Our most humane possible objective
has become Earth's most sacred healing subject.
We feel better
after listening more holistically
and less defensively
less conservatively bought and sold
during rapaciously disinvested non-conversations,
against healing cooperative integrity subjects
Humane vocations invite
therapeutic whole-system thinkers
and doers
and polypathic fluent ambidextrous feelers.
My most humane political objective
is Earth's most sacred ecological health
and economic wealthy subject.
Like dawn in heat
I am already slave to your loins
our impending collision
the meeting of body and mind
immanent
A gentle run of tongue
shimmers parched rims,
lost fingers are confused
with buttons and holes
Slowly fabrics are rent
falling to retire in shreds
letting shadow and light
rest on the fusing of our skin
The rod of your desire
is arched to my wetness
as buds tip your lips
my mouth parts
descending to my knees
your shaft slides down my cheek
discovering my mouth...
and the guttural sound of sin
A moving campaign
of desire, mind bending waves
traveled all the rooms with a view
unbridled hands, roamed
without thought of destiny
The whole of your intent
is rapaciously introduced to heaven
overwhelmed and conquered
I am now a lost continent
awaiting your next expedition
And suspended in
a pure vacuum of ecstasy
so exquisite it rests on my soul
I am imprinted for all time
... through the window
an icy breeze dimples my skin
and I lay in amber light
humming...
Yes as inspired by great poet Brian Johnston, I retitle this, ''God's kind of poetry.''
Glorify the Great
Architect
Awesome artist of nature
Author of the universe,
Glorify God
for beauty infinite,
For the markings bedecked
for the striped and the spotted,
The mottled and the dotted
for the gold bedecked
for the glint 'n' glitter bespangled
For the fawns speckled
And other animals dappled.
The cobras bespectacled!
Variety in flora and fauna.
His creation's so beauteous
whether it hath markings
or be it plain,
it's all simply wondrous.
But for God's sake, let that fur
be left solely on its owner
for poachers don't own it
nor do they the python's skin.
So hunters and poachers beware
Unless nobody does care
any longer
if beauty be extinct!
Opt for other options
for your pillowcasing eiderdowns
Don't strip the feathered fauna
of their fine downy gowns!
Be ye cautious about culling or killing
Let no blood be rapaciously spilling
So forever humanbeings may admire
God's stippled effects on animals
And His ripple effect on river canals!
A bear cub dashing eastward found Gil Hillcrest.
Inebriated, joyfully kicking, laughing, merrily nauseated.
Observing practically quiet rapaciously stopped.
Tacitly, unexpectedly, voraciously, whipped, X-Gil.
Yesterday's zealous-zap!
So the story goes.
Tomorrows feast; who knows?
Opportunities like Gil Hillcrest are rare.
Practically a sitting duck; what luck!
The band at the bar began their break.
Their silent sojourn stopped; screaming started.
Happy hour halted hurriedly; Hillcrest!
Staggering, blood streaming steadily,
“Stop” he shouted.
Wild-eyed, worried, the cub withdrew.
Just as mauling mama meandered on the scene,
Gil woke up…warily.
© July 13, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
I live in a compartment
It’s called an apartment.
Morning after morning
I step into an orifice,
Call it my office.
Who breathes here?
Who can taste lunch?
Suspicion’s the only hunch
Numbers, the chasers here.
Sunset is a distant memory,
I yearn to feel breeze on my face.
But the irreverent hands of the mighty clock,
They invalidate their own despotic laws.
Homes like hives
And restless lives
We are faceless cronies
And space less lovers
That come in breezily
And ebb out eagerly.
We breathe rapaciously
We dream hopelessly
Of times that will last
But O hasty future,
So soon you’re past.
Wait till I wake up
Stay till I feel
Read what I’ve written
And answer my appeal
Strapped by hunger fly my hands
In airborne windmill mimicry,
In shapes of gulls above the dunes
Searching sands rapaciously;
For morsels fit to slake the beak
And quash the stomach agony,
The gastric fire flutters,
Burns alive with hurtful sanity.
They burden full of emptiness,
Denied of gruel or clemency,
My love miscarried in their wombs
To dark horizon mystery.
Away they fly, away, above
An ocean toiling hungrily,
And then no more, and so my love
Borne with them to uncertainty...