I, a condemned criminal on a cross,
Hanged there suffering, dying, and lost.
I only requested rememberence,
But he lovingly gave me deliverence.
I was deserving of eternal death,
But he extended to me eternal life.
At no time did I ever realize
That I would take a trip to paradize.
Where a system incarcerated to a belief, that the belief in a thousand is only as good as in one, standing in unison never folding, divided is a weakness in which we have none, the shade in that valley gets darker the deeper you go, the shadows ain't your nightmares it's just on the road, were not the evil you fear but the reckoning of your reckless cast out of your sight, In the dead of the day we're coming for vegence, the rememberence of souls we will willingly collect the stipulations of propositions we willingly neglect, kneel to the shadows as we remain standing, bow to the worthy the original sons, bow to the mighty the original ones, vengeance know no peace till the until the wicked are done.
May, God's love, comfort, peace and joy
Surround you in these days of rememberence
Unto, the day the Son of God was born unto this world
The labor pains of the world to be birthed
For God was giving us a way to return
That we would be given access to receive new birth
In this God's plan would be witnessed
That this Child would be the One to deliver us
Out of darkness a light has appeared
Placed within, one to ignite a fire
Consuming old ways taught of man
Unto, a newborn Child of the Living God
Raised up to life unto our death of past ways
To rejoice every moment
Of the birth of Jesus
That has left His imprint and seal
Unto, the believers heart, soul and minds
The inheritance of the promised spirit
There is no money in the truth
No fame for all to know your name
Many selling goats and sheep
And the dove collecticeables
Still in these days to gain self praise
And profit from what Jesus done
The truth will strip one down to the core
In giving all glory unto the God
That snatched one from captivity of death
Not looking for a temple built by human hands
But within each one of us
To see none is good are better
Some have been circumcized from old self
While many still running around embracing it
But all have been given same access to unite
To become less of what the world chases after
And more of dying to the these ungodly ways
Sadly the truth might leave many
Feeling alone in this world of corruption
But within there is a fire that gives strength
In rememberence of Jesus trouble to find 12
To bring forth the new covenant tribes
For he even knew they would turn against him
Until they received the inheritance of the
Promised spirit to manifest within
Then they knew He was in them
And the Father He had told about in unity
May God bless, comfort, guide and
Fill you with His peace, love,truth,
Spirit and joy in abundance
I thought I saw Judy Jo just now.
There was a commotion, someone shouted out, then the sound of a fist meeting face and a thud.
She came walking out from the back where the pool table was being bled on by some hapless fool,
Her hair flowing with Medusa-like curls, gleaming with sweat in her tank top with that wiley grin of hers.
Ha! Nobody messed with Jo without her permission.
It wasn’t her though. She’s been gone for all these years.
But thank you, feisty chick in the tank top for bringing that back for me.
An old man needs those moments every once in awhile.
Is it all that I am but a kiss,
What is Love, You should not ask.
It is something that becomes.
It is not something else from someone else. It is not a word from another.
But a day with each other and the enjoyment that surrounds us.
A musical dance, a comfortable ease, a present mind, kind words and
conversations that flow effortlessly, a kind act to another, strength within and
out, communication in understanding and interacting without fault.
It is not conscious but with thought. As we move together.
Then, suddenly a storm moves in. As lightning strikes with the sound of thunders rage.
A tormented pull, in the winds from east and west, shall this end, with love this
rememberence I send. Yes it must.
Leaves are falling as if it was its last,
but truthfully, its the beginning for a new sprout.
The twigs are talking to say it is time,
but fairly, time is only just a simple human theory.
The whirling wind whispers the name of Death,
but actually, those are just the sound of happy rustling leaves finally being brought away.
Fall; the wonderful season for Halloween
the most wonderful thing to be found here on earth.
Trick-or-treating gives a black toothing,
but the smiles never fades away.
How I'm happy that fall is reaching,
in rememberence of the ones that had lived.
They smile
So bright it eases every misery I ever knew
Innocent
They laugh
So hard it’s the sweetest sound I ever heard
Amazing
They speak
So pure it’s hard not to see truth
Imaginative
They run
So full of spirit it energizes my soul
Enlightened
They hug
So tight I could never know such a comfort
Blissful
They love
So pure I glorify who they are becoming
These beautiful children, my babies
You keep surrounding souls in tune with the innocence of life one must preserve to live full
Your so tiny with such mighty power
I love you!
Even if it rains
in white
snow,
I will shelter
my head
under a black
umbrella.
For the white
storm
that
splattered the
bones of
Nehanda and
Kaguvi,
i will always
dangle a black
pendent.
