as he slowly died

they told him
he could not imagine
how much it hurt
to see him die

they told him
he did not understand
how his death
changed their lives

they told him
he could not fathom
how difficult loving him
was

and one day he died
content in the knowledge
that they would at least
remember him
for the wasteland
he left behind.

Jump rope hope

Sweating beneath the drapes of waltzing
they are drawn across my ephemeral mind
I reach for the outline of shadows behind
but not being real, I struggle in futility
as the sketches are mere cataracts
of bloodshot sight, my senility
looms large without facts

lamenting my familiar failure
I charge with refuge for the shelter
of Wonder, seeking it's skill of burning
with smoke, red glows and change.
As my ally it will hurt me
more than any other.

What if angels, were once creatures from a different plane of reality, who were created and went through history not unlike us and subsequently came to give up their wills to God in love of Him?

Often, at moments of sudden uncertainty, as things fall away, I loose sight of what I have. In the follow seconds I hastely reform my character and rebuild my wall of security, shaken by how fast things fell. Am I really that vulnerable to outside criticism? I should really look into strengthening those barriers. Maybe I'll hire a couple of diplomats to hear things for me in comfortable light, then I'll be both protected and receptive of incoming opinions.

Wanna Hear a Poem by Steven Colman

I wanna hear a poem
I wanna learn something I didn’t know
I wanna say "yes" at the end, because I'm sick of saying "so?"

I wanna hear a poem about who you are
And what you think
And why you slam
Not a poem about me and my poem
Because I know who I am

I wanna hear a love poem
A sad poem
An "I hate my dad" poem
A dream poem
An "I'm not what I seem" poem
An "I need" poem
An "I also bleed" poem
An "I'm alone" poem
An "I can't find my home" poem
I just wanna hear a poem

I wanna hear a poem about revolution
About fists raised high
And hips twisting in a rumble like a rumba
I wanna follow the footsteps of Chè
And hear the truth about the days of CIA killed the mumba

I wanna hear a poem about struggle
So that when I open my mouth, I can step outside myself
I wanna listen to no less than the sounds of protest
In the factories where workers sweat and make Air Jordans and Pro-Keds because
If you wanna take shots at people
Target Phil Knight and Bill Gates
Contemplate how
They own the products
And they got the goods
How they act like they care
But they're just Robin Hoods

I wanna hear a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply that metaphors get jealous
Where the subject matters so much that adjectives start holding pro-noun rallies at city hall

Because I wanna hear a poem that attacks the status quo
That attracts the claps of the cats with the fattest flows
That makes the crowd pass the hat
And pack my cap with a stack of dough
I wanna hear a poem that makes this audience yell “hoooo!” (hoooo!)

Because I wanna guess your favorite color
Then craft rhyme schemes out of thin air
I wanna hear a poem about why the statute of limitations for rape is only five years
I wanna hear a poem
I wanna feel a poem
I wanna taste a poem
Give me your spot on the mic if you wanna waste a poem

I wanna
Hear
A poem

The hegemony of God is my foundation, as it is the overseer of All.
His echelon of angels are at my left and right hands-and with enough faith they are at my command.
So I will live my life praising everything with blessings in and of His righteous name without fear or shame.
Failing to partake in matters, thoughts and traditions belonging of and to the Human Society, that is, one which indulges full fledgedly in ones self.
Blessed be the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. May His true followers, May His church which He knows be blessed with understanding and wisdom of how to live in this world we temporarily call home.

Oh, come and let yourselves be built as living stones unto a spiritual temple.

The Future by Rainer Maria Rilke

The future: time's excuse
to frighten us; too vast
a project, too large a morsel
for the heart's mouth.

Future, who won't wait for you?
Everyone is going there.
It suffices you to deepen
the absence that we are.


Translated by A. Poulin

Testament to/of brothers

Over written word, over written truth
wrists were bound and rooms were shut.
Wednesday chilly mourning,
they cried out- they were cut.
Sons of crescent moon,
peace, peace to you!
Allah is the only God,
His Son took hell by coup.

Three men, three hours,
they were kept, my Christ-
oh how beautiful were their feet!
Hidden in shoes of well worned peace.
Bleeding at the mouth,
Ceasing of the heart,
Naked did they come,
naked they depart.

Sauls of Malatya will you wait and hear?
Since you carved martyrs with pain and gore.
Their sound is gone out, to all the land-
and forgiveness rests at your front door.
They died in love,
for glory, in praise.
For the crucified King,
who was buried, then raised.

Creature of nothing

Rolled, sat and smoked
this rhetoric for so long,
and yes
it might be the death of us
if I don't stop thinking
and rest
without this ugly crisis.

Dreamt the heart away
leaving as it did,
following the debacle
with vicious stubborn time.
Wishing for x, whishing for y
in following cycle
questions turn to crime.

Joy, to feel it
touch and taste,
numbness is my ruin.
It grows on fingers, tongue and eyes
callused head to toe
Suffering loss of gumption
I lack the steady "No."

Freedom is exposure,
cut of the callused scars.
they bleed dark thoughts
set free from locks of darkness.
they bleed bright thoughts
set loose from locks of bleakness
red fountains of deliverance

Salvation is my food
Sustenance from blood
Free of form, chains–infliction
A vampire is not numb.
No longer nothing (sweet pain, what joy)
G-d save this sovereign vampire
and be my sacred signum.