Going and Staying

Come to the place where nature’s blessings flow
We’ll settle in a life long left behind
To play the music fast, and sing it slow

The world outside may scream and fall apart
But it can’t hurt us living in the past.

Reality’s become a crazy show.
We’ll take the modern world and hit rewind
Come to the place where nature’s blessings flow

Forget the world and all its many cares
They’ll kill themselves just fine without us there

We’ll tend the crops, we’ll reap, and plant, and hoe
We’ll live the simple life and still find time
To play the music fast, and sing it slow

And if they bomb the cities flat at last
We’ll sell our goods to any who come past.

The two of us need fear no friend or foe
No threats or enmity of any kind
Come to the place where nature’s blessings flow

No duty have we but to us alone
We didn’t make this planet a warzone

We’ll live in peace, and never need to go
We’ll set the pace, and it will be just fine
To play the music fast, and sing it slow

The world could end and we would never know
The perfect spot to live well and unwind
Come to the place where nature’s blessings flow
To play the music fast, and sing it slow

 

Form: Grá Reformata

Prompt: The video in this post. I expect I’ve completely misrepresented the song, sorry – I was listening to the mood rather than the words, and I’ve long wanted to write about the dark side of self-sufficiency.

This form is tricky. I should have given it more than one hour.

Sizzle Flow, Hour 7

Sizzle sweet beatnik,
Sentences translucent
Triptamine-influenced mindset more fluid

Techno-druidic architecture intersecting grey matter
Sip a cup of tea poured by the mad hatter and splatter random

Hail Eris and piss on centralized power,
We going off-grid lyrical Jackson Pollock here for hour seven

Seven chakras
Seven colors in the rainbow
Seven continents used to be Pangea, so the theory goes
But no one really knows, we’re all just pissing in the wind
We tear it down to build it up again

Lose it all so you can win
Shift the baseline
Shift spine to the bass line
Sizzle beatnik, sizzle
Slip along toroidal-shaped fabric of spacetime
Let go of mind and just glide
Reach the infinite inside
Ply secrets from obsideon tessaracts transdimentional
The consequences are inconsequential

Words cast in liquid metal,
Meddling fragments of fleeting insight recognized and tossed aside
Nothing can humiliate like pride

Why?

Hour 6

Oh what is this place
As far as my eyes goes
There is only dust Strom
Which resting place
Life has brought me
Here neither have
Power over my sorrows
Nor control over
My joys

Life asking me
Accounts of
All my doings
What do my heart says?
It’s ashamed !

Who is calling me
From other side
Of those
burning lamps

Is there anyone
Atall for me
Thinking and
Looking forward
Being sad…?

Head aches
Mind's numb
World spins 
Eyes flutter
Words disappear
Oh! Don't know 
What to do
Better just to
Go with the flow
Right?
And see what 
It brings

It’s Time (Poem #7)

I don’t know how to say this

How do I find the words

The courage to stand back up

The strength to continue on

The ground became my comfort

I’d been thrown down so many times

They think they can control me

They think I’m just pathetic

Unable

Extremely small

Try me again

Come at me

I will stand my ground

I will keep my head high

You don’t get to do this

I am not playing pretend

I know exactly how to do this

I know the words to say

I am standing head high with courage

I will continue on

The ground is just my altar

Cause the more I’m on my knees

What I do while I am down

I will continue to worship

I will continue to go down

So that my Lord will be lifted high

It isn’t how I got down

But how I get up

God is my strength

My courage

My life

If I stay down it is so His glory is lifted higher

I am strong

Through Christ alone I stand

Bachelors

Clothes on chair
A cluster of all the things on table
Half eaten packets of snacks lying around
Mismatched pillow covers

It was a room of two bachelors
Who tied the knot just 4 months ago

Rainer Ep: 7

The world was void of color,

Except for the navy banners that glistened in the daylight,

Or the light blue outfits that the workers wore every day

Blue reigned superior amongst the Grey’s and the blacks,

But as the woman looked upon the staggering blue,

She did not see luxury

But behind the blue, a vicious controlling state.

