By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Our minds can sometimes create a realm that our hearts desire. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A lite, unique brunch for the longing soul. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Taken from the true life circumstances of a persistant man. |
Ode to my trusty frying pan.
The old cast iron heavy in hand,
helping cook for a widowed man.
A starving cook all alone in life
after the death of my late wife.
A cup and plate, one fork and a knife.
Assuring Helen that I would make do,
I miss her delicious meals for two.
No more lasagna, casseroles or stew.
I first started out with bacon to fry,
spattering the hot grease in my eye.
That was nearly the last time I tried.
Burnt omelets with crispy egg shells,
not quite as good as the diner sells.
Helen eats heaven's food, I eat hell's
I mistakenly fried my retirement watch.
I've spilled boiling grease in my crotch.
There weren't many meals I didn't botch.
I eventually got a good book from my son,
"Cooking for Old Dummies" was the one.
I am wiser from the mistakes I've done.
Now I sit under the willow at noon,
tender steak I could eat with a spoon.
So scrumptious in the middle of June.
Some dinners I fry butterfly pork,
so juicy I need only eat with a fork.
Drinking wine and sniffing the cork.
I reluctantly bought one off T.V.
Anodized aluminum, glass lid for free,
From Wolfgang Puck on QVC.
Ode to my proven cast iron ally,
retired on the wall till the day I die.
You have saved the life of this old guy.
| Author Notes | A work that allows the reader to pear through the looking glass and into the real life of an elderly man who has had to adjust. The work is light approach towards the real problems that senior citizens encounter. It is also a piece about persistence and accomplishment and a testimony that effort can overcome age. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A glimpse into the window of my most secluded memories |
The furrows roll off the smooth one bottom plow
Long and straight are the rows, pleasing to the soul
A season past, reaping yields that have replenished
Roots of the harvest separated from earth's hold
Earmarked sustenance for spring's germination
Nature's reciprocal ballet, proficient by design
A blanket of snow will soon dress dormant soil
Life coinciding to revitalize the weathered land
Three full moons until the breaking of ground
Heat from the warming of a new season of suns
Blending adequate measures of moisture from dew
Bursting seeds propel forked tongues searching
An emerald green haze covers the expansive acreage
The trusted almanac gives hope with forecasts of favor
Rejoicing the Lord for the fruits of the farmer's labor
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Seeking Godly council is your first option, not your last. |
Special effects within her mind flashing
as the ledge melts into a marble stairway.
A vacant illusion of blissful comfort from
a dimension that cleanses her care away.
Animation delights her artificial senses
while green and blue beads dance at her feet.
Teetering outward into what is not there
gazing into capsules that fall to the street.
Distorted voices trying to pull her away
from a tranquility that they cannot see.
Euphoric clarity baths her in joyful tears,
raining delicate onto a concrete reality.
She reasons from a false comprehension
embracing glorious spectral hues of light.
She quickly accepts her new found peace
that tries to lure her away from her fight.
Leaning out from the confines of stability,
deceived by the demon lurking among men.
Strong winds blow her back onto the rooftop
and by God's grace, she's saved once again.
| Author Notes | Solutions to our problems may not always come in literal form and only through biblical discernment can we avoid being deceived into making tragic choices that only make things worse. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Comprised from the memoirs of Darby and Appulia Rutherd |
| Author Notes | An objectionable romance of a bygone era proves overtime that love and commitment can fend off the unremitting denigration of an intolerant society. A half century later we see a family of diversity and prosperity who have committed to a life of accomplishment and progressive tolerance as a living tribute to their parent's struggles. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Recovery is a multi-dimensional battle. |
We moved furniture up three flights of stairs.
An antique table with twelve wooden chairs.
A few beers then drywall to mend
But do I really have a friend?
We used to party till early morning light.
Hopping the bars scene night after night.
Driving drunk was his tragic end
But did I really have a friend?
I walked to rehab for a twelve step plan.
They molded me into a brand new man.
Cold turkey to avoid my trend
But will I ever have a friend?
I stopped by a tavern and took a step in.
A stranger offered me a cranberry gin
Along with a few dollars to lend
But do I really want a friend?
I learned in time how little people cared.
Meaningless were the drinks we shared.
Now a family and marriage to mend
And my wife has become my first true friend.
By Blue-Stubby
Home from work to find everything burned.
All our possessions collected and earned.
The Formica table, my leather armchair
and photo albums soaked beyond repair.
Two tanker trucks with hoses spraying water
as I stood to the side, hugging my daughter.
My wife offered solace as she took my hand.
We all thanked God that we still had our land.
The Fireman have finished, the Chief explains,
but they want to help salvage any remains.
Our homeowners insurance would cover the loss,
as Christ covered our sins while he hung on the cross.
We graciously lived in the church for a year
and that's when I turned to a brand new career.
I chose to give back to the one who saved
and help beat the devil from those he enslaved.
We seem to have less now, yet so much more,
seeing things differently than we did before.
Sometimes the Lord shakes us from our tree
So he can place us where he needs us to be.
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | High tech transportation, for the times |
Man made, taxes paid
Rugged work, travel perk
Lives lost, tragic cost
Project done, commerce won
Mule ropes, trader hopes
Barges home, drifters roam
Towns grow, bridges low
Two aside, barely wide
Country breeds, growing needs
Freight trains, shipping lanes
Hauler truck, bad luck
Quicker ways, less delays
Dry locks, granite blocks
Trail paved, history saved
Peddle bikes, family hikes
Long way, peaceful day
... here we go, Albany to Buffalo
| Author Notes |
The Erie Canal is part of the local history in the town that I grew up in and was the catalyst for growth in the region. Most of the small towns across New York State, from Albany to Buffalo, were established as a result of the escalating commerce that the narrow, hand dug water way provided.
|
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | We have lived next to a dog kennel for fifteen years and we no longer hear them bark. |
We sat on the tattered couch, primped and pressed.
My sisters and I remained quiet and neatly dressed.
Waiting for some stranger to come take us away.
This home is now a crime scene, we heard the Sheriff say.
Last night we huddled together, much too scared to cry
Not one came to rescue us or even dared to try.
His yells, the poundings, her shrilling cries of fright,
Fueled from a whiskey bottle late one Friday night.
Neighbors knew the story and it was hard to overlook.
She was a housemaid, boxing bag, waitress and a cook.
He planned her day's routine, no consent to leave the house.
Beaten into submission, now a nervous and fearful spouse.
Three children born and placed aside from jealousy and rage.
She did her best to care for us but he demanded center stage.
His old shotgun hung on the wall, quite often used for threats.
Usually he blackened her eyes while having no regrets.
Last night was surely different though, she stood up to resist.
Her best she did, to fight him off, but alcohol fueled his fists.
He crushed her cheek with one blow and another to her head
He staggered into the bathroom shower, leaving her for dead.