For the white
oriented
hatred
that
narrowed the
life of Martin
Luther Jnr,
I will smear
this black
powder on
my skin
to dwell in
rememberence
Even if it
pours in red
blood,
I will with
me carry a
black
umbrella.
For the black
dye that was
used
to die the grey hair of our
ageing
fathers for
sale in foreign
lands,
I will not
trade this
umbrella for a
penny.
For all the
fallen heroes
whose names
were never
written on
black
tombstones,
I will always
wear a black
beret in my
heart.
Call me black,
nothing is at
stake.
I take all the
bullets
if the sound
of the gun
keeps the
world awake.
Do not shed a
tear....
...the poem
just did-
Read-the-
poem-ALOUD
If you are
proud to be
black.
THE SMOKESTACKS OF AUSCHWITZ
A trail of smoke fades to an autumn dawn
as sounds of morning break unearthly still
arising to the day, some life goes on
while others have the fear it never will.
Some ashes drift about the morning air
appearing as do snowflakes in a stall,
to restless breezes they drift everywhere
and they are spread about before they fall.
Each life that was is slow in pure descent
and longing for the earth that pounds below
the mother of all life, where time is spent,
until time's all run out--it's time to go.
Down in the valley echoes from a train
awhistling here come the dead again.
ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown PoeT
This Friday, 20 April, is observed as Holocaust Rememberence Day.
It rained down upon me
robed
in ancient grace;
lacing me in conscious life experience.
Gravity extracting the wet from my arms
lingering on my fingers
with gentle force.
The natural law ruled the motion; and
gratefully I was relieved of this persistent rememberence.
I am naked now and
full
of light.
Delicately freed from a thought-created blight.
I hear what the leaves and trees tell me;
as many reach strong in rooted courage.
Some roots are named Blame
and others
Shame.
I hear the maples, oaks, and dogwoods whisper to me....
One said, "Trust in me."
Emperor of the forest,
I hear you clear,
and you, my love,
are not rooted in fear.
This one I climb when the rain comes down
draping me in conscious life experience.
He brought me to Earth as a baby without clothes,
putting humility in me as a rememberence of His will;
yes, He crowned me a prince as nobody ever was,
the splendor of His glory I would have seen above Hell!
I will hear His thounderous voice before my spirit slowly leaves me,
and how comforting that will be to ease my agony;
even before I was born, He reserved a place for me,
that blissful place Christ spoke of when the oppressed cried for liberty!
I could never regret how I lived and live, having faith In Him
and proclaiming it with zest like a thounder before a storm;
no fear grapples me thinking of the catastrophy that will unfold,
surely I had foreseen it as the prophets He choose who grew old!
I will hear His thounderous voice before my cold and pale head lays down,
and thoughts escape to Heaven to let Him know that I have reached my home;
and who will be there to welcome me at that bright gate at the beginning of dawn? He will...as many angels will play one of my symphonies inspired by undying love!
My hands look worn, marked by the passing of time,
Of sunlight, cold, heat and work.
They have baked, cooked, gardened and harvested,
They have held the hands of devastated people sitting in front of a casket,’
They have soothed fevered brows, wrapped gifts with a smile on my face.
They have held many pudgy little hands of toddlers learning to walk,
And now hold the hand of my older, stumbling friend.
They are covered with sunspots, but they are happy spots.
A legacy of many bright hours spend in my flourishing garden,
Of romantic walks, of picnics with friends, of games played with children,
And of time spend alone, out in nature, replenishing myself.
My hands, adorned with rings, showing my commitment to my Love,
Carrying my birthstone ring, a present of my Sweetheart,
And in rememberence of my Mom, her favorite ring.
My hands are a mirror of my life.
A day of rememberence
a day of joy but sadness
a day of thank you's
a day of memories
Boys who learned to grow up quickly
boys who were whisked away from all they knew
boys who put on their uniform
boys who sharred one thing in common, pride
Men who fought for our country
men who left families behind
men who took their final journey
men who fought for what is now
Soldiers who suffered in the trenches
Soldiers who dodged the bullets
Soldiers who had no salvation
Soldiers who stood proud for us
Heroes who died out on the front line
Heroes who never lived to see this day
Heroes who just made it to D-day
Heroes who were our boys,men and soldiers
A day of celebration along with grief
a day of sorrow along with pride
a day of realistaion
of just how many never returned
from a cold war
boy's,men and soldiers
In the house
of spirit
Fire breaths
at the hearth
An empty piano
plays
tuneful notes
remembered
and now forgotten
Outside
rain splashes
stain glass
this
is colour
warm
wet
sparklets
In rememberence
of what was
what is
Inbetween
warmth
wetnees
colour
tune
merge
with jasmine scent
A collective ambiance
An entity
In thy honour
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