You’ve Got Me Walking On Fire!

Tenth Hour

You’ve Got Me Walking On Fire!   

I awake in the silent darkness of night.
I hear and feel things,
from which most would take flight.
I don't have a friend nor a helpmate in sight.
I must face the solemn torment and
harsh reality of my plight.  

You've got me walking on fire,
I can't sleep at night!
You've got me burning in ire,
they're after my life!

You've got me walking through fire!
with pain sharp as a knife,
I don't know if you are with me, LORD,
but I am dying inside.
In this deadly strife,
I'm walking on fire,
until this torment subsides.

You have been with me,
every moment of my prime,
but, what I have seen, LORD, LORD!
There is no reason - no rhyme.
I'm living in pure horror,
these are the worst of times,

I can't reach hope for fear is blocking 
my contact with the divine.
I've come too far to turn around,
My feet are standing on shaky ground.

Nothing I explain seems sane or sound,
If I should scream from fright,
I would be seized and bound.

You've got me walking on fire!
You've got me burning in fire!
They are after my life!
You've got me walking in fire!
The pain stabs like a knife!

You've got me where I can't escape.
Please, have mercy Abba Father!
In your hands you hold my fate.

You said, "When the enemy
comes in like a flood
you'd raise a standard against them."
I don't see the standard,
Baruch Ha Shem.

Do you see they are 
spreading themselves like
a green bay tree
laughing, mocking you...
Mocking me.

How I long to see them learn
how powerful you are
and that they will surely burn...
"The Fire Next time,"
(James Baldwin).

Compton, CA 90222
June 22, 2019@15:48

Stuck and Locked – Hour 6

       So really small           So far away
     No feeling at all           With no-one to play
      Only one is left           Am I locked out?
And that is loneliness           Is there nothing about
      Stuck at a place           An outcast like me?
That means nothingness           Or am I just weird
                                 Because I feared
                                 The future of me?
                                 Whenever I see you
You sit there, laughing and talking to others.
You once said, our relationship was being brothers
And yet, I don't see that relationship in us.
What do I wrong? Whatever it is, please, we can discuss
And talk it all out. Still, you locked me out.

prompt #9, hour 7 ~ resurrection fern (unfinished)

Bloodlines (revised last stanza)

It took a move east to resurrect
my Southern roots. To remind me
of the Kentucky in my bloodline
the racists I know well. How they
flourish in the fertile hatred of today.
Always there are reasons. So they tell me.

It took the familiarity of mountains
I had never seen their hazy blue ridges
to heal my seared wounds. Allow me grief.
Worn tops softened by water, these
are the mountains my grandmother
who would not watch a black newscaster
crossed to Oklahoma. They are my bones.

And now the children of her children’s
children’s children mingle black brown white
like the soft silt beneath the resurrection fern.
They paint the landscape with their laughter
in the bright languages of love. Far away from then.

Here among the spruce and fir, hawthorns
berry after dogwood. Tulip poplars reach out
above the ridgelines of the old houses beneath.
A man in Roanoke writes the stories of nooses
and the men & women who hung from them.
Time is a river that erodes the shores of memory.

This is not the state where my young lover
fled a car that ran him over, driver laughing.
Nor is this the state where a friend was warned
Don’t be caught here after the dark you resemble.
That South too is a thread in my mother’s cord.

I have fed from the bloody hands of ‘good people.’
I have noted the excuses for their hatreds, all
in the name of some white god. Perhaps the god
of my grandmother, but not her children’s
children’s children. It took a move east
for me to remember this.

Something more than blood lives within these hills
Something resurrected not from the bones of hate
but from the ashes of forgiveness, that warmed
the coloured mud we grew from. Like the grief I hold
within me, grief I cannot give a name to.
Like the nameless Southern colours neither black
nor white. Like the soft blue mountains
that have seen it all before. Like memory
returning home.