For every relationship
we can rediscover
a season
of increase
and tipping point
toward decrease.
For every correlation,
positively resonant
and negatively dissonant,
a regenerative
becoming degenerative season
for building up and out
and tearing down and in
compassion
compulsion
recreation
tipping toward
dispassion
revulsion
decay
Like passionate summer powers
Falling toward
diminished winter light
dipolar co-arising
hope for continuous
contiguous fresh spring
cooperating green,
morning blue
yet warmer
cumulating skies
repredicting summer's
fertile
climax
passions
Re-enlisted
in four fractal
reasoned seasons
for redeveloping Earth justice
and restoring Tribal peace
Turning traumatic weaponed
retributive discommunications
into therapeutic wellness tooled
restorative re-communionations.
Words as offensive weapons
dwell on ugliness of bad-humored life.
Words as effective tools
dwell on beauty and truth
of good-humored health,
empowerment,
love.
Yet, swords become plowshares.
Plowshares are repurposed as unwieldy swords.
Regenerative intent becomes degenerative chaos.
Degenerative discontent becomes regenerate
tipping points
within silent complexity.
Can words become weapons
for active peace?
And still tools
quietly feeling unresolved
in silent external/internal wars?
Between curious ancient communioned minds
and courageous ego-independent bodies,
Between original health-tooled womb
memories
And today's wealth-weaponed tidal means,
unsustained strength
yet resiliently flowing ways,
transparent patriarchal dissonance
revoicing maternal confluence,
empowering vulnerability;
revolutionary stillness
actively listening
between quiet health-wombed rememories.
Wisely employed wellness tools
for feminist well-being weapons;
cooperatively-managed words
for hearing beatific Truths,
re-seeing Ways,
rekindling communicating Lives;
Revolutionary politics,
awesome economics,
wondrous revitalization,
compassionate communion.
Values and disvalues
absorbed through communication
of felt relationship,
absence of connection,
hopeless excommunication.
The Left bereft
Brain justified,
ratioed,
commodified,
diversified,
tooled,
weaponed for rational utilitarian consistency,
reified verbal logic
of neurological systemic Spirits,
feeling co-related events,
critical memories
epic predator/prey histories
Recalling ecologies of sensory attachment/detachment,
felt experience networks of virtual spiraling health values,
virtuously co-arising sensed re-experience ecosystems,
And viciously degenerating
unraveling disvalue cycles,
pre- and post-cycles,
recycles
Feeding healthy value feelings,
unhealthy disvalue memories
back
and back
and back to when Space first felt Earth's shift
balancing bilaterally twinned TimeFlow
for virtuous universal win/win communication
Ego in Here listening kindly
within EarthTribe's perpetually felt spirals
of revolving Now light,
Then dark...
LeftBrain uses words
like communal tools
and autonomous weapons
While RightBrain invites rhythms and patterns of sound
and silence
like poetry
and lyrics,
sometimes angry and frightened turbulence
sometimes loving and reassuring sibilants
murmuring Earth's quietness.
Of these,
LeftBrain weaponed words
cannot be truly free
speech to unwarned
so unprotected
listening libertarians,
messages fired against militant non-listeners
already armed to demolish
voices unprepared for retribution.
Healthy tools become deadly weapons
when used against
those they were transparently designed
to vulnerably serve
strength of LeftBrain truth
as RightBrain's chiming beauty.
Without these two or three,
depending on how you see
weapons and tools,
wealth and health,
truth and beauty
held proactively together,
free speech is any message
from any medium
tragically unfree.
We are the storm
we - writers of the verse
eloquent or terse
for better
or for worse
in prayer
or in curse
We hone the tip
sparing no thrust
lest weaponed words
slow gather dust
not battles need
but battles must
this vortex raging
funneled thought
releasing demons
never caught
scattering
on trembling page
cold dreams and fears
coming of age
We are the storm
John G. Lawless
©5/4/2019
Words of Mass Destruction
Words like bullets do not have eyes, as they fly in our hearts and materialize
Deleterious breaths that we soon despise, words written in stone we idealize
Warring weaponed words that paralyze, wounding wandering words terrorize
Torpedo texts thrown to criticize, paranoid punitive parasites will pulverize
Like the Atom bomb, words are strong only use them wisely where they belong
Some create a lullaby or sweet a song, while others use them to do their wrong
Words of deception create no affection only intervene with the inflating infection
Annihilating in their corrupt convention, wary words that bring rigorous rejection
Of the negative neurotic neglect, wording witches and warlocks of their architect
Dehumanized discord of disconnect, vengeful letters lashing will always resurrect
Words can frighten as well as enlighten, some will delight in words that tighten
Words of corruption bring self-destruction, a raging ruction of a serpent seduction.
Nov.20.2017
Judgmental People And Haters
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
“What are we when we are not...?”
MAN: A malevolent master making mountains of a mindless mass...
A meaningless magician motionlessly manipulating many minds...
A mating monster majestically magnifying materialistic manoeuvres...
A Machiavellian macho muscular merciless mentor...
A mutilating medieval malicious menacing Minotaur...
A mesmerizing metamorphic methodical maniac...
Woman: A whimsical weeping wacky wasted wanderer...
A whiny weaponed weathered wedded wife...
A wicked whiskey wasteful wiggly wench...
A wintry whiplash winded wrathful wroth...
A worried weary wishful wispy wild wire...
A wretched wormy woeful wounding wolf...
March.01.2016 ^WW^ Nothing personal...lol
It is I,
Only able to
Sit before
The mischievous screen
Of the TV
And watch
Palestine, my country,
Fall like a
Corpse
On cold land
It is I,
Deemed
To observe
The homes and
Lives of my
Brothers and sisters
Turn into ashes
On an embellished LG
Flat-screen
It is I,
Spotting on the news
The olive trees of a
Palestinian fertile
Field flame
Into barren barks
Of nothingness
It is I,
Viewing the
Tanks and
Weaponed metal
Turn audacious
Rock-throwers
Into heroic martyrs
While changing
Some channels
It is I,
My generous name is,
A Palestinian simply
Deprived of
Setting a foot into
Palestine.
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