No matter where I go, I'm there.
In any situation, anywhere I go, I'm involved.
If I get hurt or I lose someone I love, it happens to me.
Time, distance, and relocation always leave me to arrive by myself.
I know every version of myself, and I've come to accept and love each one.
The ghost I've buried stays dormant in the deepest parts of my mind and psyche, and my wounds and trauma are lifelong friends.
I'm stuck with my memories, my thoughts, and my arguments and fights with myself because my worst critic has always been me.
I still surprise myself with my resilience, strength, and endurance through everything that I have gone through. I'm still here, alive, awake, and in the moment.
So, wherever the world leads me next, through uncertainty, love, or loss, I know one thing is certain: when everything is said and done, and there is no one left to walk beside me, there will be one person there: me.
relocation, a
settling around the middle....
aging Valentine
Some say that Love's
imagination -- no medic
can plot and find; like
science disproves a soul,
better ice cream in a solid bowl --
some say love's a mere
occupation -- Bread and
Butter of the poet; the bard
and musician like snow-balls
scoop-up, compress and throw
it~
stick to the wall a vinyl or perhaps book;
my priest claims highest spiritual
veneration, after earth relocation --
pass the plate, before it's too
late...cheaper now
than after-hours' rate...
seems to preoccupy a world of real time
and space...
that which man can only psychically
place and trace --
Softly
fake freedom rings,
strangling society;
Intellect walks and with some class
moves on;
Relocation of residence
wisely wields a weapon,
revolting in
silence.
Leaving behind roots,
In a moment of transition,
New path unfolds, shoots.
Turns of change, dizzy,
Navigating paths unknown,
Reels of fate, busy.
Puzzle of new life,
Pieces scattered, rearrange,
Relocation rife.
Boxes and goodbyes,
Echoes of old now fading,
Hope in new sunrise.
Spinning world awaits,
Revolutions of the heart,
Where the compass states.
Paths intertwine, blend,
In the dance of change and chance,
Solutions to send.
Sounds like bile with relocation, wish to be elsewhere;
Double vision, apparition, somewhere, nowhere, there;
Concurrence, recurrence, boomerang or doppelganger;
concentration, adaptation, cliff-hanger levitation.
Mirror combinations put Alice through the looking glass
sleeping in illusions or dreams of revolution.
Visitors in time machines leave traces in the places
they invaded - rearranging the derangement of your faces.
How could anything be true, if there were two of you?
Double crossing, double speak, double nothing, no clue.
seasons arrested
a sauntering airs freely
a mass of escapes
panoramic difference
relocation picturesque
If all the gods took a vacation
Or maybe a forced “relocation”
Leaving not a single trace
What would we then blindly embrace
Could we survive a “godless” day
With nothing to which we could pray
Or would we sit and sadly stew
Cuz they didn’t tell us what to do
Removed from the fear of Heaven’s hell
What would we do, I ask, pray tell
The sun might cease its endless ark
And leave us weeping in the dark
Or maybe in this dimming light
We might develop “inward sight”
And realize, “oh god, it’s true”
It all depends on WHAT we do.
Yes, I miss my kids and grandkids,
my friends, and my church. But missing
in action the most in my life are those morning
moments with God looking east from my living
room window. A relocation took both the view and
the chair. In time I will adjust and find my new sacred place.
042123PSContest, Bite Size Contest no.62.Line Gauthier
Current that makes the dark bright,
Restores spiritual eye sight,
Something for warding off fight;
It has had to increase might,
Somehow,the heavy makes light
And lips loosen that were tight
Bad wounds dismissing as slight...
For who wants Satan's quick flight:
Relocation to new site
The Best: ones that Verses cite
To powerful Demons bite
And remind of what is right...
Prayers keep fighting the night:
Your bent knees and night is white!
Meditation
Elevation
Exploration
Inspiration
Motivation
Divination
Levitation
Reincarnation
Vacation
Preparation
Elation
Conversation
Rumination
Cultivation
Curation
Communication
Relocation
Dedication
Continuation
... Ingredients to create a Nation.
Please visit my website www.JendayiDesign.com to support my brand and book release. Thank you community.
Big Love,
Gu
People flocked round badly hurt Paul,
Ten minutes ago had a fall
While he was playing rough football...
And they had to a doctor call,
Then with chess players in a hall,
Loved more than the card's near a mall
"No! His treatment not in this hall,
For not being ethical at all...
Some First Aid and then my clinic...
At least, it'll save me one cynic!"
And you with a dislocation:
Get ready for relocation.
A Topic changes from sex
And three students of mine vex:
Alfred, Alan and Alex,
With eyes “The Reddest” for his Ex’s
Wicked relocation to Wessex.
Three more meet me during recess
With Satan’s films they could access
And should like me to assess …
But respect I do All-Seeing Rex,
Sure to have in this read Excess
And as sure to block my Success…
So, I did not The Trio Impress,
Resolved to not their application process:
“A Continually Deferred Sex Education
For whom it maddens like a vocation:
The richly in love with Physiology
In Lieu of Enriching Theology”.
TRAIL OF HOMES
1983
July 24
Leaving
her child-
hood memory
- home behind.
Crossing Pacific
Ocean. 7200 miles
relocation. Called…
America her new
- foreign Home.
June 26, 2017
Sailing to her
Highest-Self home.
A purest residence no
address. A journey raising
consciousness. March 3, 2019
welcoming her true beloved. She
safely nests at a Home Port in his heart.
Present moment: Ode to Contentment.
Bow to detachment. Gratitude whispers: smile!
Be here and now................Home is inward.
Dream House
by Michael R. Burch
I have come to the house of my fondest dreams,
but the shutters are boarded; the front door is locked;
the mail box leans over; and where we once walked,
the path is grown over with crabgrass and clover.
I kick the trash can; it screams, topples over.
The yard, weeded over, blooms white fluff, and green.
The elm we once swung from leans over the stream.
In the twilight I cling with both hands to the swing.
Inside, perhaps, I hear the telephone ring
or watch once again as the bleary-eyed mover
takes down your picture. Dejected, I hover,
asking over and over, “Why didn’t you love her?”
Keywords/Tags: dream house, nightmare, night, divorce, wife, husband, children, parting, separation, shuttered, weeds, trash can, mover, movers, moving, rejection, relocation
Sub Categories
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