343.
The Water of Alena
Oh Sanggre Alena, Keeper of the Jewel of Water
Pour unto me the blood of being kind & sober
Kind towards people who are in need
Sober towards those who have wronged us in deed
Baptize me with the flexible being of Sapiro
To be like an adventurous patriot & hero
Just like the water of life – stir up my spirit
In coping up with both coldness & heat
Being the most romantic of all the siblings
Your indomitable spirit is beyond reckonings
The wave of your tide –oh wash away impurities
Brought by the kiss of filthy enemies!
-02/25/2015
(Dumarao)
*Superhero Collection
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the collision, the skin remembers~
a slow bloom of violet, tender beneath fingertips.
Like storm clouds gathering under the surface,
these marks whisper in shades of yellow and blue.
They are maps of impact, soft archives
where the body keeps its quiet reckonings.
Fading hope, a swallowed scream~
proof that even silence can bruise.
123.
Discreet Persecution
So you think I've been deaf & blind
Who can't hear & see from behind?
Doors & walls clearly speaking
Floors & roads plainly showing
Omens so artificial
Messages so diabolical
Tired of listening
To a cat meowing?
Want it o go hide & seek
Knowing that it's already weak?
Wanted/Missing without search
Whipped & slashed by thorny birch
What more discreet persecution
Pack & throw, chop & burn?
Can't imagine such bloody reckonings
Longing for more sufferings?
You think my mind shall be conditioned
With such dreadful gleamings aforementioned?
And after such bloody execution
Behold the Almighty's retribution!
-05/22-23/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Painful Poems Collection
I’ve been unashamedly holiday focused,
everything fit together like a puzzle,
all febrile worries were pardoned,
we took haven in our comforts.
I slept shamefully late,
We weaponized fun.
The world seemed parasitology free,
pharmacology, pathology and histology free,
if not entirely anatomy free wink wink
and except for my mom, assessment free.
It’s been great, it’s been Christmas!
But soon, my cares will, again, be fined tuned
by the Gordian knot of learning
and it’s ungentle reckonings.
If it weren’t all asked for - I’d be pissed.
.
.
A Song for this:
Coney Island Man by Swing Out Sister
Rabid, renegade ravens, rise.
Relishing rancid refuse; repugnant.
'Round rural relics, resounding ruthless retorts.
Retrieving realm revelations.
Rival reckonings; regimes ruptured.
Repent! Release. Repeat..
Reconcile. Rejoice. Retreat.
Paradigms Temporality
David J Walker
There is no question
That the evening
seemed to come
to an end
too soon
The temporality of
your days
The glow of
a full moon
On the rise
bright are the stars
beaconing’s
as if distant skies
were attainable reckonings
wearing nothing
but our own
flesh & bone
the paradigms new
Grew
From the old
Been through lots of places,
Seen alot of smiles on faces,
Interacted with people in dances,
But no one has healed my bruises,
They only give me fake promises.
Been searching for happiness,
Tried getting rid of my sadness,
By offering people forgiveness,
And believing life is just a process,
But I don't see any signs of success.
Been putting my life into writings,
Trying every kind of mind settings,
By being in dramas and stage actings,
And after YouTube did it's reckonings,
None of them increased my earnings.
© Kelmwa
'Twas like imagery or perhaps deja'vu
air quotations or a hallucination,
naught tangible to the naked eye
but an echoing of whirlwinds,
mere beginning of an expansion
tucked aside noncommittal whispers
reverberating discorporate shadows
on dividers of processing graphics,
rough drafts' emphatic intimation
of intrusively summoned reckonings
referencing old featured impressions,
mid-escape concentrated faculties'
unfocused low-density frequencies,
betwixt susceptibility’s magnifiers
orbiting bout night-crawlers' psyche,
whilst darkly territorial distractions
evolve beyond unforeseen influences,
farthermost assertion's revisionary
assemblages divulging conceals,
structured within framework
unrelentingly penetrative,
drawn-out, long agone
an unreceptive peccadillo
A grey frame house and backyard swing
call out to me
from somewhere buried deep in time -
a memory.
A river front and 60’s band
are beckoning -
symbols of beginnings of
my reckonings.
Ostensibly,
I cannot travel back in time,
or I would be
there dancing, not making rhyme.
Oh, can it be
the parks and wooded spots I knew
now withering -
will cease to be when I am through?
Except in dreams!
Were folks and my old haunts the same
revisited,
then on no stone would live my name.
Allow me, this day,
to become the catalyst
of my own awakenings…
For I hold within myself
the light of dawns reckonings
Bare floor’s creaking
with the splinters of the past
Some things never change
Some things never last
Allow me, this day,
to find enlightenment
within worded phrase…
For I hold within myself
knowledge in living sage
Bare floor stripping
layers of varnished truth
Refinishing with prayer
His Mercies are acute
Allow me, this day,
to become the catalyst
of rejoicing praise…
For His Words, hid not,
are my renewing gage
©Debra Squyres
We are the unbegotten
We are the unassigned
Redeemed from oblivion
Kept out of mind
We are the great rotation
Unfolding the sublime
An echo of obliteration
Returning with the tides
Unmarked by boundaries
Before the birth of lines
Inhabiting voided forms
Unrevealed by signs
Dissolving like a vision
Or a phantom of the blind
We are the soon forgotten
In the reckonings of time
Written by © Raven Drake
Endings starting
Leaves are turning
Grass starts browning with
Furnaces burning.
Colder weather
As to focus,
Deeper feelings in
Shallow harvest.
Briskly, daunting
Haunting Spirits
Barren-halled reckonings as
Frost encroaches.
Verdure withered but
Perhaps a good Word;
forgotten pasts buried
In the stillness of the earth.
The evening is set out before me
on the threshold of night,
the hazy lights teeming
and glazed, webby-cold ----
bright with a white-haired curiosity;
What good honesty can bring,
observing reckonings and episodes
of spring stretching into the sky,
and many a mile on they who walk by,
Of faces rosy-red with frosty wiles;
wild eyes of winter,
(who stop for awhile)
They are gone, these frozen months,
the long cold sleep....
the chilled sheets,
heat with rebirth, melted snow neath
grins with spring;
glazed pines, tinkling water drains....
the sun soothes nearer its smile
The forests are roaring with song on the wind,
of spring,
And all things warm with renewal,
spring,
stretching into the sheet of the sky....
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
…
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
It’s often hard to hide,
The awful pain caused by pride.
So many times we allow ourselves to be fed,
By boisterous thoughts that causes swelling in our head.
For then is when we need to get humble and remember who we are,
And who it was that died to save us, the one that carries those scars.
He was always humble and obedient to do His Fathers will,
Even that day they crucified Him upon old Cavalry Hill.
Why did He allow Himself to suffer and die I’ve heard so many ask?
To save the souls of sinners was the purpose of this task.
He was the Sacrificial Lamb whose blood still cleanses today,
And if you haven’t received salvation, it’s to Jesus you need to pray.
Time is running short, the day of reckonings at hand,
If you’ve read any of the Bible, then you would understand.
When He returns there will be judgment upon the land,
Those that haven’t found salvation, need to rethink your stand.
Power, vanity, pride, and wealth won’t mean a single thing,
Jesus in your heart is the only assurance you can bring.
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