The cordiality of punctuality
bespeaks hidden venality
spooks watchful eyes
over dour mustachioed disguise
Doesn't a steward wait for his lord like a guard?
Even the darkest night seems to him like a day.
Isn't any thought, except that of his lord, barred?
Doors open, lamps burn. He chases his sleep away.
Do masters tell servants the time of their advent?
Master might come late. The servant still keeps awake.
If in food, drink, and sleep, the steward’s day is spent
Won't his liege end his job with an unending break?
Shouldn't, in each dealing, every servant be wise?
Could he afford to waste his time in useless fights?
Would a sincere steward be deprived of his prize?
His honour here on earth would be raised to the heights.
Master is not mere master, you said. He's your friend.
He is the one who gives you life without an end.
and when i wander through the night
the moon follows
staring without a word
as if it knows
something it wants to share
yet hovers hesitating
millenia of good and bad
love and hate peace and war
it's seen it all
still in silence and without judgment
it watches over life as it unfolds
mindless of lessons from the past
AP: 3rd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2024
Still we hold a colour at our watchful eye,
a voice in our attentive ear.
We escape nothing from our mystifying past.
Perhaps we sing a song, old or new,
feel dark or light against a so unsheltered face.
In ears a voice remains.
In an eye resides the face of a loved one.
Colour, voice, songs will never leave one's life,
though one stands before that loved one's grave.
(Aug 2022)
high eyes, watch below
waiting for moment to strike
run, run rodent run
He stands over us
always with a watchful eye.
Guards the universe
since the beginning of time
forever until the end.
inspired by another member's poem
We clearly see it slowly creeping
Consciousness contraction
Origin in ego borne craving
Agitating our tranquil orientation
Ever watchful alert awareness
Recognises the egoic aberration
Shifting back to pristine stillness
As quietude of our meditation
20-August-2020
The Bulldog leashed, back in his yard.
It's time for rest, he played his card.
The job at hand, has now been done.
He now shows peace, for everyone.
Be still young heart, you've earned your rest.
You fought the fight, you gave your best.
Peaceful thoughts, they now will reign.
We now can write, all free from pain.
The noble ones, they lay and wait.
Behind the scenes, they watch their bait.
They watch and wait recording all.
They may be quiet, but fake the fall.
Enjoy the Sun, this Dog's forecast.
Enjoy this treaty, I hope to last.
This loyal friend, knows not surprise.
The Bulldog keeps, a watchful eye.
With quiet reservations he admires
Attuned to all that senses captivate
To sift thru information he acquires
Considering how it may thus relate
He studies all with intimate precision
For his or any sake that might arise
Unless the fates intend on a collision
Leave supervision to HIS private eyes.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "What's In A Name" Poetry Contest, Juliet Ligon, Judge & Sponsor.
* Congratulations on your first contest - this was fun! *
This is a day of real deep declension
the clouds look to be drawing near
Jesus warned us of such an evil day
when mankind will have much to fear
This world has consistently rejected God
more and more as the years have gone by
they're without excuse as judgement comes
then the great judge will declare you must die
Peter warned of this in his first epistle
telling all that the end was in sight
exhorting believers to be much in prayer
making sure our pleadings go into flight
Be praying with a real seriousness
making sure to be contacting every day
with your saviour and Lord who hears you
He will listen carefully when you pray
Learn to be ever watchful all around
be on your guard as Satan seeks to attack
on your knees looking up for God's provision
then the Lord's armour won't ever crack!
('But the end of all things is at hand; therefore be serious and watchful in your prayers.')
1 Peter 4: 7 (NKJV)
Cherry blossom blooms from delicate bough,
Trickling waters cascade into stream,
Columns of grass in thicket in growth,
Watchful eyes embrace from Selene.
Fluorescent beams flicker through leaves,
Dance and sway as they fall to earth,
Witness to all in intricate loom,
She watches life in thrive in birth.
She gazes down from empyrean,
Joyous to light it gives her delight,
Illuminates all in beauteous serene,
Shadow flickers hidden from sight.
Celestial wonder braces the sky,
Radiant glimmer through evergreen.
Forest of life under watchful eye,
Coppice shimmer in gleam.
It isn’t quiet yet it’s silent
The raindrops and frogs ooze sound
But the heaviness, the hushness, the cushioning violence
Tell of monsters laying around
To feel the transition to winter from fall
Is not a temperature or petty sight
It’s a feeling, it’s heavy, you can hear it’s call
That strikes fear into the night
Fall is friendly though perhaps cold,
And the rain, a delicate drink
Winter grabs the wood in a breath blocking hold
Daring it to think
For that is the feeling, the feeling of waiting
Feeling watched, with eyes that burn rather than soothe
Breath held in panic, hackles raise and hating
Feeling watched in your every move
My soul surrenders and soars like the elegant eagle
As my mind melds of the wolves wildly witted
Experiencing mother earth thru the eye of the needle
Frolicking forests as is perceptually permitted
The eagle explores over the running raging river
Thru eagle eyes I see the rivers enchanted edge
The wolf watches his prey who quizzically quiver
For both partake in a platonic paradisal pledge
I hunger like the wandering wolf and patiently wait
And the eagle takes me to far off landscape lands
For thus I use my written words as bantering bait
Thru poetic pacification my mind masterly expands
Of the watchful wolf and the elegant eagle
Admiring art perched on the artist’s easel.
June.07.2017
SPIRIT GUIDES - Contest
Sponsored by: White Wolf
waterfall spirits rise
dreams drown
under pressure to perform
elders swarm
like naked children at the lake
just laugh at those mistakes
no one really understands
past present we pretend
watchful eyes never end
lifelines protected perches
hold on to our saving grace
heads high there's a world to face
A weary sky settles
low on a bed of soft sand,
eyes closing,
and drifts in dreams
of agile hands –
hands birthed from
crystal clouds,
rising and falling
like a breath
calling, haunting
from the ages,
beating aloud like the pulse
of man’s muse –
sculpting, painting, inventing
an artist’s sanctuary.
A sparkling sky witnesses,
with eyes wide,
beauty and imagination
birthed from inspired minds,
and wakes from dreams
of agile hands creating
an original portrait,
a unique expression.
With a wink from
the eccentric and
offbeat clouds,
a communal museum,
comes to life -
a labor of love
shrouded by sky
on a bed of soft sand.
for Roy Jerden's East Jesus Poetry Contest, 12/15/14
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