But Freud could not vouch
For one lying on his couch
It’s God, our mind’s He unlocks
To wrestle with this paradox
This ambivalence
For the world fixes stints
For lungs that need air
For a heart needs repair
This is what we’re left with
No life, just a death kiss
At atheistic insistence
And with ambivalent resistance
There’s prejudicial conjecture
There’s personal conjecture
But no absolute or objective truth
You don’t need to be a sleuth
With subjectivity solicited
Two intellectual sins committed
Arbitrariness and inconsistency
Condition critical insistency
Circumspectly we point this out
Without a doubt, we don’t flout
Compare two worldviews
(as atheist’s hit the snooze)
We share the Gospel with the hostel
With no subterfuge or solipsism
No false religion’s systems or schisms
The 2nd Coming will be the loudest day
The trumpet sounds, the saintly strain
Will w/Jesus comeback with no foray
The final stop for the Gospel train
The greatest disappointment from broken promises in life I have endured
were the promises I often made to me
Smoking just one example for several years I vowed to refrain
regular three month stints of abstinence once eighteen months
FINALLY! At age of twenty six from this nicotine addiction I had broken free
From thereon, gained strength and now have have conviction
any vow to myself I could confidently keep
I had gained self love and self respect
searched within my soul whilst delving deep
I cannot a recall a broken promise
from any family or friend
Business deals yes. Most promises broken political pre-election
once elected that's where these empty promises all end
For this reason I have abstained from voting
which is compulsory in this country where I dwell
Never had much faith in government oppressors
or the propaganda messages they sell
Have I always kept a promise to all I've come to know?
Probably not. Too many years of living I am unable to recall
I now have conviction arising from self love
to assist others in need, follow through give my very all
Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes
Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes
Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks
Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing
Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious
Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes
Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh
Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes
Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...
Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints
But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..
Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling
Life in a Jar
I’d like to find a special jar
To put aside some life,
A jar that keeps both face and form,
And stints the scourge of change.
I’d put therein, a rusted leaf,
Or summer’s one perhaps,
To always have the seasons at
The twisting of a wrist.
I’d put therein, my true love’s kiss,
To always know its taste.
And next to that a snapshot of
The world within her eyes.
I’d also save, encased therein,
First cries out to the world;
Of lives conceived through gifted love,
And feeling newly born.
I’d store away the vistas of
Grand aspects, earthly borne,
And let them burn through fired glass
From every lay of land.
Then I would not be far from life,
From where I cannot see.
No, I prefer to keep it fresh
For morning’s light, through glass.
It’s change that writes the script of life
And fleshes out the page.
While time is just a numbered pause
Without a story told.
Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral,
And can only live through brief stints, sporadic in time and deed,
Through the harshest force of terror, its heart locked within shadow;
It silently prepares to rule through fear, for such is its path to ascend.
"Children of the world, unite!" is the cry, but it's a cry muffled by deeply implanted fears,
They hammer nails of "justice" into half-informed minds as into hard, thick wood,
To steal away the thought of self, to wring out reason to the last drop,
And to build within them a clean conscience for the dirty game they are doomed to play.
Crumbling on stage, this globalism cloaks words in noble masks of care and well-being,
But beneath them, the whisper of ancient chains lays upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting.
A world that rolls towards unity, yet breaks into pieces of ice and silence,
In their play, we become unsuspecting pawns, in a game that pawns its future for naught.
In-flight
In pheromone
Honeysuckle perfume
Insect antennae knot freshly
bouquet.
In breeze
I feel your breath
rustle shiny reeds
of my stints' hapless hinterland
you learn.
A vest
of velveteen
gleaming wings that trembled
Turn to a whirring glint beneath
full moon.
She is a story topper.
If your eye is quivering, hers has dropped out and slid under the couch.
If you think you are having a heart attack, she has had sixteen stints.
She is a story topper.
If you have broken your foot, she has broken her arm, leg, and neck.
If your refrigerator has black mold, two of her houses have burned to the ground.
She is a story topper.
If your man left you for another woman, hers left her for a horse.
If you got left at the altar, she got left in the middle of hell.
She is a story topper.
My husband knows better than to try to complain.
Because she is me.
Big Pharma
This world has become divided on what we believe.
Should we trust more in science and roll up our sleeve?
What is the truth, how can, we be sure?
Is this vaccine going to kill us, or is it the cure?
Is big pharma a threat, are they trying to take control?
Will their drugs save us or destroy us, what is their goal?
I’ve taken medication for the past eleven years.
They have kept me alive and helped with my fears.
Big pharma saved my life, I guess the question is why?
If there was some big conspiracy, wouldn’t they just let us die?
Thirty minutes of cpr, two stints and a knife
A room full of strangers with drugs, saved my life.
Go visit a hospital, take a good look around.
You will see plenty of loved ones, those drugs keep above ground.
Medicine will keep you home, warm and safe in your bed.
Without science and technology, many of us would be dead.
* I'm not trying to belittle any beliefs that people may have, I'm just voicing my own opinion. *
Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated
Fred Jagenberg – June 4, 2019
Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop,
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop.
And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing.
He needs no fumbling eye to behold
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.
His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.
Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.
Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated
I'm torn between the
sinfulness of my
intentions
and my enduring innocence
Each derive pleasure from my
wavering stints,
An opening window invites
a seal pregnant with
a lost soul
Inviting you to unfurl
the sin in me
And close me shut...
Each cleft arouses the bruises
I bear
A retool can chance
a rousing stare
But to this I swear
I cannot return
A constant charging and retreating,
leaving behind the soaking sand,
is the ever changing of the tide,
pushing the sea against the land.
And all along the changing shoreline,
Pacific Gulls glide on patrol,
seeking out the ocean bounties,
of washed up departed souls.
There’s flotsam and old cuttlebone;
driftwood finally makes the shore.
Stints and waders chase invertebrate
stranded along the sandy floor.
And up above high water mark,
there is the victims of wild gales.
Dead sea grass in drying windrows,
meander below sand dunes in trails.
New Zealand spinach thrives and spreads.
Marram grass has stabilized the dunes,
and here and there is native spinifex,
among the burrows of communes.
These communes arrive in early spring
in thousands to the burrows each year,
so it becomes a special time,
with mutton birds returning here.
And constant charging and retreating,
leaves behind the soaking sand,
in the ever changing of the tide,
pushing the sea against the land.
Long Stints of Turbelence
Things were shaky and possessed turbelence;
And they always seemed to last for long stints;
In grass played;
Laid in shade,
Until they did smooth out wrinkles and dents.
Jim Horn
Addiction II
I listen carefully to gage what you are covering up
To hear if your words are slurred
Or your outlook too bleak,
Or if you have verged into mania.
I tell myself,
This is the nature of addiction.
I try not to take it personally, but
I internalize your depression and misplaced rage.
I love to hear from you on a good day
Straining towards the normalcy in your voice
Recalling how you once were, and could be again
Imagining all the fun we could have as sisters.
Setting myself up to fall when you crash.
I cover for you to try to spare others the worry
How many stints in the ICU will it take
“to reach rock bottom?”
I have been encouraged to walk away but I cannot.
My guilt and my love and my powerlessness weigh heavy.
This is the nature of addiction.
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