Poetry Blogs (creation)
You are a creator.
I am a creator.
I created you
and you created me.
Together we create
Will we fill our life
with strife or harmony.
Will we hide behind fear and doubt
or flesh our gifts out.
It is up to you.
It is up to me.
To be all we created
ourselves to be.
Monday 25th March 2019 3:08 pm
Chaos seems the wrong first word:
and nothing moving e'er occurred
Chaos speaks to me of chance:
that happen in time's dance
So before chaos, ah, but stop -
stasis as creation's dark backdrop
Some cosmic joggle, as if perhaps
Monday 18th March 2019 10:57 am
See, hear, my little one.
Your senses tuning finely to Earth’s
Undulating, rhythmic waves of ageless,
Pulsing lifeless forms to life.
Measured heartbeats drumming out
Through the ether, ever nearer
Farther than the furthest orb
Twinkling its cyclic orbit
Through the ebony-black, empty-black
Monday 25th January 2016 1:25 pm
At a workspace in the reading room
Sits the youth engrossed in writing
In peripheral of mind and space
Onlook gravely the collected works
And weight of human history
Unrestrained by abstruse semiotic
Advances the uninducted
Through warnings of unheeded cipher
To pastures rarely trodden by
Adherents to the doctrine
Unheeding of imposing presence
Uninhibited by its stricture
Monday 14th September 2015 11:48 pm
Tuesday 24th June 2014 7:27 am
She, born of the forge and cast from the pyre,
The fire of her birth soon vanished to iron,
Cold and lifeless, but still with a purpose
And then, from the worthless womb of coals
Her sisters, countless in their tumble
Collide and stumble to the four corners
Of the earth. Rapidly consumed
Exhumed for a thousand years
Or perhaps two…
Here she, in the wood of the pu...
Wednesday 9th October 2013 3:09 pm
This is the shell
I am only Human
So is he
So is she
Comprehension wants to know something of the perception.
I am not perfect
The devil strives for perfection.
What do we have to do
Who tested you?
They've been watching me ever since.
Capable of being alive.
Spiritually I am visiting you.
I am jumping around the universe from p...
Friday 1st June 2012 8:42 pm
Tired of Sunday’s parades,
the rebel child slept;
He hated Monday,
Slept right through,
Slept through that too.
The rebel child would not wake,
On Wednesday nor on Saturday.
But he awoke on Sunday morn,
Wishing he had not been born.
He muted himself, for he would n...
Thursday 5th January 2012 11:13 am