In the dark
and most violent places
— we find His light
In the farthest
and most desolate arenas
— we fight His fight
In the desperation
of a blacker dawn
— we stem the harm
To rise again
in love proclaimed
— and live reborn
(The First Book Of Prayers: April, 2026)
God’s business is to take the small
and multiply its effectiveness.
—by Poet
Self-Proclaimed Misfits
They don’t quite fit.
In their seats, don’t sit.
Each is not alone;
not quite on their own.
On bent knees;
rooted like trees.
Though their worship’s contained,
Spirit’s presence unrestrained.
They listen much closer
to eternity’s stalwart composer.
Praise solid in a small congregation.
Quite certain of their salvation.
There’s a vulnerable hole in the ceiling.
Especially misfits, God is healing.
I found my happy place in my dreams,
Where life is not what it seems.
From birth to death, my story's told;
Both day and night the scenes unfold.
To relive it all and set it right,
My mind works overtime at night.
From the first, my mother loved me.
She said it often in my fantasy.
Each time I heard the words 'I love you',
My spirit soared, my confidence grew.
Eventually, this charade got old.
My mother's heart remained stone cold.
So, I chose a new family,
Whose love was as real as dreams can be.
I left home when I was grown
But the child inside was all alone.
My guardian angels took in this stray.
Their love and direction showed me the way.
And so, I continue to dream
Of a mother's love lost and unseen.
But today I realized that I love me
So.... why couldn't she?
I used to know Mr. Billy Bones,
at four-foot five inch tall
a local marvel.
A spark in his clear blue eyes,
muscle and brawn,
cheeky and bold
at fifty years old.
It was no surprise
Billy the high street butcher,
felt no need
to advertise.
The finest minds are clouded
Right and Wrong are in question
Complexity is prized
by those who are best in
Avoiding the consequences
of their twisted mutations
Self-proclaimed gurus declaiming
~ Truth’s naught but prevarication
Where you're from and who you are-
Two beasts that coexist within.
If not for the voices from your youth
Maybe you could have conquered.
But now you float in a stagnant pool
And nothing is far closer than everything.
Be in awe of yourself,
ever struck with delight
Gift wrapping your thoughts,
in the goodness of life
Treasure the memories,
letting go of the pain
Releasing the wonder
—as Heaven proclaimed
(High Point North Carolina: April, 2017)
P-eople
H-appily
I-mplement
L-iberation's
I-mpressive
P-roclaimed
P-eace
I-n
N-otable
E-xcellence
I-f
N-ational
D-efense
E-arnestly
P-rotects
E-very
N-ame
D-efending
E-ach
N-oble
C-oncern
E-ffectively
Topic: 121st Anniversary of
Philippine Independence
(June 12,2019)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Photo: Google
To be quiet with your friends
and silent with your foes
Creates a thunderous quiescence
which envelopes your soul
Your enemy weakening
as truth starts to rain
His darkness expelled
—by lightning proclaimed
(Train From Virginia: April, 2015)
Be in awe of yourself,
ever struck with delight
Gift wrapping your thoughts,
in the goodness of life
Treasure the memories,
letting go of the pain
Releasing the wonder,
—as Heaven proclaimed
(Highpoint North Carolina: April, 2017)
I remember you
and the last line that we've played
I remember your first whisper
and our final words proclaimed
I recall departing moments
and the calling of my name
I recall that night's farewell
All has changed yet still the same
Still too cold to feel the sun
Still too warm to taste the rain
Till the day I turn to dust
Tell me who am I to blame
Was it you or was it me
Was it bitter destiny
Was it unhealed scars and strife
that has brought you in my arms
to embrace both death and life
Tell me who am I to blame
Was it you or was it me
Was it bitter destiny
'Pon that bench that We once sat
Now I write your obituary.
There’s a self-proclaimed hero
Proudly prancing across stage
Made known his idiocy
Not seeing his fate
Russell Sivey
The self-proclaimed living legend is here to make a name for himself and that guy is me. I
was brought on God's green Earth for different reasons. And out of these different
reasons, three of them are to become a famous writer, to be a famous Hollywood
story-writer/ producer, and to be one of the famous stars of all time. The greatest thing
about being the self-proclaimed living legend is that I'm wanting to be able to outlive
anyone on this planet and I get to see tomorrow, the next day, and the rest of my life
life, as well. If I'm the self-proclaimed living legend, everybody should become
self-proclaimed living legends in their own right, also. I'm one of those young legends,
I'm living life to the fullest, and pretty soon, everyone will, too. And if there's going
to be a new brand of self-proclaimed living legends for the future, then we will all be
ready for life.
No enlightened poet am I proclaimed,
Rhyming high-flown philosophies in poesy,
(Instead, I only scratch out my words
In verses of winds and scents of spring--
Of the shades of the light crowning wintertime clouds,
Sing the grace of the wings in a homecoming sky.)
For I am no more a poet than you,
And you, with your verses, no more than I.
(And so I write of the white blush of moon
Not referencing love, neither lost nor found
And rhyme the rhythm of the lapping sea
With the throb of the heart in the desert heat.)
For what more, oh poets, are poems than beauty?
(Write: The ethereal river spills sheens iridescent
Beneath the expanse of the heavenly lights)
And what more than beauty is life?
(Breathing perfumes and sparkles of nectars and grass
Spelling effervescence within the infinite hues.)
We were in the field,
Tending our sheep.
All was so quiet,
We were falling asleep!
In the blink of an eye,
The sky turned so bright!
All the angels appeared,
We trembled with fright!
Glory to God in the highest,
The host of angels did sing!
The news of the Messiah's birth,
To us they did bring.
Born in the City of David,
And in a manger He lay.
He's wrapped in pieces of cloth,
You will find Him this way.
So off we went to,
Search for this child.
Who was born this night,
In a way so meek and mild.
We were struck with awe,
As we came to the place!
We felt so unworthy,
To even gaze upon His face!
So humbled by the fact,
The angels gave us this news.
We are just shepherds,
The lowliest of Jews!
But with joy overflowing,
We sang praises in the street!
We began telling the Good News,
To everyone we would meet!
Then back to the field to,
Tend the sheep we went.
Praising God for our Messiah,
And the night's events He had sent!
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