They call us softly and tenderly every night.
They adjust and fold to our every touch.
I know of none who sleeps without pillows;
Soft cushions made to embrace the human body.
Notwithstanding, there are those among
Us mortals who seem to think pillows are
For having fun and engaging in pillow fights
But that's another story, another poem.
There are things our bodies require for comfort.
Some require more comfort than others. One
pillow for some; three or more pillows for others
to reach their comfort zone. Indeed, we are
Creatures of comfort.
Pillows to decorate our beds
Pillows for the head and neck.
Pillows between our thighs.
Pillows to hold and to hug.
Pillows for propping our legs
Pillows under the back..
Pillows on top of us.
Moreover, so often it appears that there
Is a secret to arriving at just the right touch
Or better yet, the right pillow. At any rate,
We will toss and turn all through the night,
Reach for that heavenly pillow oasis.
Fortunately, many of do indeed find that
Comfort zone before the break of day.
Whether the comfort is to be found in the
Pillow or the person, I'm not really sure.
Facula, flash fulgorous.
Chime, chorus, sharply in.
Pumice stone, rough and porous?
Blood below the skin.
Mantle of the harpsichord?
Wraps around the core.
Reptile complex, tooth or sword?
Either way it's gore.
Moreover, hellfire. Killing fields.
Floor slaughterhouse, tiled.
Yield or come home on thy shields.
As before, poor. Riled.
Hurricane, thy beginning.
What will seed thee, storm?
Ululate, underpinning.
Lava, keep them warm.
Rush. Volcanic power, crush.
Dragon, heard that thrush?
Crocodile, wildebeest. Such.
Cloud, the rainbow's touch.
Fire in my heart, burn ice cold.
Ashes, fall around.
Trillium flower, poison sold.
Salve healing, thy bound.
Gadarene, black gabion.
Galant, galago.
Gallimaufry? Gallion.
Goetic the grow.
Fulmineous, fumarole?
Not exactly matched.
Ground to powder, golden bowl?
Toll the tallest thatched...
I have known him for many years,
most of which have been good.
But some have been bad and ugly.
He can serve you well if you get to
know him well and keep him in his place.
If you allow him, he can and will lead you astray.
I mean no disrespect to Mr. Heart.
In fact, he knows better than anyone
that I am being truthful about him.
We have been advised most of our lives
to follow Mr. Heart, 'Follow your heart'.
I mean no disrespect to our parents, friends,
and teachers. They meant the very best for us.
But I came to realize that was poor advise.
Mr. Heart is not pure and can be deceptive.
Mr. Heart knows his limitations and his purpose.
Moreover, he will follow you, if you lead him.
So by all means, do not follow Mr. Heart.
Rather, we must LEAD Mr. Heart.
In the forest deeply hidden
There is a place that looks forbidden
To be seen by the naked eye
So peaceful a place as you pass by
Buried beneath the trees and flowery surround
Where trickling water the only sound
Nature has produced a miniature waterfall
Through a hole in the earth, not big, just small
A cascade of loveliness amongst the flowers
The water flows for hours and hours
Its watery spray the elixir of life it would seem
To the flowers its misty dampness a life giving dream
The Rocks down which it flows today
For many years have paved the way
To guide the waters downward spiral at ease
Like in a painting, an artist’s mural set in the breeze
Where it goes is anyone’s guess
It disappears, reappears somewhere else I guess
It has probably been there for a thousand years or more
Another opening of nature’s door
The window of magic she weaves constantly
Moreover, will always be a mystery to you and me
The band forms via destiny sprinkled with chance.
Traveling backroads, they bond in blood and struggle.
Moreover, there's love, camaraderie, perseverance.
Destined to lick the tangy mist atop their peak.
The journey, deeply rooted in soul-seasoned sweat.
Ego arrives bearing a rash of tiny leaks.
Slowly sinking, they jump ship and disband.
Going solo, seeking and kneading their own clan.
Sometimes they try to reunite to recapture the past.
But it just isn't quite right; the magic has jumped the vinyl groove.
Green feet have no desire to step back into worn shoes.
Contest: Secrets of The Soul
Sponsor: Ink Impress
The whole of this poem is purely poetical
And does not express my personal belief
About soul secrets.
The secrets of my soul are safe and
Protected where the orchids dream,
And never where nightmares are seen.
Where orchids dream is where peace
And tranquility dwell and where secrets
Abide that none would dare to tell.
Red and pink roses agree to stand guard,
Holding security codes printed on cards.
Myriads of thealted lines are trapped in
your pulse; some of which are tolerable.
But others are filled with disgust.
Moreover, these vaulted secrets are reserved
And kept alive, being soothed by every beat
Of your heart, forever to thrive.
Since Adam's transgression, all souls have fallen
from grace; and without Christ, we will
Continue in decline at an alarming pace.
Touché, olé, old fond troubadour—
click your heels and ask for more.
