I knew deep inside her soul that she understood. It was always meant for her.
-words by Laura B
© Ben Burton 12/18/2015
Some politicians claim that Muslims are the most abused
It isn't even close... in victim-hood it is the Jews
Obama speaks of Israel like they're the enemy
That fact can open doors to endless possibilities
Remember when he first came in and traveled overseas
Apologizing for our sins, bowed to the Saudi king
He claims that terrorists are hatched from no religious ilk
If that is so, what are those cries they make before they kill?
Most Muslims hear those whispered words the moment of their birth
They're in the dirge obama calls "the sweetest sound on earth"
If terrorists were screaming their support for Jesus Christ
Obama would be first in line to flagrantly deride
All fundamental Christendom as having played a role
He'd harp on "Christian terrorists," without the "radical"
On certain issues Barry jumps right in to take a side
But when it comes to terrorists he's always quick to chide
Talk radio, the Fox Network, and all who disagree
With the complete disaster of his foreign policy
The jayvee team called 'ISIL' grew when he ignored the fact
A breeding ground would open with our exit from Iraq
Yet even as they make their way onto these very shores
His only urgent issue is that earth is getting warm
Beware, for this man is not done, he has another year
A Congress full of traitors will help him to persevere
Obama versus terrorism never was a fight
How can a guy who's so far left expect to get things right?
Is he Christian, Muslim, faithless, none can say but he
He's still a secret despite vows of full transparency
All we can do is watch and wait and pray that we survive
Until we get our chance to put aside these stressful times
But even then, if reason does not trump the liberal view
We'll suffer more disasters at the hands of you know who