| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/11/2007 2:03:34 PM | Shadowriter: totally fantastic! It seems the learning is forever! It’s a ritual in itself. But I love it too!
Casheyesblond:
‘But sometimes natural faculties
overshadow
those things that only the spirit
can hear and understand’...
These lines are deep! I thank you for sharing, Casheyesblond! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/12/2007 10:30:36 AM | Tragic sillhouettes of souls on the steps
ghastly.......envision their mission, as I cry for the Why?
Had I ever known the delight or the tragic cry of one ?
simply storing my heart and soul within the darkness
keeping within my page and box
Grasping for more........yet my courage is raw
Wanting for true........yet what is my clue?
Had life ended many centuries ago........
what in this life would we have to bestow....
and whom to bestow it?
lest we wrenched every bit of bone and blood
from what we loved!
Surreal.......is the fantasy.........
more obscure than the ending
Mazing through the finality
what have we become
more important
what can we be? | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/12/2007 7:38:41 PM | while slowly drowning in a dream
I saw the eyes of life looking at me
reflections in the pupils
of a white dove cricified on a cross
shedding tears of pure red butterflies
falling and taking flight
in a sky ablaze with the souls of men
broken bodies intertwined to form a crown of thorns
unable to make a sound
my lungs filled with the cries
of a thousand dying children
shadowriter | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/12/2007 10:09:40 PM | Let us not use the word Genocide,
for then we would be forced to respond!
Under a hundred butchered and bleeding bodies
lies a nine year old girl; all of her fingers on her
right hand have been cut off, the insurrectionist
wanted to ensure that she never wrote a letter to
her slaughtered parents, the parents she watched
scream as they plunged hatchets into their skulls.
The U.N. turned a deaf ear; the ‘Kwanda Genocide
wasn’t an american national interest’, thus orphans
were told to pray, but in prayer, they were also told
to prepare for death; for the american troops that have
come, are only here to pick up people who don’t
have the same skin as you; this is what a child’s
ghost wails, wailing with the other eight hundred
thousand that now linger in limbo.
The safe haven was the church, before it became a
deathtrap. The insurrectionists entered the church and
infectious with satan’s venom, they became overzealous,
chopping up bodies by the thousands. The little girl who
did survive, watched as stray dogs would eat the decaying
and emaciated bodies come sun fall, watched as the spirit
of her soul stopped throbbing, as the blood upon her wounds
hardened up, becoming solid purple; for forty three days she
watched as her bones became her only evidence of breath,
looking at her heart pulsate right out of her ribs.
But at least the U.N. can justify this now perceived Genocide,
as long as we understand that it is too late, we can admit the
reality, we can utter the word, Genocide! As clinton stated:
‘if I would have responded by sending troops in, I’m sure we
could have saved at least half of them’. Said in the most
nonchalant manner! But of course! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/13/2007 8:54:34 AM | Jules…Simply awesome! Really took my mind there!
Shadowriter…I know what you are referring to. I think I see something!
It seems we all carry IT, to varying degrees! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/14/2007 9:37:11 AM | Transgression.......................................
The stones
are deified.
The idols
have learned to speak.
Dragons! Do not they smile?
Owls! Do not they tell God,
what it is that they see?
Chariots! They burn no more,
they burn no more through the sky!
Have you met Enoch?
Ah! Lament my birth!
I take shame into my palms.
I gnash and gnaw at my own face!
Wear my garments of haunt!
Ah! The newborn is now prophet!
But even the melody is evil!
‘Do you flay man with words’?
I do!
