But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
Lying in the afternoon sunbeam hues,
Ambers and violets warm our flowerbed.
Beside rivers of pastel pinks and blues,
Floating, milky clouds stitches up our threads.
And as I lie within our lovely field,
Gaze lost in your pearls, squeezing your soft hand,
I exhale. My hard prejudicial shield
Migrates for summer, while birds and bees land.
Sure, in the city, beneath a new moon
Night, dark enough stars serve as lonely lights,
Someone in the ice glazed dirt curses you—
Wave at them, my opal gem, stand upright,
The city’s chaos does not touch us here,
Our love belongs—To be qu eer is not qu eer.
It’s good to know I wrote my stuff
and not some artificial.
I’d say it was intelligent;
that might be prejudicial.
Like steroids shot into the knee
go to the interstitial,
I ran an AI on myself;
I’m human, it’s official.
The space between the ears: a void
that fills from time to time.
Apparently a robot can’t
construct a clever rhyme.
The only time I’m seeing stars
is when I hit my head;
the bruise is used to cue my muse,
add to my human cred.
----------
with a nod to 'The Space Between The Stars'
March 17 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Judges 1-2
Key Verse – Judges 1:2 And the LORD said, Judah shall go up: behold, I have delivered the land into his hand.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO SERVES AS OUR DELIVERER
Praise be to God for delivering us against:
Purposelessness toward power of prayerfulness
Persecutions along prevailing problems
Perversions midst prejudicial protests
Pride while propelled by His peace
Poverty and pestilence
Judges 1:22 Praise be to the Lord Who
is with us, accompanying us along His:
Power as we triumph in His salvation
Provision as we trust His sufficiency
Protection as we testify of His sanctification
Providence as we toil by His standards
Promise as we thank His satisfaction
Judges 2:1 Praise be to the Saviour for assuring us that
He will never break His covenant with us; thus we must:
Love Him, believing His Word
Live for Him, blessed in His work
Learn from Him, built-up up by His wisdom
Lean on Him, braced upon His ways
Look unto Him, beseeching His will. Amen!
March 16, 2024
ACRE
Well, is it better to travel than arrive
Getting there doesn’t mean you rest
As that is when exploring starts again
To return here, nobody knows when
Stand on the walls and beat your chest
Such adventures make you feel alive
For some, the journey starts right here
Exploring, thinking, seeing the sights
Digging to realise what history applies
Perhaps seeing this through their eyes
With flaming torches as the only lights
As their destruction was drawing near
But all that was about a millennium ago
Still burning bright in the local identity
Ruined castle walls and a narrow street
Are reminiscent of that painful defeat
All changed forever in that first century
And some events that none will know
The Templar history is calling so strong
What is written seems prejudicial at best
Tunnels and secret passages still survive
And to discover the truth, one must strive
The scratched out writing is a palimpsest
Time for more digging before too long
Not A Classic Poet
I write with meter, like to rhyme;
Start lines with Capitals, make phrases chime.
But quickly clear it is that I’m
Not a classic poet.
Not Wordsworth, Coleridge or Poe
Not Browning, Plath nor Longfellow.
I’ve never read a Shakespeare, so
I’m not a classic poet.
Though aiming to be conscientious
I lack the urge to be pretentious.
And though occasionally tendentious,
I’m not a classic poet.
Sometimes I have been known to wander,
But rarely do I walk and ponder
Mother Earth or what’s beyond her.
I’m not a classic poet.
Some call my writing superficial,
Their view of it quite prejudicial.
I understand their curt dismissal.
I’m not a classic poet.
“Why write at all?” you may enquire.
Well usually it’s just desire
To pen some words, however dire.
I’m not a classic poet.
And so, with little sense of wonder
No fantasies to labour under
Through rhyming minefields still I’ll blunder.
I’m not a classic poet!
“Prejudice wears a variety of hats, none of them becoming.”
~ Kevin Ansbro
Is it fear or is it hatred
Of a stranger, the unknown
The premise that the unworthy
Could deprive you of your throne?
Is it feeling self-important
With a right to underrate
Foreign people with behaviour
Prone to sow the seeds of hate?
Selfish, haughty, prejudicial
Are the stickers on your back.
Do your customs and religion
Make you special? What the heck!
