Poetry Blogs (2016, creation)

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THE BIRTH

See, hear, my little one.

Your senses tuning finely to Earth’s

Undulating, rhythmic waves of ageless,

Age-old lifeforce

Pulsing lifeless forms to life.

Measured heartbeats drumming out

Life’s message

Through the ether, ever nearer

Farther than the furthest orb

Twinkling its cyclic orbit

Ever onwards

Through the ebony-black, empty-black

Dark.

Forcing: nothing;...

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creation

On the Nature of Inspiration III

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
The wo...

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Mason

The mason lays another brick, Smooths fresh mortar with his trowel, So that his clay will bind and stick, So that his house will not fall down.

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Purpose

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
She falls.

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...

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creationdeathinnocentpoempunishmentPurpose

One

entry picture

This is the shell

I am only Human

So is he

So is she

Exploited Now.

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...

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Seventh day blues

entry picture

 

Tired of Sunday’s parades,

            the rebel child slept;

He hated Monday,

Slept right through,

         Hated Tuesday,

         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...

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