‘Then the daystar shall fall’! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/14/2007 4:40:54 PM | in moments fleeting whimsy cry
as dead defile the living
bloodied lungs exhale only pain
from Natanz to Arak
fever fumentates fluation of despair
between the waters of naipsac and naisrep
grows there a forthcoming plague to sweep the land
biblical foundations rage
the prophets call for new age past
behold the deaf leaders
too enblazed with power
to react and defend | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/14/2007 4:58:58 PM | | NW...and shadowriter, these^^^^writes are awesome. Great works to read. Love them. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/15/2007 3:08:55 PM | | Awesome poem, Shadowriter, and thank you Mandrake for the positive feedback. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/16/2007 1:46:24 PM | Vermillion colors........shed in my mind
you and my heart.........never destined to find
Close the book.......place it high on the shelf
No one cares.......and I really lost hope
Gather the memories......and hope
keep them close
as you weep
denial is one way to chase off the hurt
minutes of time.......just keep dripping away
Balance your life.....and the mess and the ware
I really dont ........honestly care
Keeping my mind straight ahead
Gathering my strength........making my bed
I have wondered and weeped
so damn long.......anyway
I have found that another way............
is more real
Close your eyes.......
when I walk by
do not wave........
dont say Hi.........
Just close your eyes........
and let me go................
pleaseeeeeeeeee......let me go.................. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/17/2007 5:05:33 PM | | Jules...Cool write. I thank you for placing it here. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/17/2007 5:05:43 PM | | Happy father’s day to one and all, especially to the mothers that do it alone! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/17/2007 6:33:29 PM | Abstract120
How does a man efface the cloy’n time/?
The baptisms of lies/? The bedevilments/?
Questions that weary the wind! Prayers
that make alert the dead! Segue me beyond
the otiose! Beyond the glass! Beyond the
bleeding cartilage! The face is now sunk in,
somewhere in Limbo, but I pray! The knavish
man he was, incinerated in soul long before
destiny’s calling. I witness now, that was a
streak of ingrown fear, heaviness, and
Bereavement that had marred the flesh;
unalloyed he was, begg’n for the reaper to
[exhume him] from the grave’s-liv’n-prison;
but what was heard…was made unheard…
How does one hearken to the great void/?
Especially when it sleeps in silence! Forefeel
for the distance…the perfervid tether’s that
strangle…forefeel and remove them from
destiny’s unborn child…the bereft spirit...
present here on earth…but product of the
underworld…mentally wrestle’n with
[trapped door spiders]…"weary of tactile
Invitations”…but daily cultivating the
[Genetic Shaman Blueprints] alive and
flourishing in his DNA; indeed, is that
a new wind? or has it only returned? | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 12:02:02 AM | ^^^^powerful abstract NW.... I often say to you,"thanx for sharing"...just know I sincerely mean it
A winding maze
with strands of twist
and turns
laced with words
that have a pulse of thier own
This maze
within each strand of twist
and turns,
one will find the keys
to the sound,
the harmony....
This unwinding maze...
not to be seen
but heard.... | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 8:49:44 AM | | Artistically put, Casheyesblond! And I thank you for your sincerity! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 9:12:41 AM | Abstract121
Do you wrestle with
a dragon?
Alas, I bear the river.
The Harbinger has foreshadowed
the reign of jealousy, the tornado
Of wrath.
Thus, from Shakespearian
goblets We set aflame libations for
the living; we Journey back in time,
through ‘Poems of Excommunication’.
The present storm has the sent
Of triumph, disguised in a folksy smile!
I retreat! | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 3:09:32 PM | Abstract122
chant me asleep,
thou precious spirit;
awaken the prophet
unbeknownst to the
vassal.
In Bardo I’ve
been, afloat within
the mindset of Satori.
my pains have been
mollified.
I’m the walk,
that makes the mountain
shiver; notwithstanding,
lo, indifferent the soul is.
the ebb of existence, our
only shared song, the song
of the catbird, gentle but
emotive.
In the aqueduct of
gladiators, the mind is
covered in splinters; picture
the indelible murals of
agonies, the familiar ones.
ashes that I now bow to,
even they are indifferent;
chapfallen, turbid,
and ephemeral;
sculptural epiphanies sublime,
rapt’n spirit in that drown’n
tunnel, the home of my
emotions. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 3:30:28 PM | Amazing writes NAW...........
