Thwarting Poems

God Made My Bed This Morning

God made my bed this morning
Of course, I made my bed, but God planned according
God ordains all things, (good or bad, all things)
Yes, even the Drill Sergeant’s inspection to see if my bed springs
(All y’all will know what that means, if you know what I mean)
Does that mean God is evil?
No, He predestines all things and figures in our free will
That’s right, God predestines our free choices
     (even when the duvet is not quite poi-fect) 
God made my breakfast this morning
Of course I made my own, He provided all things, conforming
He provides all things up to and while, and the continuing
(He sees the seeing and knows the knowing, the end, and the beginning)
So, whatever you do, do unto the Lord
Because He’s in control, so be onboard
As in Pacto Arco Iris, so it is in all God’s covenants
As our God is moving by thwarting Satan’s intents
So, as you go about your day
Have comfort knowing God has planned the way
Even your free choices fit into His plan
For every child and women and every man

 
Praise the King of saints

Magnificent Masterpiece

In toiling times 
the resilient state 
of self-discipline 
connects conscience 
with perennial precept
in the algorithm of being
with ego abandoned
the meaning of life 
measured emotionally
with essence quotient 
of inspiring insight
defines the transcendence 
of enigmatic existence
harmoniously enshrined 
within the latent 
human distillate.

Buoyant beyond 
the storm of strife 
convivial calmness
flows flawless
with composed current 
of sensuous sentiment
submerging surge 
of lavish love 
and 
embalming empathy
spread suffused
with optimistic opulence 
on restored shore 
of serene soul
unwavering mind
trussed secured 
with scrupulous roots 
of sanctified psyche
the thwarting thrust 
of negative sensitivity
fades in sanguine air
blows away 
the base instincts
in the wisdom wind 
of ethical acuity.

With moral fiber 
of positive passion
consciously creative
innovative mind 
weaves the tapestry 
of timeless acumen
embedded enmeshed 
within motionless motif 
of inner bliss
in the frame
of placating prudence
the art of living
manifests magnificently
the masterpiece.

Wishing enemies well

Day and night we toiled but some aims were foiled
by souls who opposed us, thwarting our goal
but we wished all well, since our heart’s unsoiled 
and detractors merely play their life role.

Made in His image, we are living light,
yet on earth we burn, since we’re here to learn,
so be it boon or blight, it is alright,
for when we forgive, God’s grace we so earn.

Reptiles in human form create a storm
but in timeless time, they will heed love’s chime,
so we send them pulsations of joy warm,
that divine entwined, they heavenward climb.

Seeds of love sowed, repays our soul’s debts owed,
thus breath by breath bliss in heart is endowed.

Shades of Green

Spring slips in on a tepid breeze
that gently sways the naked trees.
And smelling so sugary sweet; 
Her scent makes my heart skip a beat.

Dressed in varying shades of green;
Spring brings color to ink the scene.
And melting the snow with Her breath; 
She renews life by thwarting death.

Running Her fingers through my hair;
I feel Her presence everywhere.
And as Her touch tickles my skin,
that feeling morphs into a grin.

She polishes the sun's faint rays;
as songbirds flock to sing Her praise.
And Daffodils and Tulips sprout;
as Winter's frozen ground thaws out.

Transforming snowflakes into rain,
Spring quenches life's thirst yet again.
And April responds to Her call;
commencing with Her first rainfall.

Psalm 25

Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Look at the map, locate the field and battle on...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.

Don't listen to any form of plea dealing to appease,
Until the last minute by which the battle be won.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!

Fight, fight beyond what their strategies can cease.
Destroy them to such extent that dream not to rerun...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.

Gain the background checking to make ease,
The atmosphere you have successfully outrun...
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!

How much are the charges deposited in decrees?
Squeeze out the juice of their mouths; their words, abandon!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.

Weaken the weak yet strong enough to freeze 
And make sure sets are forever left undone.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.

Winter Comes Early In the Mountains

Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
Wintry weather creeps down with passing days,
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Many of the larger critters are sadly trapped,
For they have not adjusted to our urban ways
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Tall, spindly pines are in thin snowsuits wrapped
In the wind a snow-laden limb melodically sways
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Native brown bears, fat and lazy, seem zapped
As they search for a safe place while winter splays
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Before the snow can melt, it is once again lapped
Piling up high, thwarting mountain hiking forays
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

For years the mountain trails have been mapped
It’s possible to enjoy those Christmas Eve sleighs
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Written October 29, 2022

In the Mists

Fog, like a shroud, hangs over the valley,
muting the morning's voice, soaking the ground.
Droplets cannonball, trying to rally,
base jump the downspouts, raise echoing sounds.

Scarce is heard but a chorus of crickets.
Runoffs form rivulets, quiet joined mirth.
Does skip breakfast, stay tucked in the thickets,
waiting for sunshine, enjoying warm earth.

Silent, it slips like ghosts through the forest,
leaving no trace but a sheen on the bark.
Seemingly endless, in the aorist, 
thwarting dawn's progress, prolonging the dark.

Alone, a sorrowed lover seeking trysts,
a sodden, tear-soaked spirit in the mists…

—————

For the 2020 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Written on 9/10/2022

Brace For Impact

Global warming is heating up now:
it's no communist Chinese cash cow.
And the low-lying lands are flooding:
they can't be saved; we lack the know-how.

