Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Love must exist outside time
because your voice sings in the same rhyme
Somehow it all just finds me
these imprints in my memory
of how your voice led me
and try as i will to forget
it comes back in a flash
and that must be what Merlot is for
or a fine Chateauneuf du Pape
so I forget how much I was drawn
though a ship through a storm
to your side. Like butter finds scones
or jelly finds toast, like
angels carry prayers and
hands find hosts.
I was assigned and when I run
and hide, like Jonah swallowed
by the whale, the tale is full
of bad stomach acid and ale.
I once kissed the Blarney Stone
and must have swallowed a lepruchaun
because i caught the rhyming syndrome
like turretts of great irish bards
I think in verse
and while its terse
it makes a point
even if out of joint
i throw a few noses
in space. Grace or a curse
I don't know what's worse,
that thoughts come in iambic
slop or not having a thought at all.
Perhaps its lineage or legacy
from great writers in geneology
or perhaps ancient DNA,
from shores of emerald sheep huts
covered in moss. It comes
with the freckles and carrot ruddy hair
my apologies to faint and faire,
I tried to subdue it, but it keeps coming out
even when i shut my mouth
my fingers dance like marionettes
in siloettes in a french country fair.
Oh dear.
home improvements
All the Professionals agreed
the eyebrows needed trimming
the bikini needed waxed
the legs, oh darling, scratchy
and the keratin comes last
the hair needed straightening
the color can't be grey
the tummy could use a tuck
the nails- completely frayed
the pedicure comes with a rub
of reflexology honey of course,
and if we have time
lets exfoliate and hydrate
and facials are half off till eight.
Lets see, without the tip
that will be five-hundred thirty six
cash only dear, theres the ATM.
God might have made you perfect
but he made us to improve it better
said the sign above the cash register.
the eyebrows needed trimming
the bikini needed waxed
the legs, oh darling, scratchy
and the keratin comes last
the hair needed straightening
the color can't be grey
the tummy could use a tuck
the nails- completely frayed
the pedicure comes with a rub
of reflexology honey of course,
and if we have time
lets exfoliate and hydrate
and facials are half off till eight.
Lets see, without the tip
that will be five-hundred thirty six
cash only dear, theres the ATM.
God might have made you perfect
but he made us to improve it better
said the sign above the cash register.
Time stood still
when i saw you again
five years still the same
I am still standing in the rain
if you wondered.
You are bubbled absent
trouble not immune to fame.
How does all that adulation
fare upon your greying frame?
Are you eating well enough
I want to feed you pasta
and grain wholewheat
the occasional sweet
and perhaps some pino griggio.
Lovely to see you
i think i will believe now
that angels do visit you
especially one called Gabriel.
when i saw you again
five years still the same
I am still standing in the rain
if you wondered.
You are bubbled absent
trouble not immune to fame.
How does all that adulation
fare upon your greying frame?
Are you eating well enough
I want to feed you pasta
and grain wholewheat
the occasional sweet
and perhaps some pino griggio.
Lovely to see you
i think i will believe now
that angels do visit you
especially one called Gabriel.
The Hypocrites Food Stamp Oath.
There is an Icon in my pantry-
a Jesus hanging on my wall-
my candles sport madonnas -
and my rosary will fall-
out the zipper of my purse-
from medjugordje, and what's worse-
there's a font of holy water-
from Lourdes in a perfume bottle-
and Le Mont Saint Michel-
scrolls around boxed cookies from Charles de Galle
duty free. present to me.
There's a pillow stuffed lavender with John Paul II smelling
nicely my room, four bibles in four languages
adorn the coffee tables
There's a benedict metal under the cross
labelled sacred
There's even a prayer in my head
a song dallying round
and that beggar on the street
must be on too many drugs to eat.
a Jesus hanging on my wall-
my candles sport madonnas -
and my rosary will fall-
out the zipper of my purse-
from medjugordje, and what's worse-
there's a font of holy water-
from Lourdes in a perfume bottle-
and Le Mont Saint Michel-
scrolls around boxed cookies from Charles de Galle
duty free. present to me.
There's a pillow stuffed lavender with John Paul II smelling
nicely my room, four bibles in four languages
adorn the coffee tables
There's a benedict metal under the cross
labelled sacred
There's even a prayer in my head
a song dallying round
and that beggar on the street
must be on too many drugs to eat.