Three children left as witnesses, they would surely turn him in.
He would have to use his shotgun to commit unspeakable sin.
Thinking, he must do it now, as the children slept in bed.
He turned the hot water off and toweled his aching head.
Today it seems every one is hanging their heads in shame.
The sheriff said, unfortunately we all share in the blame.
The house filled with police and a tall man in a white coat.
A social worker questioned us as she quietly cleared her throat.
My sister asked the woman, you see that hole in the door?
Mommy killed daddy last night, he's dead on the bathroom floor.
I asked the local sheriff, when will mommy be home to rest.
I don't know for sure young man, but this time we'll do our best.
| Author Notes |
It very tough to douse the fire when it is blazing in the barn
Step on the match stick first and save your horse from harm Trust your gut instinct and get involved if you think someone could use your help. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. It is usually defenseless children that suffer the most. This piece is a revised work and has been under construction for some time. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | My mother started to drive me crazy at a young age. My wife is commited, on a daily basis, to finishing the job. |
It is fair to say that my life in the day
is hardly as busy as my night
As the sun sets low, the energy will flow
as my fangs long for a bite
Delicious odors reveal it is time for a meal,
granted from a gory death
A thick fur fills in and my toothy grin
is accented with putrid breath
An unsettling howl marks my time for the prowl
for pursuing a rich feast
A local sheep herd can provide tastes preferred
for the tongue of any beast
An old widow and her dog walk alone in the fog
feeling secure from danger
I crept slowly near, filling the shadows with fear
of a murdering stranger
In a brutal attack I ripped the spine from her back,
all for a succulent treat
The canine was tasty but I had to be hasty
as I gorged on his tender meat
Aching for sleep and bones buried deep,
I slumber for nearly two hours
Awake before dawn to stretch and yawn
in a bed of blood covered flowers
My mind unclear while I started to tear
as I stood naked in a public place
All covered in dirt when I found my shirt
and wiped flies from my face
I staggered home, started writing this poem
as my memory slowly returned
So stay home at dark, don't walk in the park
and treasure this lesson learned
| Author Notes | I had fun as this piece unfolded before my eyes. I hope the readers will be drawn into the work and enjoy my attempt to present a strong visual read. |
By Blue-Stubby
He took my laces and my hat,
said I was crazier than a shithouse rat.
I bit off my finger and spit it in his eye,
swearing that he would surely die.
I then broke free and scratched his face
while the orderlies quickly sprayed me with mace.
The doc filled another syringe with dope
and told those two to grab some rope.
They hog tied me and left me bare
in nothing but my underwear.
The drugs will wear off pretty soon
and I'll kill those bastards with my spoon.
| Author Notes |
We didnt visit Uncle Harman that day. The doctor came down and let my mother know that her brother was having an episode. It really was our fault since my mother scheduled the annual visit at four in the afternoon and the staff had not caught the error. Uncle Harman had to miss the Lawrence Welk show and that was unacceptable.
In retrospect, as a child, I had often thought that these trips were cruel interruptions of a tortured soul. My mother was trying to stave off some sort of guilt. He never spoke to any of us. The crusty mental patient just sat in his chair, drooling and continually tapping his feet on the floor. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A tender soul is gradually beaten down by adulterated self-indulgent acts. |
Early is the sun that creeps over the trees
Taunting me as I return from my lusting
My home seems strangely foreign to me
Is she waiting, wondering where I've been
The motor from the engine purrs quietly
A cloud of bluish smoke fills the cab
I exhale nervously from a lengthy draw
Is she waiting, wondering where I've been
My body saturated with another's sweet aroma
My stomach nauseated with subsequent guilt
My mind conjures lies for futile camouflage
Is she waiting, wondering where I've been
Innocent conversations inflated hidden desire
Passion carelessly fueled by efforts to impress
My immoral love has penetrated and created
Is she waiting, wondering where I've been
Through the dewy fog I pace toward the house
The untainted silence is shattered with vengeance
She kneels, whispering in my blood covered ear
I have been waiting and I know where you've been
| Author Notes | This piece has a non-fictional base that I unfortunately witnessed as a mutual third party friend over an extended period of time. The real life conclusion was not fatal but I often feared that it may happen. A lover scorned can be overcome with vengeance. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A life of loving commitment and companionship inevitably ends. To watch is heart wrenching. To happen is seemingly unfair. Lonesome years can be tortuous and punishing. Solitude can be bitter. |
A tear rolls slowly
Wrinkled skin and trembling lips
Frail on bended knee
She mourns behind lace and silk
Their love journey now parted
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | agony looks for growth and to perpetuate and take hold, it offers up sinful yearnings |
A malicious hand reached out
bidding fruits pleasing to my eyes.
The flawless gifts cleverly shrouded
within realms of a devious guise.
I pondered the choice presented
to stave off growing lament.
Such a sweet proposal though,
a respite against my torment.
Temptation invoked a woman
with pleasantries soft and warm.
Her mouth dripping with honey,
whispering comfort from the storm.
Flowing locks laced her breasts,
translucent silk exposed her region.
Beauty masks a lustful monster
conjured from an unholy legion.
She lay slithering before me
in looming shadows of the beast.
Only the armor from discernment
would shield me from his feast.
I let the fruits fall to the ground
and crushed them with my foot.
Lucifer roared and fled to hell,
leaving a trail of smoldering soot.
| Author Notes | Spiritual discernment against unholy offerings is a battle that we all face. Lives are destroyed and the flesh can be easily outwitted. As we allow the resurrected Christ to live in us, more of him and less of ourselves, our spiritual strength allows us to rely on God to fight for us as we trust in his written word. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | His love, mercy and grace are extended until the final moments of life. |
McTavish was not a leprechaun,
Nor was he born with a halo on.
He found Christ one night in jail,
arrested and judged without any bail.
A favorite pub provided the setting.
Anger swelled after a loss at betting.
Soon fists and chairs began to fly
and McTavish caused a man to die.
Christ visited McTavish alone in his cell
explaining to him about heaven and hell.
McTavish accepted him, broken in tears.
Jesus forgave him and dissolved his fears
He composed a short note as he cried.
The execution proceeded, McTavish died.
The memo arrived to the victim's wife,
"I'll do better in heaven than I did in life."
His angelic spirit descends like a bird,
spreading symbols of God's holy word.
The parable of McTavish is often spoken
from lives changed that once were broken.
On the front stoop of the one in need,
a gift is placed from McTavish's deed.
A solid gold clover from the spiritual host.
Three leaves for the father, son and holy ghost
No need for luck from a four leaf clover.
It's the Holy Trinity that'll win them over.
| Author Notes | The chance to accept Christ into our hearts is for now. We do not know when we will pass and be held accountable. We can be washed clean and enter God's kingdom as sinless creations as long as we are covered in the blood of Christ. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A tasty little treat, healthy and light... enjoy |
Playtime for a dirty little boy.