Other ways to ride a rolling stone,
passed every place once called home.
An ocean without distant shores,
keeps knocking on invisible doors.
Each wave lays claim to the beach,
then slides away beyond your reach.
You pass milestones in endless rows,
never showing where the future goes;
for on the road to what's forevermore
there's always room for more one more.
Are we there yet—or merely due?
On a horizon we're drifting through.
With a daisy chain at either end—
blooming with everlasting at each bend.
Beyond a fence, a lantern gleams,
half-hidden in the farthest dreams.
We climb the gate to get on through—
and find another glimmer in the dew.
We row our skiff with a steady oar,
dipping moreover into furthermore,
gliding freely between the strokes,
while yesterdays creak in the yokes.
Yearning for the lore of forevermore,
we moor, unmoor; drift from shore to shore;
almost arriving at every lie and lee,
we unhitch, and head, to the open sea.
Mingle
maybe we should all try to
mingle as this may be a
methodology for ending social isolation
moreover, this may help with any
maladjustments loners
may have in crowded situation---there can be
modifications to the rules of
meeting if too many people are present---we can have
multilateral discussions if needed to reduce any
melodramatic
moments that could happen from
misinterpretation of our getting together—let’s plan this at a
microbrewery which definitely make
mingling
more fun!
Dora Maar with Green Fingernails
In Elementary school
I was not good at shapes at drawings
When I look at the Dora Maar with
green fingernails
I look at my own fingernails
with green smeared all over
my hands
I was a fool
painting all over my fingers, and then there are my drawings
Convincing people that Picasso is one of the greatest artists is a myth
green fingernails
Misproportioned – moreover
It’s bland.
"And thou shalt eat it as barley cakes, and thou shalt bake it with dung that cometh out of man, in their sight.
And the LORD said, Even thus shall the children of Israel eat their defiled bread among the Gentiles, whither I will drive them.
Then said I, Ah Lord GOD! behold, my soul hath not been polluted: for from my youth up even till now have I not eaten of that which dieth of itself, or is torn in pieces; neither came there abominable flesh into my mouth.
Then he said unto me, Lo, I have given thee cow's dung for man's dung, and thou shalt prepare thy bread therewith.
Moreover he said unto me, Son of man, behold, I will break the staff of bread in Jerusalem: and they shall eat bread by weight, and with care; and they shall drink water by measure, and with astonishment:
That they may want bread and water, and be astonied one with another, and consume away for their iniquity."
Ezekiel 4:12-17.
Ezechiel is a Hebrew prophet of the 6th century BC who was exiled to Babylon in 587 BC.
read it about food
Son of man read it again
in Jerusalem.
Innocence not entirely
From off the world's face
Is to fade away.
Nor that, its sweetest light gives
With each setting day.
As that which scares off evil
Not that we'd expect
'Twould be allowed to!
Moreover, whilst reflecting
God, our source smiles through!
Time; how so soon it comes to be this fast.
Regards to her- gives the best with no rest...
Time at service, expectation surpassed,
Looking forward to mate to pass such test.
Invisible cat's eyes can't be denied.
Lovely tongue: many precautions to tame...
Beast with jokes, laughter rarely roam aside
The smiling face of genuine joy; truth's aim.
Bold enough to be a nice daring dove.
Moreover, good a simple gentle beast.
Patience gives edge to discover such trove-
To beat the false image, ego set least.
Thanks for the good-bad days of every week.
Thanks for pushing through while your mind seems weak.
You are destined to go places;
Preferably God-centered places
Reached via roads less traveled.
The few that blaze such God-centered
Places are fixated and permeated
With a strong sense of purpose.
Moreover, when traveled, onlookers
And bystanders are quick to distract,
Which may cause traverlers to subtract,
Losing traction as well as losing
Sìght of their God given purpose.
But may you be ever focused, never
Slowed nor tempted to switch tracts.
May any who oppose you be the
Amunition that only recharges you.
May nothing said or done cause a discharge.
Your name is Journey. Full speed ahead!
That gaze, once turned
Smiles upon me forever.
Those eyes, once burned
As stars never go out.
This earth one keeps
Sunblest for day, though set
Yet in song; in perfume yet.
This earth, moreover
Clear for night, against Time's will
Still pain-assuaged. Tranquil still.
Her body was always kind to me,
our garden - a sunny bath
for a luxuriant
peach tree.
On special days,
we would sit naked under its shade
to share
just one of its blushed,
luscious fruits,
it was our ritual.
As one, our tongues would drink
each other's thirst.
Moreover,
where the erotic crease of the fruit
dimpled inwards, our curling tongues
washed velvety skin.
A salacious consuming followed,
a nectarous bacchanal,
a drenching,
that we,
eager and laughing,
smeared over one another.
Her body was always kind to me,
even on moonless nights
her peach saturated my senses,
while magenta folds
flowered,
and a primal darkness
hung my mouth to her lips.
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