If we can experience it, it is already a material thought-part of God. The permanent of all substance. God doesn't simply construct (what basic man understandably childlike reasons) -- He is builder of everything (all of His own essence-parts) (purified when in balance) (perfect in manifestation when blossomed expression) -- God is infinite existence, the purpose of Love to be lived outright eternally. Everything He is, He wants us to be, even greater for He is also all potential unlimited.
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So few understand the bible, and the true nature of being. God lives, breathes, feels with and through His creation (including us) -- Free Will allows us to separate from Him consciously...but it is an illusion. True separation is impossible. All is made of God Substance (His Body). Nothing exists outside of God. He is form and being. In Him knowledge of all Good and Evil. We pick and choose, Law the Redeemer. Grace and Love the patience. When in balance...there is only love.
Ex-medical student Francis Thompson
off to Lords he went along
Writing of cricket in verse
producing a poem accurate but terse
Across the alfalfa field hid that creek, so simple yet so complex.
The Nebraskan wind hummed country melodies over its weeds and blossoms as my Labrador, Sandy, and I strode towards its mystical plainness.
She stopped and sniffed the ground before diving into Nameless' gray current, her golden body relishing the warm summer water.
Her head graced the surface like a canine swan as her strong legs paddled through the nameless depth. Birds tweeted their greetings to us as Nature's orchestra labored in harmony.
Sandy climbed back upon the creek's bank before she eyed me with a smile. I chuckled as I told her that no, I couldn't swim.
She is now buried under a majestic tree near the nameless creek. Illness stole my sweet dog from my world, but never from my heart. This creek had no name, yet memories burned themselves inside its muddy water.
Anger-fueled words flare out of his mouth
like blue flames
I can feel the energy darken and turn cold
I sit silently
keeping my eyes locked downward,
absorbing every atom of hatred
that forms the sharp sounds being emitted.
I try not to show how uncomfortable I am
instead, I stare at the hypnotic,
damaging radiation waves
bellowing invisibly from the light of my phone screen,
pretending not to be affected by the unnecessary
vulgarities spouting from his ego.
in less than an instant,
the vibes go from comfortably chill
to anxiously wishing I was anywhere
but in this passenger seat.
every sentence carves a new scar
into my already damaged soul
as my brain categorizes each word
where it rightfully belongs.
I’m grateful for my oversized sunglasses
that hide my wincing eyes—
until I catch him looking sideways at me.
I solemnly mutter something about it being rush hour,
trying to become as small as my body will let me be.
I hope it seems like I’m too engulfed
in whatever stupid game I'm playing
to notice the short-fused flip-outs
that now happen every single time
we're in the car.
Love's Philosophy a double quatrain in two stanza by Percy Bysshe Shelley is summed up in the eternal personal plea of his line 'Nothing in the world is single' & he declaims it should not be he
Poet Percy a bit of a rebel was he as his tragic bio truth to tell ,drowning in his boat 'Ariel'.
GEORGE ELIOT
An eliot is an epigram form I labelled in honour of George Eliot the English novelist/poet,
inspired by an example in Chap 8 of her book Daniel Deronda.Here is her epigram should you
wish to try one for yourself
What name doth Joy most borrow
when life is fair ?
Tomorrow !
What name does best fit sorrow
In young despair?
Tomorrow !
A talent
that outlived
passing fame-
hidden beneath
her lover's name.
&here is my 'ELIOT'
What tune does youth most play
when future's biding ?
Today !
What wisdom does age convey
when time is passing ?
Today !
Everyone wants a piece of me…
that’s what a large part of life
is. Wife, children, friends and
neighbors – little love bites for
attention~ the cats. And what
matters most, at the end of a
day, a life? – instead of left whole
I would rather have been fondly
portioned out, a good taste left on the sampling
palates of acquaintances. Relationships are
more triangles than circles...a
few pointed edges, pricked as
we navigate one another. In my geometries
at the center real hearts....
Squares not pointed enough,
and circles rather boring.
Pieces are portions and portions
once an entire pie. Apples,
cinnamon and lots of brown sugar --
what the heck! Sweets are great
preservatives…. Maybe in charge
of bakeries my destiny if flavorful
decadence occasionally allowed in
the Here-after? I mean, if castles
and pavement of gold, why not pastries?
Do dentists ever make it to heaven?
Birth brings joy to the mother, the father, and the family — an innocent newborn, pure by nature and instinct.