His tiny heart is so full of joy,
covered in mud with his Tonka toy.
There's lunch in the house ready to eat.
Pulling muddy boots off his tiny feet,
climbing up the chair to his booster seat.
Tearing the crust from around his bread.
Careful with his cup like mother said,
wearing a Kool-aid smile cherry red.
Two small hands to close the bathroom door.
He rips off his play clothes that he wore.
Standing bare foot on the cold tile floor.
Investigating scabs on his knee.
Scraped by the bark of a willow tree,
climbing away from a bumblebee.
He washes himself, trying his best.
A midday nap 'cause it's time to rest.
Falling asleep on his daddy's chest.
...Just a Willy Durbin Saturday.
| Author Notes | extracted from memories past, when peaceful days were expected and a small child's spirit was bathed in love, his soul was shielded from from vicious realities that waited to steal his future desires and securities. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | It's funny sometimes where and through whom God speaks |
The lady at the check out smiled
and wished me a blessed day.
Does Jesus go to the grocery store?
My electric bill was overdue,
the next notice stated paid in full.
Does Jesus work at the power company?
I blew the motor in my minivan
and it started this morning.
Is Jesus a mechanic?
A doctor said the cancer covering
my liver had disappeared.
Is Jesus an oncologist?
My best friend warned me not
to have sex with my girlfriend.
Did Jesus follow me on my dates?
I failed to report all my income
and had to pay a stiff penalty.
Did Jesus look at my paycheck?
I argue and swear at the neighbor
when his dog barks at night.
What will Jesus forgive me for?
An old woman gave me testimony
about Jesus changing her life.
What do I do so he loves me?
I went to church with my fianc©
and accepted Christ in my life.
How will he move in me?
I witnessed to my neighbors
and my family about God's love.
How will they respond?
Things in me have been replaced
with new ways and thoughts.
Can I be who he wants?
It has been hard to change all
the sinful habits I am used to.
Can god work in me?
He is my restorer, protector,
teacher, forgiver and comforter.
Where would I be without Christ in my life?
He speaks to me through everything
and everyone, constantly.
Where will he be next?
Praise God's
all seeing and all hearing
omnipresence.
| Author Notes | i have learned to keep my eyes, ears and heart open for his signs and wonders that he has for me to receive. It has been a journey long and hard but well worth the efforts of fine tuning my spiritual receptors. This piece just came through amidst a stretch of time when God chose some pretty unusual people and places to move me. A good sense of humor can lift the spirit. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | imprisoned unwittingly within a realm that he believes is his haven... |
Through the blinds I see the world living.
Neighbors and children busy in there efforts.
Dogs and cats running with raw instincts.
They see me watching them as they pass .
Sometimes the neighborhood kids wave,
I smile and wiggle fingers back at them.
No one is knocking at my door to visit.
Though I welcome in the bright sunlight,
I won't allow doors or windows to open.
I've been inside for twenty-three years.
This house is my guardian against...
Against the death waiting outside for me.
A large inheritance has funded my battle.
Money has been a saving grace from evil,
protecting me from the reaper at my door.
I spend my days analyzing all the threats
that can be filled or sealed or covered or
plastered or cleaned or decontaminated or...
Or whatever it takes.
My windows are safe with bulletproof glass,
my walls are filled with concrete and steel.
Three security systems in overlapping unison.
A hypoallergenic heating and cooling system.
My air filtration unit practically polishes atoms.
I have ordered, built and installed everything.
Managing my deliveries is a full time job.
All items received are hermetically sealed,
automatically conveyed into a clean room.
My friends are online with live video chat.
Quite a few of us live the same life style.
Comforting one another at a safe distance.
Some crazy preacher on the television cried.
Said that I should be saved and accept God.
I am saved...
Saved from the evil outside my door.
I couldn't be any safer.
Can God protect me anymore than my efforts?
I have complete control of my own safety.
Live secure, avoid danger, provide for myself
And ...
And die in my sleep.
What more could I want?
What else is there?
| Author Notes | this piece was a result of contemplating why we willingly place ourselves within our own worst nightmares... and fail to see it. our spirits can be fooled easily and our emotions can be twisted. we are the only ones, at times, that do not realize the harm we may be doing in our own lives. it is a frustrating situation when you have tried to help someone see the light and watch them continue to walk in a self-induced blackout... unaware. Faith, hope, love and the power of prayer and continued fellowship with those in need is basic code red support and it can be the only way to scrape the cataracts away from the blurred sight that leads a tortured soul far from a faith walk. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | A cherished moment. |
Her breath comes light through delicate lips.
Resting secure in the peace of a pleasant dream.
Virtue emanates from her, feeding my spirit.
Sculpted innocence from God's finest clay.
Platinum locks meander over silk pillows.
Warm hazel eyes blanketed by elegant lids.
The silence is broken as I kiss her crown.
Clutching her quilt, she rolls to her side.
Sleep through the night my precious gift,
for all is well that surrounds you this eve...
and I am near.
| Author Notes |
A brief and cherished moment that so many of us our fortunate to share, through our own children or the children of family and friends. The awe of responsibility contrasting the sense of peace... blessed irony. I hope this piece conveys emotional depth and stirs the reader by drawing them back to a similar memory.
|
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Children stick to what they know. |
On December 18th with a paper and pen,
little Myron Dobbs started writing to a friend.
The boy had a problem that he wanted to fix.
He made a very good plan for a child of six.
His family was in need of a miracle fast.
They all needed closure from a tragedy past.
He hid this letter on the Christmas tree,
placing it cleverly for St. Nicholas to see...
Dear Santa,
You probably know that my mother is not home anymore because she is in heaven. She stayed at the hospital for a long time after her car accident but the doctors couldn't make her better. My sisters are very sad and my Daddy has been drinking the good stuff every night. We don't go to church anymore so I have been praying before I go to bed. I ask for help but I don't think anyone is listening. I only want one thing for Christmas this year. Could you please take the note labeled HOPE and give it to Jesus. Please don't read it because it is very special and I only want him to see it. Thank you Santa and I love you.
The night before Christmas, while pouring a drink,
the father noticed the letter and started to think.
What was this envelope nestled from plain view?
He opened it and found not one letter, but two.
He sat down in his chair and put up his feet
close to the warmth of the fireplace heat.
He read the first, sipping his whiskey and coke
but it was the note to Jesus that undoubtedly spoke...
Dear Jesus,
It's me, Myron Dobbs, from church. I know you must be busy because all the kids are praying for toys. I don't know where you are but I have been trying to get you to listen to my prayers, so I hope you get this letter. My mother told me before that you can always hear me and you will always answer my prayers in your time. Well, I think it is time. I am afraid if you wait any longer, I won't have a family left. You know my Daddy is a good man but he needs your help to get him back to where he was. He has been the Pastor at our church for a long time and he has helped a lot of people. Everyone misses him at church. My sisters miss him too. I miss him at home because he is my favorite friend and we used to do really fun stuff together. I hear him crying in his office at night when he thinks I am in bed. He told me that losing Mommy wasn't in his plan so can you show him what your plan is? I don't think he knows. I wont ever ask for anything ever again for Christmas if you can make my Daddy stop hurting from missing my Mommy. Thank you Jesus and I love you. Very much.