Many people are going to die
as oceans rise to an all-time high.
And we need to brace for its impact,
for a severe climate change is nigh.

As starvation and disease increase,
looters will be shot by the police.
And countries will fight for resources;
thereby thwarting any chance for peace.

We're no longer able to prevent,
nor slow down this climatic event.
Cash can't stop the inevitable:
it could have, but that coin has been spent.

Bound to Earth, we share the same tether:
no one is immune to the weather.
And there's no point in assigning blame:
we must face this crisis together.

Keeper of the Flame

I am called to be a true keeper of the flame,
Of love, the ever greatest teaching, with the aim;
Of entwining the humans and other beings,
With an unbreakable bond of compassion-strings...!

This, indeed, is like bringing the moon down, so hard,
In a world, by volcanoes of vengeance, ash-charred;
Wars and battles, as though essential gifts held high,
Peace and harmony before them, in meekness, sigh...!

In slaughter of beasts and birds the humans take pride,
Behind pretenses of worships their evils hide; 
Building forts and mansions fine forests they destroy,
Thwarting the rhythm of the cosmos, leap in joy...!

Mother earth, cracked by mundane evils, cries in pain,
Birds, beasts and marine creatures feel as though in chain;
Will the world, as made by God once, be seen again?
Will Adams and Eves, with pure probity, births gain?

I'm a prophet assigned with the mission divine, 
Of bonding the strayed wild branches one with the vine;
Till the earth and the heaven into love unite,
As a keeper of flame, I must bestow my mite...!



14 March 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 29 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh

Trials

test faith* of its steadfast
tenacious cleaving to
truth despite struggling bouts
trusting God while thwarting
terrors that threaten blest
thanksgiving with grace midst 
triumphant freedom peace.
 
*1Peter 1:7 That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.

April 27, 2021
2nd place, "Pleiades T" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Merryman; judged on 4/27/2021.

Disrupted

puffy clouds regal
     float in wind swept spaces
                     lift
         brown flecked eagle

      birds in mishmash flight
        breaching boundaries
                    vexed
        by jets thwarting height

        courtship songs tumbling
        planes intrusive rumbling
        environmental grumbling










Poem written:  March 24, 2021

What Was the Point

Visualize it and you can do it.
But this is not how it works for me.
I do not visualize, I just do it.
My soul leads the way.
Pushing the mind out of her proximity
Not wanting any thwarting or censoring.

The Mind rolls his eyes, knowing his queen.
Soul is in the house, and rules this entity.
I paint, cartoon, write poems, and play.
None of this takes any effort by the Mind.
He is not even a footnote in our creative endeavors.

My daughter once asked “What was the point?”
Pointing to six stained glass light fixtures in one small room.
“The point is, I liked all six of them,” I told her.
If I will not listen to my own mind, why would I listen to hers?

March of a Solitary Sentry

The well, worn carpet
Underneath our windows
Of our sentry post,
Through which we peer
Into the unknown
For a spectral hand,
Invisible to the human eye,
Our hearts and spirits
As anxious and worn
As the carpet worn smooth
Underneath our feet.

The fear of that hand,
Knowing that its 
bony touch goes
Undetected as it strokes
The face of its victims,
Robbing scent from
The nostrils,
Transforming bodies 
into over-heated ovens
of those it condemns.

Our homes, a sanctuary,
A respite from the terror,
And, yet, our place
Of solitary confinement.
we peer out
through the bars
Of our windows
For the invisible enemy
As the days evolve
Into weeks and months,
Thwarting this invisible
Enemy, armed only
With a cloth face mask
And hand sanitizer,
We wait for reprieve.

That Thwarting Thought

When everything seems Dark around Me,
I vent on a Paper in order to be Free.

When the Hurricane of My Thoughts is at its Peak,
I let it glide gently so it doesn't make me Weak.

Thoughts make a distinction between a Wise and a Fool,
So I tune in to My thoughts but not let them Rule.

I dive into my Conscience as it swiftly drifts away,
Sometimes holding on to a thought turns everything Grey.

An Estampie For Would Be Lovers

Ah, those isolated places where once
cars and bodies huddled together,
the “lovers’ lanes”, in which
submarine races were observed
with no winners posted,
“to score”, an abashed innuendo 
of conquest and shame.
These secluded spots.
grass trampled down by
blankets and cars,
where sexuality was explored,
car windows fogged over
by the breath of its occupants,
shaky adolescent hands
fumbling with buttons and catches,
a stroke here, a grope there,
an indignant slap leaving its mark
across the cheek of the offending,
and the hickey, the mark of Cain,
adorning the neck of the willing.

Only overgrown grasses now
huddle together with overgrown weeds,
hiding from sight these lots
these lots vacant of humanity
and near occasions of sin.
A pandemic plucks the blossoms
off of young adolescent love.
Social distancing causing
near occasions of sin, 
minor and major, 
literally out of reach.
The facial mask, the chastity
belt for the lips, thwarting
even the most chaste of kisses.
The buildup of hormones threaten
to burst adolescents asunder.
Confessionals as empty as
hospital maternity wards,
I fear for the propagation
Of the human race.

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