Monestary--
I took a stroll with my smartphone
that turned dumb on me
as I clicked gleefully images of a monestary
in a gallery stuck in T-Moble servers
or possibly the NSA
who now knows I quite adore Roses
of every hue and mosaics galore of things called
'Visitation' and blue Madonnas, 'Annunciation'
and gladiolas
yes, I prefer sitting with statues perched on grottos
than hustle bustling stations of rushing commuters
in drag called business casual attire
or congressionals calling out 'liar'
to Secretaries of HHS and what a mess
they proclaim. The President lied
and the tsunamic tide
of upset has hit the power circuitry
in unambigiously mean vitriol .
I prefer a stroll
through rose-land peach and red,
pink and orange and did I mention
Saint Anthony standing without ceremony
holding Jesus in the middle of the Road.
I took a stroll with my smartphone
that turned dumb on me
as I clicked gleefully images of a monestary
in a gallery stuck in T-Moble servers
or possibly the NSA
who now knows I quite adore Roses
of every hue and mosaics galore of things called
'Visitation' and blue Madonnas, 'Annunciation'
and gladiolas
yes, I prefer sitting with statues perched on grottos
than hustle bustling stations of rushing commuters
in drag called business casual attire
or congressionals calling out 'liar'
to Secretaries of HHS and what a mess
they proclaim. The President lied
and the tsunamic tide
of upset has hit the power circuitry
in unambigiously mean vitriol .
I prefer a stroll
through rose-land peach and red,
pink and orange and did I mention
Saint Anthony standing without ceremony
holding Jesus in the middle of the Road.
I was yours
before time
before the rhyme sublime
subdued a mind
racing through graces
and delusions.
I was yours through
moutains and hills
and far away stills
of images and moving
panoramas in vistas
of pilgrimmages on knees
climbing holy stairs.
I was yours there too.
Right behind you
counting the holy climb
and still am
yours though behind
a curtain or prisonish
grate like a saint
I was yours then
and now again awaiting
some heaven sent deliverance
some sign from the sky
that i won't die
before the goodness of the Lord
quietly replies--yes.
Its your time.
Groove In G | Playing For Change
http://www.youtube.com/v/6LQhamwJcVY?version=3&autohide=1&autohide=1&feature=share&autoplay=1&attribution_tag=b_hRMLu4tML5K74qfvV5TQ&showinfo=1
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
The Origin of Halloween
http://www.youtube.com/v/iWys4k4Eca4?version=3&autohide=1&autoplay=1&autohide=1&feature=share&showinfo=1&attribution_tag=KH3uhPpu3n9DapVH3h47bQ
Sunday, October 27, 2013
if God is real
he hears my prayers
as old as they may be
and stored unspoken years
abated, silenced by the sea
if God is real
he knows my cry
in vapid desolation. And never
did i waiver in my dedication
If God is real he knows
i'm true and have been all the while
For mystery and mercy over misery
i exist still quite undeservedly
I am here for you unreservedly
and that may be the only reason
still I am in earthly form.
What will it take for you to shake
the thorns that imprison your soul
and steal all joy from the purpose
of your toil.
My wait is long my song
unsung, I cannot hold much longer
the grasp on this rope has burned
my hands and my hope needs yet a tinder.
You are the poetry of my voice,
the reason i can sing. To which naked
emperor must I plead do not take my
sunshine away.
http://www.godvine.com/Bible-and-Sand-fb-gv-4151.html
he hears my prayers
as old as they may be
and stored unspoken years
abated, silenced by the sea
if God is real
he knows my cry
in vapid desolation. And never
did i waiver in my dedication
If God is real he knows
i'm true and have been all the while
For mystery and mercy over misery
i exist still quite undeservedly
I am here for you unreservedly
and that may be the only reason
still I am in earthly form.
What will it take for you to shake
the thorns that imprison your soul
and steal all joy from the purpose
of your toil.
My wait is long my song
unsung, I cannot hold much longer
the grasp on this rope has burned
my hands and my hope needs yet a tinder.
You are the poetry of my voice,
the reason i can sing. To which naked
emperor must I plead do not take my
sunshine away.
http://www.godvine.com/Bible-and-Sand-fb-gv-4151.html
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Anonymous - Obamas oath to defend the US constitution
This made a valid point until it said "we are legion" "we do not forgive"--then it just was creepy. really creepy.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
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