It was finally Christmas for that sweet little boy,
seeing his envelope gone, his heart filled with joy.
Stockings hung full and the kids wanted to peak
but their father smiled wide and started to speak.
We need to give thanks for God's Holy Son
then to dear Myron for the good that he's done.
A miracle happened last night while in bed,
I must tell you all while it's still in my head.
Last night in a dream, Mommy came to me
and I read her the letters Myron hid in the tree.
She was so happy God's will was now done
from the letter to Jesus, written by her son.
Myron's daddy laughed as joyful tears poured,
knowing his wife was safe in the arms of the Lord.
The church again has their pastor, the father has his son
and Myron had his Daddy from the battle that was won.
...Praise the prayers of the little children.
| Author Notes | This piece was drawn out of me through the clear perspective of a young boy who manifested within me as a bright and faithful child raised from a stable and nurturing upbringing. The words are not mine and they flow from his mouth as they came to me. this was a tearful write and i was touched and grateful to be the chosen vehicle for this work. I hope that the reader is touched and connects with the piece, experiencing the presence of the child. it was a pleasure to put on paper and i must give credit to the artist VisionaryPoet777. However it happened, her work exposed this piece in me and i am thankful for that. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Reverent and persevering |
organic marvel
gargantuan proportion
a steadfast wonder
| Author Notes |
HAIKU FORMAT
3 lines, 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables The simple, lush beauty within the unique environment of Sequoia National Park is seemingly prehistoric and awe inspiring. Encompassed within the dynamics of an ever changing world, it remains a haven of purity and spiritual enlightenment. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | HAIKU FORMAT, Off the beaten path... |
walking with Jesus
choosing a path less traveled
bathed in his comfort
| Author Notes |
HAIKU FORMAT
3 lines, 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables I have seen paved roads that looked inviting, taking them to destinations that all have been... seeing little good and plenty of wicked things. I would like to thank the artist for capturing the picture within a simplistic but inspiring setting. The artwork represents a quiet, peaceful, less chosen path that leads to a place few have seen, a place where JOY resides. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | HAIKU FORMAT 3 lines - syllables 5, 7, 5 |
I awoke today
praising God for giving me
a new chance to love
| Author Notes |
HAIKU FORMAT 3 lines - syllables 5, 7, 5
Every morning we are provided a chance, by His grace, to move forward in His will... loving and helping those around us. I repent when i fall short... which is often, and feel blessed to be purified, having another chance to correct and move on. I would like to thank Countrygirl for this priceless, little gem of a photo. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | No rhyme, no meter. Purely free form, just as it flowed. Eyes wide open, prepare to conquer. Touche! |
I have been without her for nearly a year,
a house divided did not stand.
Why must I suffer as He knows I have chosen
to love Him first, forever.
Whoa is me and all my trouble,
constantly shifting my focus.
My time spent within thoughts that pacify
and entangle my longing spirit.
He surrounds me and holds my head up,
not wanting me to stare at my own self,
at my still feet, stagnant in my walk.
Yet I press away from his loving hands
to gaze downward.
I have relished in the foul remnants
that lay before me.
Taunting me with fear.
Why must I suffer?
I have done his work and given my time.
I repent and make the effort to turn
from my wicked ways.
I have forgiven those who trespass against me.
I have filled the offering plate
with all that was with me.
I give my children every minute.
Loving, teaching and comforting them.
Why must I suffer?
I want His will to be done
and my comfort is more of Him in me.
So why must I suffer?
Does He punish me when I look away, into the past
or into the fleshly looking glass?
So full of enticement and carnal warmth.
But I love and choose Him.
Why must I suffer?
... through a precious Jewell, he came to me with an answer:
You suffer even as you are covered in my armor
because you do not pick up the sword.
Although you align yourself with an army of fellowship,
you look behind you as the enemy attacks at your front.
You are willing and I see your love
but you have not yet learned to battle.
Your heart is open but your eyes are sewn,
so you do not see.
You are not active in defending yourself
as your sword lay beside you.
Pick it up and learn to fight.
These are my words and my love for you.
Take comfort in me.
Take action with my Word.
Psalm 118:18
The lord has chastened me severely
But he has not given me over to death
| Author Notes |
No rhyme, no meter. Purely free form, just as it flowed.
It is truly amazing to see God meandering through lives, braiding three cord strands. I am finding that He is able to effectively work through those that are willing. I have a special group of spiritual brothers and sisters that have been placed in front of me, with whom I grow from gifts that flow through them. Pretty cool stuff and I am fortunate to have made a spiritually reciprocal connection with a very talented woman of God. Through her work and words, I am blessed, inspired and gifted with enlightenment. There is good use for the internet and Fanstory.com, as the spirit of God continually meanders, stitching together the willing, one by one. That's righteously way cool. "GTG" Glory To God I would like to thank Bahb for the use of this unique and fitting piece of art. It is much appreciated. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | She used to be a baby that I could hold and protect. |
She came during troubled times
at a crossroads that left me to choose.
Which way would I turn?
The Lord chose to hand her over
to my loving but tentative arms.
How could she be so beautiful?
I am rough and she is soft
but so valuable in her purpose.
Is she a light for me to follow?
It has been a long hard road
and she is still growing beside me.
What does she think of me?
She is naive and clean in spirit
yet I am battle scarred and broken.
When will I learn from her?
She is the right and I am the wrong,
Individual in flesh but drawn from one.
Where are we going to be?
I am a searching soul adrift,
and the father of my eldest gift.
| Author Notes |
This piece was formed from a thought regarding the love I have for my daughter (now 15) and how blessed I am to know her and that thought subsequently made it's way onto my computer. My eldest daughter has been through times that my two youngest have not seen. She has chosen to love God first and foremost and I receive the blessings that a father desires from a child. Love, forgiveness, loyalty and patience. Sometimes it is like looking in a mirror but much prettier. She has a firm grasp and self-worth from knowing Jesus Christ. She has saved our family by being a willing and open vessel for His work.
Blessings for BJML "GTG" I would like to send out an appreciative THANK YOU for the artist responsible for the accompanying artwork. Beautiful work. |
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Notes | While on break at a former job, These questions poured out as rhetorical and opened this piece up to pen. |
By Blue-Stubby
You have me in the desert, Father, and I call out your name. I have walked blindly into a mirage, an oasis of comfort and safety; I ran deeper into to the lush cover, cooling to my skin as a mist from a waterfall. I have drenched myself in the love that my heart desires, just as I have cried out for. I was believing to be healed with a purity of truth and put down to rest with soothing words. My haste to cover and fill a heart that cries out, screams out, has put a veil over the light that led me clearly.
