seek not the horned beast
for it will e’er elude thee
seek instead what’s true—
that of which it means to thee
for that is within thy grasp
writing is sorrow; having had written is sublime
seek not the horned beast
for it will e’er elude thee
seek instead what’s true—
that of which it means to thee
for that is within thy grasp
There’s nothing Fixed that can’t be Broken
Praise Jove, for without them, the Broken
And all the Hope and Possibilities for which they allow
There is nothing Redeemed
There is nothing made New Again
Did thine Savior truly say,
Blessed are those who do not doubt me,
Ere His mounting upon that skull-shaped hill?
If so, then needs must be to Him I pray
On a bended and shaky knee
Begging for Him to bless me, still.
For, while I have no doubt today
That the Son of God is He,
Tomorrow, without a doubt, I will.
#ofthejournals
god’s creation
procreation
fornication
population
isolation
mass migration
and starvation
revelation
supplication
congregation
holy nation
manipulation
inquisition
forced conversion
Presentiment – is that long Shadow – on the Lawn –
Indicative that Suns go down –
The Notice to the startled Grass
That Darkness is about to pass –
*Admittedly, it’s highly unlikely that Ms. Dickinson while sitting alone upstairs staring out her pondering window penned this pensive poem about Daylight Saving Time; that being said, it’s time to throw open those curtains, spread sunshine on those foreboding winter-fouled floating dust mites of presentiments and drag those lagging Clocks for-ward and on-ward to-ward that Fresh Breath of presentiment-less and Carefree Air affectionately known as Spring, yo!**
**What’s with all the “yos” lately, yo?
the last is the first to know
that the first must needs be
the last to be let go
I may occasionally write the junk, but rarely do I read it.
And it is not because I don’t like it that I rarely read it…
It’s because it, the really good stuff anyway, is so durn hard to read.
I’m talking Poetry here…
Poetry with a big, bold capital P.
And it is so hard for me to read (And by read I mean read. I mean really digging into the poem and fighting through the initial confusion and the complicated and often archaic words. I mean, not just reading the poem, but studying it and trying to close the gap in time from when the poem was written to when the poem is being read by learning about the poet and where and when and why and how he or she is from and where and when and why and how he or she lived and then coming to my own understanding of what I think the poem means and then trying to apply that meaning to my own life and where and when and why and how I live it. That’s what I mean by read.) because it takes more than a little bit of effort to read it.
I certainly don’t have time for all that junk.
This is a poem that isn’t
But probably it could
Even though it shouldn’t
And even if it were
It more than likely wouldn’t
#anythingbutpoliticsrightnow