Blinded.
There-by the blood spilled
upon Babylon's gate
carries with it
the incantation
vicious in it's secret
cradle a misbegotten intention
to where all else
fades as strength gives sway to greed
dissolves to what has always been
the key to understand what awaits thee
if one has only the eye to see
thy face upon thy stone is but....
the disillusionment
meant as such
a little horned smile..
I caressed thy water's edge
seeking a perfection
yet thy writing is stood upon thy weakness
should I seek the deep cave....
I would see that blood slipped
was drawn by these fingers........
before I ever was.
..T.. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 4:04:05 PM | TruthIsee; I’m surprised to see you is these here parts, but it’s always a pleasure.
This write is extraordinary. I especially loved these particular lines:
"I caressed thy water's edge
seeking a perfection
yet thy writing is stood upon thy weakness
should I seek the deep cave....
I would see that blood slipped
was drawn by these fingers”........
They put the incessant undercurrent in its proper perspective. I in heart and soul have felt this way many times. In peace, my friend. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 4:40:43 PM | | Joshua, 954 was so true, we need to keep it in front, lest we think the holocaust could never happen again......because it has...... | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 6:44:38 PM | off painted narcissus
alone by waterside
gazing at his own death bed
sees the wripples caused by his last breath taken
and feels the epoch of time
unleash its envied fury
devine malice
raping times unjust frenzied death
searching for tommorows life
in the embers of the burning cross
anger and rage
at ones own self
for things of which forgiveness shall never come
flesh burns in miday rise of motlen sky
and hearts freeze and die in the white shadows of rage
narcisus last breath
brings the end of life
for in man shall always be
vanity of the soul
reflected in the liquid pools of faith
and reverent service | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 6:51:15 PM | Brizo: indeed! You speak the utter truth. We must be cognitive of what has happened, what is happening, and the fact that we are being greatly deceived by our government!
Shadowriter; man, you have it! I mean seriously! I read the lines that you write and I’m truly in awe. You are truly a poet. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 6:59:02 PM | joshua my dear friend...the words are comming harder lately...the sorrow at the mankind I see is growning to an ebb...my heart is breaking for who we have become....
what you see in my work is in many ways a reflection of yourself...for I see your eyes observing the world...much in the same way....
behold demise in eyes of greed
for n ourselves we die
each day we kill of our own kind
I have to ponder why
of creatures so given to grace
we tear so at ourselves
our sorrow grows in ebbs of pain
deep within the wells
our blackend hearts and angryu souls
reflect the sorrow found
of pain and hatered caused by man
no other lives have found
shadowriter | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 7:07:17 PM | Indeed! Many of us truly carry this heaviness. Many would rather spurn this very truth, opposed to feel it in its intensity. All we can do, is keep the inside as clear as possible, while reaching out to as many as we can.
You are correct, I not only feel it, but I would feel distant from self if it were to ever go away.
The words only seem to be coming harder because you are digging deeper; digging for a solution that will resolve what it is that you see has become totally askew.
Your poems are very profound and moving. And for those of us with an inner voice, we hear what you are conveying in a very effective and resounding inner echo.
EDIT: Casheyesblond...It is always good to see you. Your poems always have a positive energy to them. | |
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| Abstract Rhythms
Posted: 6/18/2007 7:20:30 PM | the crying child cast astray in nightime rise
of evils play
barefoot in the feild of shards of glass
so many colours
such beauty in sunlight reflections of midday sky
behold the danger that lies
a child cast alone
mezmerized by the sights of life
entrapped by world before
unseeing of the corpses of the children
that lay alone
discarded beneeth the field of shards
glass of broken souls
and bitter tears
of those cast into the unwanted fields of pain that lay before us
unseen by the eyes of others
too entransed with the coliedescope of life
shadowriter | |
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