But I have been deceived by the dark one who has heard my visions, who laughs at my pain and mocks the love that I have reached out for. The enemy has taken the weakness of two points of light and blurred eyes and flesh and hearts, presenting something that was not yet to be, into a polished idol away from you. I have reached in to take the bread as it was still baking, and my flesh has been burned by the ignorance of my eagerness. I have been as an anxious child who has smelled the aroma of cooling desserts. The heat is scorching and my heart is on fire.
Forgive me, Father, for I have allowed those to drink from the well that pours into me, your waters that fortify and quench my thirst, your waters that gift me with what is to be used for serving your will. So many I have let wade and soak and take, like sponges they have drank while my shores moved further away. I have gifted the purest spring waters, foolishly, that flow down from your mountain, hoping to fill my heart with that which I long for. My God, my rivers are dry with no springs to feed them. I have called out apart from you, I have sought healing from the waters of others. I have been led away in the readiness and perception of purity and I have led away with that which what not was pure or ready. I am foolish that goodness has turned to a muddy river bottom.
You have shown me in dreams of one to embrace, one to walk safely aside, through my eyes I have touched, tasted and smelled the aroma of love on earth, seeing your beautiful creation of Woman. I wanted to drink Father, I wanted to replace the tears that dry my ever crying heart. I wanted to walk safely, I wanted a soft hand to hold, I wanted to run in your garden and smile from the inside out and be showered with a smile from the outside in. I saw the gate open Father but I did not trust that you would allow me to move in time, that the light would be gone. I felt as though I would come apart all at once and fall to my knees exhausted from the wait. I have been so alone and apart inside and only by your strength I have moved. The enemy has passed so much in front of my senses and temptations have rolled to my secured gate. Father, you know I have tried to endure but I have become so weak and tired that it began to hurt even as I smiled, to even draw from your Word, to even hear kindness or trusted council.
As you spoke and began moving, I moved ran across the pasture like a young bull, in my own footsteps I led. I have eaten from the silver platter presented at my door when you told me to stand firm and wait for more.
Forgive me Father, I am foolhardy with a heart of good intent but the grace of a storm. The road was yours that I walked on and the gift is pure to receive but I failed to find the road further and instead walked through thistles, fearless to draw from a well not yet filled. The scrapes and wounds have festered. Old wounds tore open and I lay bleeding, unquenched in the sun. My stomach swirls with pain and the only food that gives me strength I look away from, knowing of the bitter taste.
See me through your Son's blood, Jesus Christ, and hear me Lord. I crawl with my head down and cry in shame, I am empty. I am a fool that has not guarded the softness of my heart. I am a fool that has looked away from the source of filling and fresh water and now I thirst. I am so drained, so parched, that to take any moisture burns my lips, that to drink from the purity of your Word pains my throat and swirls in my stomach like a storm. My smile is like a dark road and my light from within burns with only a memory of a flicker. Shadows are near and my eyes do not see, my visions have been blurred and my wisdom has been not at all. My discernment does not serve you and I am serving without a loving heart, my eyes are liked an old painting, dry and cracked. My encouragement to others is a struggle as they are a mix of my own flesh.
It is only you Father that can lift me, that can fill my belly with the light of your love. I know nothing and can do no good apart from you, I am poison to all that my flesh touches. I give it to you Lord, I trust apart from myself that you will move, that you will shower me clean with your grace, that you will let me stand in the strength of your merciful heart.
Father, fill me. Father soak me. That my heart and my love, I share with you forever, That I love you and love through you. Be my guiding light once again. Show me the way. Jesus, I ask that you hold me until I can walk and walk with me when I can stand, as you are the way and the truth and the light and all flows through you. Help me trust with a spirit filled heart. Father, I ask that you repair what I have broken, that you wash clean all that I have dirtied and forgive me for all that I have moved in that was apart from you.
Forgive me for the times I looked away with purpose and intents of my flesh. Heal Me Father as no one else can. Love me and let me love through you, that what is right and good, burn bright and clear, as a shining light, as the purity and truth of a smiling baby. I believe all that you have gifted me is yours. I believe that you are moving for me, in love. I love you Father God. I love you Jesus and I thank the Holy Spirit of God. I ask for an increase, for an abundance, for the filling of light that powers me. I fall at your knees Father.
| Author Notes |
Before the alter... a place of freedom, cleansing and expression. ***Thank you ANGELHEART the fitting artwork.
***Thanks to the extended editing efforts of sizemore0409, otherwise this piece wouldn't have even looked worthy enough to review. |
By Blue-Stubby
What God has spoken will always be done,
but to lose a fight in a battle won
means to dig in deeper into the trenches of faith
and love even more with a smile on my face.
When scripture confirms that still small voice,
the patience of sacrifice is worth the choice.
When the struggles over and all's said and done,
I'll give glory to the Lord for the courage of His Son.
God's hand can take it all, as it was His from the start,
and give back whole what was broken apart.
So I fight with the knowing that God has the plan;
that LOVE be the victory for this still faithful man.
| Author Notes |
If hindsight were in the present, and we knew the battle was won... Because we saw it happen, then we would continue to push through trials.
Faith offers hindsight from the future, drawn from the promises of the past. GTG-L2LL |
By Blue-Stubby
Who will lay close when I can not see,
blinded by the sands of a desert sea.
Stirring solitude with eyes closed tight,
no one to guard throughout the night.
Vivid paintings show love and toil
as fruits of the Spirit mark the spoil.
Waxed delights in the shadows gleem,
but melt in the heat of a confirming dream.
Whispers and winks mock laughter and love
while faces match motives that fit like a glove.
Wolves are many throughout a shepherd's field
as fire scorches hot for the truth revealed.
Animals and colors with words and numbers
mix agony and peace within restless slumbers.
Some share encouragement as a revealing passes
though most I hold silent away from the masses.
Disastrous storms and constant wars waging;
wreckages of transport amongst fires raging.
A burden to carry as confusion runs deep,
but a good night is one when I fall dead asleep.
Hope is the "she" I vaguely see
transcending through the night;
that I awake in her peaceful loving arms,
quietly holding me tight.
| Author Notes |
This piece is a revealing of personal experience.
