Life is so very important, a potent
inhale and exhale; even in the womb;
and who is he who dares to take life…
Who walked on the Galileean sea?
Whose feet felt the deep’s waters,
but stayed atop the rambunctious waves?
After all, who created the sea and
its boundaries? We say His name,
even when we breathe in and out.
So who dares to take out what He
has created - the effrontery in black.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
the conscientious martyrs -
those who hold up the Word of God,
not the coward’s knife, gun, or hate.
Blood mixed with tears on the cross.
*He was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace
was on Him* - you know His name.
This was peace made between
God and man; peace that riles up
all of hell. Some embrace this peace.
If you remember anyone’s name,
the martyr, likewise, would have
you recall the name of Jesus Christ.
The martyr closed his eyes and
opened them up to the one who gives life.
*from Holy Bible, book of Isaiah chapter 53
In the vault of sorrows, the lights are dim,
Memories dangle stiff, stark, cold and grim.
In glass-fronted vaults of remains half-dead,
Haunting to avenge losses, regrets and dread.
Bitterness is grit, dust and rust—
Metal relics wrapped in tempered crust.
Too sharp to hold, too old to appeal,
Scars embalmed, behind bars of steel.
Fur skins and feathered bones, long dead.
Eyes once bright, are now glass instead.
Stuffed with pride, stitched in despair,
They rage within riles, gasping for air.
Old garments show arguments, long of old,
With threadbare cuffs, and buttons of gold.
They're sour of fit, and hung too tight,
To ever again leave shadows in bright sunlight.
Such bitterness belongs in museum displays.
Where you can visit it on sad, rainy rue days.
To see such hateful feeling-disheveled, dismembered.
Covered in dust, to be forgotten, not remembered.
Lock it up, behind the glass, don’t let it breathe,
Bitterness will bloom, when we fail to believe.
It should be kept under lock and key.
Where all such sour sorrows, are meant to be.
Meant to be, Meant to be-!
That's the key, That's the key!
Today's entertainment for the cave is easy.
We watch an easily manipulated grizzly fly into mama bear mode
She races toward the sea, plunging in, looking for her cub
He is not there.it was a lie; she looks furious!
She comes out sputtering, eats a few campers.
Spits out their stomachs.
They always eat the wrong foods! She shrieks.
Her mate is there now, he is holding back, he looks fearful.
He helps her look, but their son is nowhere in sight.
An evil crow sends them on a goose chase to the west.
The geese fly up in front of them, hitting their butts on rooftops.
It is insane how crazed Mama Bear appears now.
When should we tell her? Black Bear asks the other mama bears.
Let her chase through the meadow and stomp the flowers first.
Grizzly bear son appears at that second, ruining the women's fun.
It is over, until tomorrow when they plan to rile her up again.
No one riles faster than this grizzly bear mama
Or has made fewer friends; the other women despise her.
She overreacts to everything!
They have been the recipients of her wrath,
so they love watching her fly into a rage over nothing.
Unfortunately, it is their weekly entertainment.
The Abraham Accords Signed!
But one would never know it.
How very juvenile, the USA is!
A major moment in history happened,
Fake News looked the other way.
Jews,Arabs and Islamists made a
peace treaty today
But since the President is not a "D,"
Fake News blew it away.
It riles me, to see the news hide
major good things.
Instead, digging up insignificance
keeping many on the ignorance
plantation.
They lie to us, as if we are kids.
Like I would let my Grandpa run
this country missing half his lid?
They have nothing they would not
lie about.
I don't understand why they pretend
they know what it's all about.
They insult and accost anyone who
is not a "D."
They abuse them verbally in interviews
on TV.
Instead of uniting the hurting nation.
They insist burning it all with glee,
in a 24/7 verbal conflagration.
And you can see it blowing up in our
big cities!
But the Fake News, doesn't care about
people or truth, just destroy the president
and the country at all costs..
What a shameful, vainglorious, self-
centered pity!
September 16, 2020
10am PST
Under the sparkling waterfall, cascades
of rushing amber waves. A breathless
spirit of invigorating grace - she fades.
Just as quick, she reappears, with cockle shells
dancing upon her bikini’d breast. The mermaid
sways my sigh, with a melody that no mortal can slay.
With splendid scales of jade and gold,she riles the deep.
The briny sea swallows her whole —
but then she sweet talks the whirlpool.
Such beauty gargles and spouts like a whale
as rainbow fish frantically scurry
and sail to their slippery domain.
The half-clad fish trills once more, than heartily laughs
as she tells me the secrets of her lovers.
