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The official Daily Paul weekly poem thread!

Starting 10/15/13 -

Disclaimer: any and all words I post are yours, all of you, without stipulation. I am a dedication writer at heart and I will dedicate my heart to this small, possibly insignificant-to-many thread for the consciousness of us all.

A gift.

Peace and Love always.




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11/05/2013: Week 4 - Elderberry Lane

‘The honor of four young boys staid the years we trodden there,
the last of our innocence befallen’

We did not recognize it as the head of a wolf,
our minds held a proclivity
their emergence only under the white stone,
as an agate clear with light…

the earth below the earth,
sparks,
red diamonds,
shifting,
holes tunneling to surface,
white points the dark ceiling,
darkening the white points to Elysium –

their longing to frenzy,
their frenzy to beast,
a beast the earth could not hold,
a beast ruined where it dwelt,
to ruin under the white points,
to keep them as theirs,
asunder forever.

Father - Husband - Son - Spirit - Consciousness

The Statist Community

http://www.dailypaul.com/157321/an-ode-to-the-statist-commun...

"Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the office of a thoroughly nasty business concern." ~~C.S. Lewis
Love won! Deliverance from Tyranny is on the way! Col. 2:13-15

A poem is your great demand.

This, from one who holds head in hand.

"Home is where it's hardest."
-Tommy

OMG PANDAS!!! LOCK UP THE CHILDREN!!!
-me

10/28/13 - Week 3: Epitome of the works I bequeath to you III

This brief account I confess freely,
that has ever haunted…a piano in an early dream:

green incandescence shone the inner-workings,
with nuances in the sheen of the strings,
and the hammers waves of trebuchet
swung with immensities upon them…
to deafening resonance,
flittering with undertows of tri-tone
and dissonant chords that level
the soul in surrender…

with it my fingers ethereal play.

From the woodwork: lament,
and the ambiance of lament: heavenly.

I am small again,
As is God.

Father - Husband - Son - Spirit - Consciousness

10/21/13 - Week 2: Ephemeral point of Enlightenment.

Ephemeral point of Enlightenment

Pale morning had settled the count of blades of grass,

an eggshell white the dew a tempered-thin web,
unscathed that moment any element.

In the glistening a swell my eyes brought
and blindness ensued a wake of burning needle-points…

beset by the scatter
of the consummating light;

in the sight-loss I saw coruscating pixels afar the wings to angels
and the heavens outlining amongst them…

our minds read together until only One mind perceived,
bliss set there…this sight apart the world.

Father - Husband - Son - Spirit - Consciousness

10/15/13 Week 1 - Birches

There will be wonder why my reference to them was so integral
in the scribbling that for years through my soul has risen some tinctured means
to pour out at my fingers end,
my mend…

There will be reluctance to see these words as more than ink,
where passing by the days they served my besetment and deeper beliefs,
as my bellows and prayers not sounded out…

There may come light shone again o’er our tenacious ruin,
that became the darkening of our skies and the heeding of our souls
for that once sentient and undying…

There may come to fruition o’er the days our children grace,
withered harvests slung and heaped upon unpretentious men,
knelt forlorn amongst the languishment of the soil…

and there will no more be the telling of miracles,
birches leaning and clapping the southern winds,
laced with the scent of amber and turned gasoline…

and there will no more play out the cusp of seasons,
snows shaping the iron windmill,
keeping low thicket and thorn…

more than season changes below stone and marking,
to be remembered the years long to come
in the weathered etchings of finite dates…

there I still see my younger years drawn out to familiar light,
the voices of mother, father and grasses whirling the plum tree
to the bitter-rich snap of incinerate violet –
juices solely for a child’s tongue…

and there I still feel the old shed siding, the glass doorknob,
the rough sidewalk, the moss in the air, hummingbirds at my ear, slick-white branches of the birch,
thorns in the grass, thorns of the plum, the walnut beneath my foot,
the forefathers of the land who carry the cool breeze,

and carry in it all the past before me…

Peace and Love always.

Father - Husband - Son - Spirit - Consciousness

Living is easy with no legs

come one come all through the trails and the trees...
feel the rythm of the blossoms...and the bees
feel your life around for this is what it means
to live without any of your thoughts being hunted

the boobs tube it covers the media's for the masses
literal bullshit flipping through their assets
finding ways to twist and blur they tighten their lassos
for the brain is nothing without oxygen

peace, for the suckers is something they'll claim is not ours
it is handed down the pipeline like chicks in the yard
from one hand to the next just waiting to be chard
for this, I am a media vegan

If I could say one thing, through the bruises and ashes
of whats left of this place, the breeding grounds for the masses
is take what you want and just leave all the rest
I'll follow up with the matches

Just incase someone else isn't use to readining into poetry, basically the first verse is talking about the fake world built by the media, and how it is destroyed if you just walk away from it, second verse talks about all the silly shit put out by the media and how it kills reason, third verse is a clever way of saying I don't watch the media, last verse refers to the idea of using whats left of real reporting to our advantage and letting the rest all die off.

You just got PAULED!