*** A Special Thanks To ANGELHEART for this dreamy piece*** |
By Blue-Stubby
Grandpa struggles to deal with the bank
Father tries to explain that it's over
The bank stops taking calls from grandpa
Pushed off the fields with an aching heart
Father piles steel into the pick-up bed
Grandpa says that Harmon's Mill pays the most
Father explains Harmon's Mill went under
Fearful being a first generation thrown away
I ask father what will happen to the house
He says we will have to sell and move
Six generations raised in the same home
Strangled by taxes always in arrears
Grandpa argues the value of the farm
Father explains that they have to take any offer
The realtor waits like a hawk in the background
Ignorant from choosing labor over education
Father says that I have to go back to school
Grandpa says work is more important
Father explains there is no more work
Bankrupt from decades of stale profits
The co-op can't take on a failing farm
Grandpa says he doesn't need them anyhow
Father is forced to sell the milk at a loss
Starved from the volume of the conglomerate
Percy Ellis wants to buy the entire herd
Grandpa says he's a government welfare farmer
Father explains that it's a fair offer and sells
Watching a century of farming wither
We line up the equipment in the front yard
The auctioneer manipulates the bidding
The rain keeps potential buyers away
Fooled by a false sense of a new tomorrow
Grandpa says we will have enough left for seed
Father explains that the taxes are still short
Everything sold and still far in the red
Changing the abstract, deed and titles
Grandpa tries to show the buyer the faulty roof
No one listens as they get in their Mercedes
The house and barns will be demolished soon
Moving into an apartment in a new world
Grandpa putters all-day with a broken mower
Father works as a mechanic in a diesel shop
I am finishing my bachelors in Business
Beaten down but never giving up
Soon, I will buy grandpa some more broken mowers.
Father says that it gives grandpa a feeling of self worth
I am the first link in our new family chain
By Blue-Stubby
| Author Note: | Just blew in one day during a brainstorm! |
A sure sign for a beginner
that a fish may be caught...
Is a brief moment of hope
when the line goes taught...
Though without patience,
it is more often than naught...
The fish fill their bellies
with the bait that was brought.
By Blue-Stubby
Often things in life are wrapped
in the glitz of sparkling jewels,
to merely desire a taste from sight
are the motives of lusting fools.
While fisherman harvest daily
upon the surface of the sea,
far below thrives the colorful
life of God's creativity.
The climber of a mountain
likes a challenge for a time,
but excavators dig down deeply
in search of the golden mine.
The eyes of the beholder are
certainly blinded by the sun,
but the spirit of the heart
can see where beauty has begun.
My desire for you forms of
what you've given from within;
My hope is from a knowing that
pure love will always win.
| Author Notes | Break the surface and you may find that what you could not see may be all that you ever wanted. |
By Blue-Stubby
To know the things
that one would tell...
To receive the truth
without the sell...
To comfort a heart
with great content...
To present the gift
with nothing spent...
To walk new paths
aside of thee...
To embrace the Waltz
of discovery...
Lady... may I Have This dance?
| Author Notes |
So many times we swim in waters that are tainted... and we know even from the start that we have jumped in unclean.
Pure waters of love... discerned through 1st Cor. 13 and Galatians 5, can offer all that we have wanted but never pursued. Settle not for anything less than the purest of love that pours through faith in The Father, Son and Holy Spirit and submit to being led in the Spirit intead of solely within the emotions of flesh and heart. ***Once again I have drawn from the artistic giftings of "Angelheart", a more fitting piece of art I could not find. Thank you Angelheart!!! |
By Blue-Stubby
Flickering,
dancing to and fro,
was a flame that cast an amber glow.
Upon the stoop,
he held her tight;
and softly whispered...
"Goodnight."
| Author Notes |
A flashing vision from a time long past when honor and virtue were gifts that were cherished.
*** Thanks to Angelheart for the Artwork. |
By Blue-Stubby
When love is discerned
as right and good,
seemingly blissful
just as it should,
an inversion of doubt
meanders along
tainting the melody of
a heart's sweet song.
As feet settle in faith
while love sets out
to conquer the heart
from fear and doubt,
the "Sword Of Truth"
doth sharply swing,
slaying all doubt so
the heart may sing.
| Author Notes |
Sometimes too good to be true is just that, but so many times Pure love comes to our gate and we do not allow it in.
***A sincere thanks to Angelheart and her artwork... I am a fan. We can miss love as we begin to doubt and qualify it relative to wordly criteria. Measure love through a discerning faith; scripture has the blueprint. |
By Blue-Stubby
She senses the morning sun,
tilting toward the
direction of warmth.
Comforted in safety; her stem
is a high-tower dressed in
thorns and though I am close,
I have no fear of them.
In my presence, she begins to
display her beauty.
Slight to my eyes is her movement.
Each petal unfolding,
so vulnerable, so delicate.
Gracefully, she performs a
rose ballet, dancing in my heart
as a flame on a wick.
She is unparalelled elegance,
shimmering royalty,
her Daddy's flower.
Captivating is her fragrance.
I lean in... slowly...
drawing in deeply a breath.
Gently, I press against her
my forehead and close my eyes.
Her thorns do not pierce my skin.
Her bloom does not recede.
She is soft.
She is safe.
She is warm...
and she is beautiful to me.
| Author Notes |
A bit of freeform as it poured. A vision of a rose, delicate in a representative sense, in the essence "of". Just as a particular Woman, as I have seen none like her... opening up in love. "Really...?!" ;)
***A grand "THANK YOU" to Angelheart for another precise fit... fantastic representation. |
By Blue-Stubby
On a morning that would dress
the wildflowers with dew,
the soaking warmth of sunlight
would surely be you.
As the temperature drops
on a snowy moonlit night,
you're the sparkling crystals
that bring the eyes delight.
As an uncharted beach
with no other to explore,
you're the life giving seawater
splashing the shore.
With you in my life
as it divinely grows to be ours,
you bring rains of love
that bloom the heart's flowers.
I thank my Father in Heaven
for the tears on my face
and for the elegant bouquet
filling this once empty vase.
| Author Notes |
Simple words to express the simplicities of loving expressions. How do we paint our own poignant perceptions with words... Just start penning something, and watch it take shape... It will meander and mingle within an atmosphere of words until they join together to portray...and soon, the finish line is reached. Thank God for the gifts of creativity so that one may express....
*** Thank you ANGELHEART for this unique, picture PERFECT piece. |
By Blue-Stubby
Many a thirsting people
never lucidly know
where springs of pure love
doth start a new flow.
It's often a parched swale
within an arid hazy heart
of wilted surroundings,
be a scorched desert apart.
As God certainly hears
the many heart cry calls,
He then rains down gently
to form divine waterfalls.
Cascading to refresh
two heart's dry lagoons,
that emotions may flourish
as a grafted couple swoons.
As one standing waist deep
in sultry mist seclusion,
two lovers doth embrace
in an entwined conclusion.
... Their hearts hydrated in love.
| Author Notes |
This piece was an attempt to recognize how pure waters of love can give life and newness, that love can always be, through returned to it's original, divine fluid state.
***THANK YOU ANGELHEART FOR THE BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK!!!*** |
By Blue-Stubby
How loud does God speak
to the faithful and meek?
How clear are His answers
to hearts that are weak?
How certain do we know
that blessings will flow?