-------------------------------------
Published in "Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace"
~ (PoetrySoup) 2026
No racist rat is indeed above the law
Justice must be blind, fair, equal and raw
For all, in a democratic society
We are sick and tired of the hypocrisy
Where the poor are treated wrongfully or unfairly
And the rich get away absolutely scot-free
With odious crimes, with murder and theft
Many innocent people are put to death
In arbitrary, prejudicial and unusual fashion
And the obviously guilty ones are, in their mansion
Or their tower, enjoying life to the fullest
We yearn for the day, when no pests
Or no rat is seen or perceived to be above the law
We want justice to be blind, fair, equal, and raw
No, today is not the first day of spring
Or the first of April. Ring the bells, keep ringing.
Copyright © 4/4/2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Not a forest but a tree
A tree amongst forest
So, when you see me
Undress your prejudicial garment
Mount not the judgement seat,
Be in your right state of mind,
And pay attention
See me as a tree
Deal with me as a tree
Not a forest but a tree
Lest you lose me
---treat me as a tree---
For I am a tree
Nunca
[...] O mundo será das pessoas
que falam menos a palavra "NÃO”.
Preferem falar nunca.
[...] Use Nunca,
escolha suas palavras
com sabedoria e fale-as lentamente.
repita palavras positivas
como amor, paz e compaixão
alivia seu estresse prejudicial
e dá forças
para fazer
mais e mais.
Many of my friends no longer watch network news
Disgruntled by conflicting prejudicial reports
Beholden to their network’s particular political views.
Eyewitness accounts are dulled from retorts
By “talking heads” paid for “expert” commentary
Disgruntled by conflicting prejudicial reports
Over the years we have all grown wary
Of wealthy news media moguls, and such,
By “talking heads” paid for “expert” commentary
We have closed our minds to anyone out-of-touch
With rational ways of looking at current events
Of wealthy news media moguls, and such,
Many listen to other friends’ informed comments
Who get their news from more trustworthy sources
With rational ways of looking at current events
It is difficult to find the most reliable resources
Many of my friends no longer watch network news
Who get their news from more trustworthy sources
Beholden to their network’s particular political views.
April 28, 2021
Would you could
Within your moving prose, suppose
Your line be cast to moor
And words be cast to more
And soul be cast to those
Who truly know
Where you alone
Might have thought to go.
We travel together
A road less known;
Parallel, apart, except
For the line or two
Cast between the soul or two.
And if our vision be our words,
And if our feelings free as birds,
And if our heart and mind and being
Be upon the line, then yes.
And yes and yes and yes,
A thousand more.
For we touched,
Both you and I
The same magnetic North
All souls compass to embark.
And I would know you
As a candle knows another’s spark.
And this must now suffice
For all the world endure;
For this is Love,
The breath of God,
And nothing be more pure.
A seriously sad seventh son of a soldier entered prime prejudicial puberty
With love and luxuriously liberal thoughts in his hyper hallucinating heart
He was set on dating a diabolically darling daughter of a serious celebrity
So should he go to Hollywood? Hail a bus? Hire a taxi? Where to start?
Where to start? Where to start?
They watch their TV's and the nightly news
acknowledging police brutality,
but do not understand because they choose
to see it only as hostility.
They view the rioters and then complain
about the violence and scenes of hate,
and never take the time to feel the pain
as honest folk of color demonstrate.
While quoting Scripture and the broken laws
and seeing only what they want to see,
without regard to prejudicial flaws,
they castigate all those who don't agree.
We need more change to end this prejudice
and advocates to bridge this wide abyss.
Suitcase in hand, a face polarized against
the frosted window pane, searching verily
for continuity of a life that knew no restraint.
Someone’s Grandfather a considerate Uncle,
life’s situation upon the wane, a link within
the prejudicial chain of forfeited souls.
One’s transitions ablaze in the haze, an index
to summarize each hiatus gaze, grappling to come
to terms with this enforced deed of human kindness.
Guided by caring hands, assembled around the room
each demising chair, filled tidily with expressions
of doom and gloom, here where silence specifies
many words, and lifelong sentiment never heard. Yet
I see an old man in remembrance of his youth —
worth listening to if allowed to speak!*
*Thank you Richard Lamoureux. for the inspiration and line.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
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