Lately I've cried
tears filled up my eyes
rolling down my face
warmth from the wetness
purging the years of pain
cleansing out the grief,
now knowing I am good enough
no approval needed or points to prove
elated with joy emotional, but happy.
Slow down, Democrat!
Another Trump Bump;
speed again controlled --
your downhill throttle,
your Radical in a green
bottle...corked, the lessen:
Don't Drink and fanatically
drive --
All US gears back in Thrive!
Our Nation having had full,
of your screwy, Woke Jive --
You've been overwhelmingly
voted out, to unclog the Nation's
impacted, suffering Republic Orifice;
The People have loudly spoken~
showing the exit-corridors,
to Left Politicians lacking acceptable,
sane, moral borders --
American has taken a huge laxative dump
Bowel corrected, clear for freshly discharging
those newly elected given firm, purging orders!
Why are you sitting here playing with your shadows?
Your bitter sadness is building too much gunk inside your mind.
Let the past go.
Wash away your tears and let the pain flow.
Scrub each thorn till it spills, leave them hollow.
Grit down your teeth; drag a match against the haze,
Let it split open, watch it dance in a maze.
Lips cracking, fingers numb, but my pulse still hums.
A drowning ache in the echo chamber of a hollow.
(C) CRAIG J. BURT & GilaVamp 10/25/24
Unclemnt breathe penetrates through gossamer
Losing momentum
It's control dissipates
The curser loses his grip
And slips into slumber
Eclipsed by the new virgin empress
Excserting her power with sunshine-arousing kisses
Awakening fertile ground
The Robin sings and spreads his wings
The virgin Empress
A virgin no more
Heavily pregnant
The prospect of new birth
And abundant prosperity
The climate is now more clement
The new mantel Disrobes
Shedding it's fleecy overcoat
For more appropriate attire
The birth is now on its way
And expectations are High
Now delivered
Bursts into fruition
Pushing through the barren teratherma
Reaching stretching forever upward toward the transparent sky
Now cleared of its cursed obliterating smothering shroud
Tears of joy now pour down
Welcomed by the evergrowing
parched thirsty barren ground
Now quenched
Blossoming and flourishing in abundant
Majesty and prosperity
Once again
Until the reaper returns
With its choking smothering consuming
Shroud and bite.
.
The night falls heavy, A suffocating cloak,
Cold, and alone am I.
The light for which I pray flares once, then dies, swallowed by the abyss all hope must die.
My being craves no more.
How could I understand?
My darkest thoughts surrounding me,
Crying,
I am fallen.
. for public domain
It is the highway shoulder for me.
I care little for flying,
and just as much for the sea.
Rails? Not in that much of a hurry.
Good ol' Ground feels right under my feet.
One step at a time,
a good gait, easy and neat.
Snail's pace feels like less of a worry.
And when I stop it does not matter.
I get somewhere,
a little weary, less fatter.
Ails soulful, less my favor curry.
combing my unkempt hair
unraveling years of not caring
my freedom knotted with reckless abandon
untangling each strand of dissatisfaction
cutting as curls fall away
each length a strand of injured time
January 30, 2023
Bite Size Contest #60
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
layer of dust
choking breath
fears and desires
veiling luminescence
purification then the way
gentling every touch
to rekindle heart’s
love and light
23-December-2022
As I'm reeling
I threw up my in word sides
Puking up
The infallible spiritual meta physical environment chards
Some may call it gross
The wrenching purgings coming out of my mouth
Through my throat
I call it a cleansing, a revealing
I stand duty charged and not ashamed I
I stand repentant a mere mortal man
Sinful as I challenge myself
To deny not a living God
For I praise Him and get my every most devotion until Abba Father
Cleanse me thoroughly
Inside and out for its not what goes in a man,
but what comes out
8/30/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
My porch must be miserable
Full of empty boxes
Thanks to Amazon’s daily deliveries
I had not noticed until today
But it is unbelievably noticeable
I wish the delivery men would take the empties away
My front door looks shabby
Needs a fresh paint job
But it is a mural and not easy to repaint
My car is not empty
There are three coats in the back seat
When did I become such a slob?
I would open the trunk
But I could not stand it
And the garage is already brimming with stuff
Nest week is spring break
Dare I begin purging?
I pick up a Styrofoam plate on my way to the car
And I am not yet in my car
So all of this is the three minutes
It took me to get ready for work!
Paying attention is unique
Has awaken me to my faults
I sit down behind the steering wheel, pondering my steps
When I am honest with my belongings
I am amazed to find that I have surrounded myself
With things that I thought I could not live without
Once upon a time…..
But once upon a time is long gone, and these things
no longer give me joy, or make me happy in any kind of
weird way.
That sparkly spangly pillow I did not think I could live
without two months ago Is uncomfortably hard, and
scrapes my fingers in an unkind way when I accidentally
brush up against it. But here it sits because I did pay
Twenty-three dollars for it, right?
Wrong!
It is going, and so are thousands of other items that
no longer give me joy. I am loading up the truck with
buckets and boxes of insane things when my husband
starts to stroll around the corner. Whisk! He is now
hiding behind the edge of the porch.
He has seen me in this mood many times, and he
always comments that he is surprised I have not
yet hauled him off. I glare at him. Wishing he would
get just a little closer for I am in that mood.
Whenever my thoughts begin to gather dust
And my stressed-out mind begins to slowly rust
I'm inclined to purge it with guided meditation
The calming effects refreshing. It begets elation
When a fourth line helps it to rhyme! Poetry Contest/Winner(1st Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Date written and posted: 06/08/2018
Sin swept ...
another soul carried away
on the winds of self-destruction
Wrong way living,
unwise decisions made with a gilded heart
Sin loves to appear
as something other than what it truly is,
giving you a mask of illusion
so you can’t see what you really are
Choking all the charity
that was naturally formed inside of you
in the deep caverns of your life
Purging you of the ability to choose to do right
Now you’re a human robot
programmed to only do evil,
and the winds of self-annihilation begins to blow ...
chipping away at your soul
As you become less than human
more and more each day,
the devil laughs at you
All the while making you do the puppet dance
to the sinister music his pipes of hell ominously play
It’s the end of Act Three,
and the curtain is falling
You bow to the ground, to the dust ...
ready to be eaten by those vile worms of greed and lust
After the empty words of a sad eulogy have been read,
and your body cast into the dark abyss ...
Another sinner is purged from the earth,
whose evil deeds shall not be missed
Purging and Submerging
By Pope, Trump's soul he had been purging
After from Democrats receiving much urging;
A desire to know,
On you did grow;
Were beyond belief so sins needed submerging.
Jim Horn
Musical nonsense – purging thoughts
Songs of the heart fill the notes on the sheet
Black upon white in the fanciest lace
Strings out of tune to the places they meet
Melodies wane in the moments we trace
Choruses christened in sweet water glow
Ring through the valleys while villagers sleep
Echoes of remnants the masses did know
Following tears in the music they weep
Bass beats now driving, the wind at the wheel
Harmonic detours turn lyrics around
Lost with a map folded twice to conceal
Any direction a bridge can be found
Violins float on a cloud made of rain
Drifting through caverns much deeper it seems
Piccolos run past the chord dangled pain
Wondering what has become of their dreams
Symphonic whispers of volumes too high
Scream in the night by the light of the moon
Dancing with shadows that soon wander by
Curious why this is so out of tune
Still here I sit on a bench made of pine
Pencil in hand and a page it does greet
Playing these keys hoping but to remind
Songs of the heart fill the notes on the sheet
Don't ask me.
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