How do we harvest abundance
from the seeds we sow?
So many times He presents
our relative desires.
We need only be aware
through a faith that inspires,
... To receive all that burns
from divinely passionate fires.
| Author Notes |
I have never known of my prayers unanswered, as I pray expecting. God hears all and answers prayers relative to our individual and specific call to affect His will. But I still ponder and question, not from a lacking in my faith, but from a wanting to KNOW more, and that is when I find that I know very little... and I am ok with that.
***A GRAND THANK YOU TO ANGELHEART FOR THIS WONDERFUL ARTWORK.*** |
By Blue-Stubby
When it is for
your glory Father...
The words flow like
the whitewater rapids
that shape gorge walls
into natural wonders.
How sharp must your
chisel be, oh Lord,
and how accurate is
the striking of
your mallet.
That you, as the
Master Artisan,
would choose my vessel
for new creation;
edifying your Kingdom.
Just as the sun
draws out natural sugars
of grape clusters
on the vine,
so do your hands
allow my fruit
to mature; becoming
sweet to the taste.
That they be harvested
to become new wine
for your glory,
in the season
and Son that is
your time.
| Author Notes |
Hindsight is perfect vision of once happenings... Known from experience. To know that the future will hold us looking back to a place when we wondered what God had in store for us left me pondering questions that will be eventually answered. The "Thanksgiving" is based upon a rock solid belief that God's Will always prevails and to give thanks that if I should be but a blip in time or a flash of light within God's Will...then I am grateful beyond measure. GTG-L2LL
*** Thank you "ducilla" for your beautiful artwork... a perfect fit and just what I pictured. |
By Blue-Stubby
Much of our personal ministry
is portrayed in our walk,
amongst a spectrum of lost people
that have heard all the talk.
It is not always necessary
to pull each person aside,
but more so it's to example
how faithful Christians abide.
It's often uniquely effective
to simply allow God to speak
through the actions we display
as we move through the week.
Be mindful that wounded ears
listen to heaps of religious talk,
but allow Jesus Christ to draw them
through the quiet faith of your walk.
It's the bleeding eyes we don't often see
that quietly critique both you and me,
they wait to see true actions to believe
and Jesus in their dry hearts to receive.
| Author Notes |
*This piece was posted yesterday on accident as it was unfinished and unedited, Thank you to the three reviewers that rerated this piece, the adjusted 5 star ratings will appear after the next review.
Often I tune out the religious rhetoric that draws hearts away from Faith. Jesus and love... Yeah, that's the Word I know. We need not figure out, as Christians, how to be Christ-like... We already are, fleshly vessels filled with the living Spirit of God, empowered with the authority and power through Christ's name. Throw up your hands amid the enlightenment of spiritual perspective and prayer,relying on the FACTS of God's WORD. Walk it out and those that see, will see Christ's light burning through you... Save the religious talk for theology class (which is part of my current cirriculum in Ministry school, last quarter of 2nd year... within a 3 year program)and/or the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Share the good news of Jesus Christ and example it... Walk in love. ***Thanks to "snickersnax" for the most exellent nature walk photo. |
By Blue-Stubby
How many petals
has a rose?
A question maybe
someone knows.
How many thorns
guard the stem?
Maybe no ones
counted them.
How many branches hang
waxed leaves of green?
An answer to this
I've never seen.
I learned something
I can most certainly say;
beauty is a rose bloomed,
giving fragrance to the day.
So, the next chance I had
between that rose and me,
I paused from thought
and inhaled...
a bit of simple simplicity.
| Author Notes |
I have spent time in my life asking so many questions. I have a desire to know things. This piece came from a related wondering in which I received a revelation of sorts. I found that in asking so many questions, I was missing the simplicity of beauty. It was contexually irrelevant to ask why is was the way it was. It just was, and it was beautiful.
What it was is not important, lol, just that I learned to see something simply as it was. *** Thanks to ANGELHEART for the artwork, a perfect fit, as always.*** |
By Blue-Stubby
At my desk the sunlight floods in
through the sky lights as the
natural warmth is welcomed.
Boldly... more so forcefully,
brightness invades effortlessly
through the crude cutouts.
Light emanates while melting away
from the concentrated illumination;
radiant columns slant as golden obelisks.
Livening old wood and iron furniture,
breathing into the masculine study
a burst of vibrant solar energy.
Countless particles seemingly dancing
a paltry ballet of erratic movement
within a cluster of yellow beams.
Exiting left and right as on a stage;
Miniscule parts of this and of that,
life like in resembling busy bees.
Animation of the inanimate,
choreographed by heated molecules,
co-existing in my adobe universe.
Catching my eyes as not before;
entranced with a new wonderment
of formerly undiscovered activity,
... all while my deadline is looming!
| Author Notes |
Procrastination can be a time for a discovery of something new or a disaster of something that was in the near future but has moved into the recent past.
This was a piece that came about as I was lost away from the task at hand... And was amazed at what took my attention. Particles of dust, that is a bit of sad reality, lol. This is dedicated to the writers that write for an income. A bit of satire, humor and the facade of intellect mixed with the loosely justifiable results of blatantly evident discovery on behalf of my procrastinating nature. ***Thanks to "LMBenvenuto" for the accurate and fitting artwork.*** |
By Blue-Stubby
Chastised to a desert land
apart from the cool rivers of love.
The heat of solitude wilts my heart
and dries out any bones of ambition.
I sit idle like a darkened rock
protruding from the white sands,
scorching in the oppressive waves
of a crude mocking loneliness.
Relentless is the hyena of misery
frothing over many wounds laid open,
as buzzards display piercing eyes
upon flesh that heals to ugly scars.
Lizards slither over my cracked skin
searching for insects and moisture.
I am a feast for seeking scavengers
that look to feed off my aching corpse.
How is it that I have still survived
while it is even a labor to breathe?
It is all I can do to lie here still,
that even a thought is excruciating.
Death waits on a flaming horizon
but does not near when I call out.
I am in torture's limbo as it seems
to be a perpetual stillness of agony.
This is my spirit's lament in the raw
and from my seed of faith I'll draw
the living waters that soak to revive,
and even in sorrow,
... I'll thank God I'm alive!
| Author Notes |
Life is never without trials... that is what we can expect, tiny painless changes to tragic senseless deaths, and everything in between. How we role with it depends on our spiritual perspective, it is more often that we are to take a look at what God is telling us individually and that there truly is always something learned through even the smallest enlightenment.