Death, however, in fact, completely different! To/for poeple death of a great person brings deep sorrow, whereas the death of a vile, evil, rotten is a great mercy and a source of immense joy!
What did you do? What did you take? What did you give? How did you spend your life? How did you acquire your wealth, and how did you spend it? Were you a human being or a devil? For/to you, this is the very heart and essence of life!
Your hairstyle, skin color, place and ethnicity are of no value.
Core, heart, mind, soul. That is it all!
CHRISTINA R
Christina Rossetti
come by
come buy
eagerly lap
so exotic
this
drizzling
juice
crushed
fruit
sweet to the tongue
sound to he eye
come by
come buy
superbundant
innocence
in
abundance
aplenty
come by
come buy
jouissance
succulent
fruit
crushed
pulpy
to whet
your appetite
let
your
imagination
run
wild
effusive
prelapsarian
with
delicious desire
come by
come buy
take it
as
it
comes
Without exaggeration or pretense, I have been writing poetry—almost every day and night—for over ten years; I have penned at least 3,650 pieces or poems. I am not particularly concerned with what is written about my work, except when the commentary comes from poets I know well or personally.
I would advise any poet not to pay too much attention to what is written about their poetry—whether praise or criticism—unless it comes from poets whose caliber matches or exceeds their own.
All the best.
A PRAYER TO NOWHERE
The horizon
Pulled forward and above me
Like a morgue's white sheet
Rain began to fall
Someone, somewhere
Opened a window in the clouds
And began to call
My will, take me there
Before time grows tired of my presence
Rain struck my window
Blurring the outside world
Colored shapes moved about
I pressed my face against the cold glass
Not wanting to return
Ahead was nothing more than a cell
A dead man walking
Unchaperoned
A final mile
An abbreviated world
The half-life of man
The monitor came to life
Just another window
To another nothing world
Words, numbers, pictures
And that thin line between truth and lies
Rain replaced by the tapping of keys
Concern measured in a sentence
Apathy in words
Recorded for eternity
A Prayer to nowhere
I searched for a rainstorm
What was promised to women was a lie
That men had already been fooled by
I pressed my face against the warm glass
And found truth in deception
Thomas Aquinas ,a 13th century Italian friar
first recorded use of the anapestic meter
in the AABBA form with prayers in Latin until
Edward Lear used theform for humourous verse
.The title Limerick is more uncertain but might have
aconnection
to the Irish town of that name
There once lived a friar,Thomas of Aquino
in latin,did his poetry flow
In a prayer anapestic
this form was to stick
until Lear gave AABBA ,a go
Artist&limerickteer
LEAR Mostly wrote nonsense verse
to keep the pennies dropimg into his purse
Known best as the limerick king
but art really made him sing
From Friar Thomas Aquino
AABBA cinquins did flow
With rhyme anapestic
the form did the trick
inspiring Lear et al to have a go
They inspired Edward to invent the limerick
which still makes online poetry sites tick
Always Young As Adults, Never Grow Old
Two strangers met in Heaven: a white tricenarian classy cat and a red vicenarian bird.
White: Where did you come from?
Red: I am a Victorian. I only died young because I was shot.
White: Really???!!! I am a Victorian too. I was born in 1840.
Red: I was born in 2003.
White: The late Victorian era is only until 1901. Were you a soldier, a factory worker or a prince?
Red: I was an instrumentalist. I lived in Victoria Court for twenty-two years and another five years in Victoria Street before I was shot while resting in the balcony.
White: Meowww...
Inner Paths
To take an inner journey, to learn to understand oneself,
To weigh the pros and cons to find momentum again.
To fall silent, and in the calm, let the heart reflect,
To shape one’s thoughts so they can begin to open.
The mind detaches and settles so it will not suffer,
Searching deep within silence to erase certain memories.
To reflect on our desires, to want to act, to act well,
To write so we may hold on to what we wish to know how to offer.
To build a future where something might change,
To imagine a gentler world, simpler to travel through.
To think of that elsewhere that would offer a clear escape,
To welcome those moments, traces that return again.
To lose oneself in thought to recover a little of who we are,
To meditate in silence when words become too heavy.
To keep watch at night, when shadows awaken memories,
To think of what hurts in order to learn to heal one’s wounds.
Joël Charvillat
William Butler Yeats in doubled stanzard quatrain 'The Cloths Of Heaven ' (with similar end lines recurrently appearing)writes with delightful lyrics a very personal plea
William Butler Yeats
respected as one of the greats
Awarded a Nobel prize
being tone deaf is a surprise
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