Posts Tagged ‘hope’

As the vinca in bloom

So is the variety of familial

Love, so true, so bright

Multicolored, but sharing

The same veiny leaves, green

We don’t do so well in shade

Let the rays pour down!

A monsoon of light, living brightness

And, as the sun patiens in the pot

Out base, our roots go out into the soil

The rich, textured, moist granules

Of our tiny little home

Wake up, oh sun!

Infuse us with life!

We will comb the breadth of totality

Here comes the bridegroom

In radiance, from the nineteenth chapter

Until now, as the child digs a hole

It matters not where we are planted

So long as there’s light, and the crystalline liquid

Of love

The sun (the Son)

The soil (the home)

The light (the Light)

The seed (the bloom)

The death (the birth)

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“Damn it, Farlow! Just bones in them arms? Got any grit?”

Douglas Farlow’s supervisor growled these words from a head atop a pair of ubermacho shoulders. Doug, on the other hand, was “average”, which is a merciful way of saying he was weak and frail. He had been loading the 50 pound buckets of spices into the truck for over 15 minutes. His arms ached like hell, but not as badly as his soul.

Doug knew he wasn’t cut out for this. It wasn’t just a matter of his physical strength, it was also the fact that he knew in his heart that he was meant for something different. Not something BETTER (except for HIM, that is), just different. He had been sending his poetry series, “Beauty in a Nihilistic World: God Save the Overman”, to both small and large presses for weeks. Meanwhile, his rent was due….which is what landed him at the Toyler Grove Spice Company hauling buckets into trucks for hours on end. He thought if only….

“DAMMIT FARLOW!!! GETCHA BLOODY HEAD OUTTA THE CLOUDS! PUSSY!”

Doug dropped the bucket right then and there, finally facing his fears of the supervisor. He would walk right up to the talking sack of meat and tell him what for.

He marched stoically towards his tormentor and put his face inches from the man’s head (chest, to be more accurate. Douglas was quite a short man).

“Well?” Barked the supervisor. “Boy got sommat to say?”

Doug wanted to tell the red, pulsing nincompoop that he was a belligerent, grimy, uneducated fool. When confronted with a stronger man, Doug would imagine the muscled brain attempt to digest a passage from Nietzsche (this gave him a good laugh and permitted him sleep). Doug wanted to tell his superior, as well as the rest of the world, that he had nothing but contempt for a CERTAIN kind of working man – one who bemoans the meek, scientific man…who believes that the only real work is achieved through sweat and repetition (“That’s all right,” thought Farlow. “Automata will soon replace all the toiling human beings.”).

Doug felt the same way about the celebrities…they may have lived in luxury, but they still thought themselves better than the average joe (especially if the Joe were scientific). Politicians were even worse, for at least celebrities had no pretense about TRYING to appear as upstanding, moral individuals. All the greedy trolls in Congress did the same thing as the sex stars, but they masqueraded it with the appearance of selflessness and the giving of alms (much less than they could truly give). It was only an appearance, for they were in actuality the rich, powerful elite.

Will….the domineering will to succeed….POWER is the key to all success upon this planet…..that is–

“You’re fired, you pussy!”

Doug left without saying a word, went to his apartment, and climbed into bed, having intense nightmares about machines and big, brutish men. If only the poor man would realize that though he himself felt judged by all his flawed conscience saw as superior, he himself judged the people of Earth with an even dirtier harshness. We can only pray that the words “hope”, “compromise”, and “release” will someday have meaning for him.

I see the spiders before you do

For they are my brethren

My small, ugly countrymen who scurry in the dark

 

Just like the insects

The flies

The bacteria, contaminating nothing but my mind

I think it’s on everything

 

Cracks

River bed veins

Petrol, oatmeal, vitamin E

Boils of pus, infected

Look how clean I am

 

The sink

The tub

My altars to the clean

Where I scrub the day’s success away

Mere failure lies beneath

Maybe it’s just…ME who is filthy

 

Wash my self off myself

 

Gaze into my mind

Don’t worry, this abyss is too drunk to stare back

Inebriated, toxic

Like how I relate with all my loves

 

Psychotic–how I’m to be

Always at the floor on bended knee

I should love my Master

Rather, I grovel at His feet

 

I’ve washed my fingers

I’ve washed and I’ve prayed seven times today

Hoping my loves will perish not

Lecherous crisis – come see what I’ve wrought

 

Scar tissue, with bruises

Marks on a shattered mirror

It was a smudge to begin with

Smeared with the weakness of weakness

 

So soft…

 

Perhaps another pill will help

A capsule, sublingual

Washed down with inverted ambrosia

 

Oh, no

 

You’ve hurt your loves again

 

Cease! No more talking to yourself

Talk to the Answer instead

I’ve cast this shadow all on my own

Please, lift away the darkness

 

Yellow star at dawn

Brighter…

 

Brighter

I think it will all be okay

Look how our atmosphere 

Is made. Molecules change

The direction of light and make

A symphony of color 

Each and Every night 

Oh, beauty! Oh, our universe!

Look how it dances free

Free from worry and pain

And yet, if our sun was tilted

By just one micrometer 

Chaos would end our plight

It doesn’t worry – why should we? 

Look how the blue wavelengths 

Scatter, replaced by red. 

Everything, held in balance

By some unknown, unseen force

Maker of dark and light 

This poem will only be on my blog for a couple of months as I intend to send it to a magazine for publication.

Thine eyes were closed, but opened upon
The sight of all things infernal, by which
creation left unfinished and impure,
Impure from a lack of something.
Men made and left without conscience
As if their own hearts lacked semblance of
Good sense, nay morals, nay perception.
Destruction their God, beauty be their bane.
Hordes, the multitude of mankind
Lie in wait for neighbor to slip

Into their traps, snares for innocence.
Yea, these men they be not human and are
Preserving nothing, save victims’ lament,
Lament for losing existence
To the hands of those heartless ones
Illegitimate, led by nothing
But black desire. Of Deception,
Seduction be their device, pain their aim.
Purged, their own lusts shall never be,
So we close our eyes to horror

Mine eyes were closed, but opened upon
The sight of all things eternal, by which
Damnation fled, diminished as it were
By kindness, light, and liquid love
Washing away our blind despair.
As if our own eyes lacked vision of
Good deeds, acts kind with no rejections.
Reduction our goal, lessening the hate.
Lord, take away the victims’ pain
And help us aid with opened eyes

Will it occur?

Is it more than a dream?

I wish it were

But nothing’s as it seems

I’m so sick of the good ones out there

They have it all so I will not fight fair

Finally make them listen to me

My heart screams

Is this a town?

Or just my terrarium for all to look down?

I’m a non sequitur

I do not compute

Wanna tell the world

But my soul is a mute

Maybe someday I’ll break out of this cage

Wander the earth and pretend I’m a sage

I feel I’m less than nothing

I can see it in their eyes.

But I’ll be something, more than nothing

Soar through the skies.