A mustard seed of faith will sustain even when the heart says to give up, God will pour through that seed if only enough to keep you alive, and when a finality of circumstance is reached... a light will shine on the good that is to come. His will, His world, His people... His love. My ways... well, they're usually centered around me, and that is about all I understand, so to contemplate beyond may simply result as a failed and futile attempt. Through suffering or success, love and pain, give Him love and glory, in good times and bad, as we are weaved together but not in the understanding of all that is why. GTG-L2LL FYI: I landscaped for over a decade on the shores of the Fingerlakes... beautiful sites and homes. As we removed plants or flowers from their containers, we would score the bottem root clusters, cutting them with a razor knife. A very aggresive action that actually helped promote better root growth once they were in the ground. An analogy of sorts...recieve what you will from it. *** A special thanks to ANGELHEART for the exquisite piece of artwork.*** |
By Blue-Stubby
Where will love be
at fifty-five
when the eyes can start to dim?
Whose hand does it hold
as sixty four
comes slowly rolling in?
How long will it sit aside
on a porch swing
at the age of eighty two?
When will love grow weary...
at ninety-six
amid a threatening flu?
What age will it be
when the love of thee
will finally fall away?
"Love endures forever!",
God's Word exclaims.
That we cherish it...
every living day.
| Author Notes |
This was from a brief and sweet vision on a less than perfect day. It was a blessing and served as a tool of further wisdom from trials that seem to heal by days end.
***Thank you LINDANSTEPH for the fine artwork.*** |
By Blue-Stubby
From scripture pours truths in life
of love and how it's to be exampled.
Instructing of girlfriend to wife guide
so tenderness doesn't get trampled.
LUST is an unhealthy wanting of desire
passing quickly to the next shiny mark.
Soon physical actions quench the fires
leaving one aching in the dark.
EMOTIONS are waves tossed in oceans
as paraphrased in the book of James;
swirling winds cause confusing notions
and words praise or call angry names.
LOVE is the actions supporting a choice
as the heart merges to another's calling;
settled by a unique and particular voice
that brings security as both are falling.
TRUST is the gift from a constant knowing
that the commitment to love is for sure;
that the action supporting love's showing
accents with joyful emotions
... to 'er endure
| Author Notes |
Just as it flowed, for me or not for me... that is the question, lol, and to say anymore would simply dilute
whatever is to be recieved by one who reads this piece. ***Thank you to ANGELHEART for her beautiful artwork. |
By Blue-Stubby
I am a floundering poet
penning meteoric assemblages
of rhyme and of meter,
and free form works
spring from a loving muse,
lest none shall 'er unseat her.
Oh, woe is me,
that should not one see
me making my supper
of kidney bean,
as on bended knee
I scour for coins free
in shadowed sights
commonly unseen.
Is this a creationist's hobby
or a living dream,
as of compensation
I have rarely seen.
From these words flooding
that breach my thought,
a plug of jerky is surely
not to be bought.
Who I am is none too close
to the colorful spectrum
of gifted poets past.
Is it that I simply endure
a mode average to create
as merely of crowded cast,
... that I should continue sailing
this sea of dreams
on the passionate winds
filling the sails of my mast?
But alas, I am adrift in still waters,
On a vessel I be neither fore or neither aft,
Wet finger waiting on the winds of change
as I shall pack securely my life's new raft.
I musn't forget my
paddle,
pickled eggs,
paper
Or pen.
To Hades go the rudder and azimuth
as I shall not longer be fooled
by this old ship again.
I am cutting new waves,
into the unknown that I go
discovering fearlessly
atop the currents I flow.
Faith pure be my compass;
'tis love fueling my lantern's wick.
| Author Notes |
This piece is a mix of forms and so it is just as it poured, a self absorbed introverted evaluation of realized hypocrisy, misdirection of truth, recognizing individuality that opposes the mainstream march of the lemmings that stifle creativity and ones true life journey... and the charge to set sail and reach the shores of true love, no matter the storms seen or unseen. This piece went layers deep on subjects that seemed to mirror one another... this really was a joy to see as it flowed. I can only say that to enjoy this... you must simply jump in and see what you receive. I hope that it parallels but also speaks differently to each reader, just as it should.
GTG-L2LL |
By Blue-Stubby
Meet me at the lamp post
after the suns' hid a spell;
A trio of heartfelt words
my lips so long to tell.
Keep it as a secret
that we plan to rendezvous
and I'll lift you in my arms
whispering I love you.
We'll run to Jacob's barn,
go climbing up in the hay
and hold you like I dream of
'till sunrise wakes the day.
We can't lay lingering
past the cooing morning dove;
It's back to the trellis when
we've filled up with our love.
As your Father's daughter,
you are his bright shining sun
but I am the hired help
fearing hot lead from his gun.
When I am the foreman
of his flourishing estate,
I will come calling proper
swinging the front yard gate.
At this hour we embrace
taking love close to the edge
and hopefully time itself
won't drive a parting wedge.
| Author Notes |
This piece is a simple attempt to tell a story that has been so many times by lovers that hide away and steal moments of loving passion. The 6-7-7-6 meter was an attempt the find a consistent flow with inverted and lengthier center body lines within each stanza.
Nothing fancy or outrageous, just a form within which my story was constructed. |
By Blue-Stubby
They swagger collectively as carp in the current
with arrogance emanating a foul deterrent.
That not one dare break the facade's coalition,
fearing exposure of a pellucid juxtaposition.
Rum river currents from posh uptown taverns
flow from royalty's castles to vagrant's caverns.
The scent of fool's gold draws from their dens
a motley crew hungry with malicious pretends.
Preening in sewage of stained teeth and finger
under bridges ignored as shadows that linger.
No worry they are to the sozzled that splurge
'till they stumble from Inns wailing a dirge.
Down cobbled lanes the performance is staged
as vultures conform to the mark being gauged;
to swindle deep pockets while appearing alike
so victims are comforted as naive to the strike.
The skill is the illusion and the craft is deceit;
shining buttons to glitter so proper they greet.
Shoes at a glance appear of shimmering wealth
while soles worn through in part of the stealth.
Such artists they were of caliber small stage,
reacting in diligence from well scripted page.
Survival replicated from a wise doer's hands
as artful greeters slipped gold wedding bands.
The pilfered trinkets were collected to pawn
while jewelry traded in the shadows at dawn.
The plunder portioned to each ragged shanty
and procurements of craft to sure up the ante.
Strolling the Square all observing night's eve;
each despicable arm wore a fine tailored sleeve.
The drunkard's money belt no challenge at that,
... for so wily the employed Artificial Aristocrat.
| Author Notes |
"The wager stands for the daring hands that remove the royal ring of our countries fattened King" The Artificial Aristocrat.
This piece was delivered to me in the usual way, I saw it unfolding via thought visions, drawing the three dimensional atmosphere that provided this little sort of movie. Those that have chosen, in darker times past, to obtain essentials of survival by less than honest efforts, offer a story, a perspective that should allow readers to walk briefly in the shoes of one that does such things...to see from the perspective of a practiced group of thieves that acclimate as unseen, appearing as upper crust when in fact they are living in the sludge soaked areas of life. ***A grand thanks to "Mr Jones" for the perfect picture. |
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