This lass with two sea legs leans to her tell.
“I wait ‘til the bloke knocks himself out
or nearly drowns or until
he drinks himself over the side of his charter.”
We cackle together, Galia and I, as tears cascade
down the buoyant cheeks of sea pals.
9/23/2019
MERMAIDS Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
hey
man stay
as cool as
you can for it...
riles
them too...
believe
the web
they weave knots
you perceive aren't free...
hold
to thinking
of fractal tree
that's you and me...
strange
new worlds
in mathematical physics
fractal time-space-time...
...to be continued...
stan sand
here i sit not giving a
a container of fresh popcorn at hand
a blank screen and saki night
there's something else with respect a good time
besides body...there's mind
keep as cool as you can
let them the riles to believe
you perceive the web they weave
remain free
stan sand
What in this dream invites
a constant ruse
That gently riles the
things that fuse
A thin razed smile, a semblance
fades
A rendered source of
twilight days
Ask them please and let me through
Inside for me, my days, my you
Of this I think
And thinking lies
This ink will dry
and dryness dies
writing is struggling
climbing through tangled branches
of octopus trees
and it riles the leaves
to try to do as you please
when you're not at ease
so to pair a phrase
in the tangled web they weave
be cool as you can
words are as number
just measure the tree lumber
each step of the way
stan sand
A train whistle riles up the dozing , dogs
They bray like coon hounds then shiver back to sleep
A honeysuckle screen quivers and dreams
The boys and the dogs are off to round up sheep
Smokey silence hisses with gas lamplight
Pipes on porches wink at the stars
Women are abed to rise with the first light
Dishes are done, bread is baked, children - clean
Only sound - the mournful call of a train
Smokes are doused, kerosene wicks trimmed prayers said
Night lights are stars peeking through drab windows
Time now to sleep, a freedom of dreams
Much Trump business is both mundane and plain;
Has hair that becomes a big mess while in rain;
Up people he riles;
T for Trouble dials;
Common sense lacks any not having a grain.
Jim Horn
It's not supposed
to be an easy subject
but with today's catastrophe
of government intrusion
into personal affairs
it was detrimentally
inspiring rustic entanglements
of superfluous verbiage.
It had to be reckoned with,
constructively analyzed
in an attempt
to make sense
of inane activities
illuminating illusive ideals
tempting truthfulness
bestowed by lack of
meaning and honesty
It riles the masses
to believe in uncompromising
conceptions decorating
dreams of times passed.
Why do we feel love?
Do we even know what loves is?
How do you know when we’re in love?
Does anyone really know?
Songs have been sung about love for thousands of years.
Stories, poems, books and movies flood our senses about love.
We are obsessed about love. We are lonely without it and confused when in love.
There is love for your parents, love for your children even love for your pets. But it’s romantic love that fogs up our heads.
Why do people fall out of love? Where they ever really in love?
Is in just about making babies, survival of the species? Is it just about hormones flushing through our systems that riles us up? Is it just about companionship for when we get old?
How many times have you asked yourself or been asked by others,
how do I know when I’m in love? Some have said, you’ll just know it when you are. Never really understood that reply. A better answer I think, if you have to ask you’re not in love. Sorry but that’s the best I can do, after that it’s all up to you.
A moon interrupted;
riles the social class.
A native sense comes of age.
Piercing stare becomes rarefied,
unbuttons the peaks and
kills you with a mallet.
The scared mask falls
off the divine embrace, lets
free the pigeons from the golden cage.
The forked tongue will
speak only truth. Blood
was the only stain, washed easily.
I will get the tan
in moonlight only. My scars
will remain invisible in silver.
Satish Verma
The child is born, and they must rejoice
Alas! It’s a girl, there’s no choice
And she grows, oblivious
Of the fate that awaits, devious
She cooks and cleans, and the laundry piles
No time for books, and her brother riles
Isolated from the outside world
The beauty unveils, hair curled
Her face hidden beneath the veil
Act coy, for she must avail
A worthy family, a rich mate
For the sake of status, a bait
Money spent, the exchange done
She has no place to run
A caged bird is sold
Her destiny until old
She is blamed, accused
At times bruised
Unable to endure
And made obscure
Death looks more appealing
Its dark abyss, enticing
She reaches the verge
But resists the urge
The fire blows out
And she screams and shout
None showing haste
As the blaze gets a taste
Her death is forgotten
And the law, rotten
Her pitiful soul heave
No one to grieve
(15 Dec 2015)
Related Poems