Proclamation

A materialising convocation
of eagles talon Divinity's
streaking filaments
with mercurial wings.
Among squabbing gulls
the Holy Spirit
protests in a plaintive timbre.

Seraphim set forth
for the Proclamation.

At midnight, the Madonna
glows like a choral lamp.
Moth multitudes flit
about her radiance,
are captivated,
then perish,
dissolved in a flurry
of ashes as the Paraclete
blots his mercenary
visage goldened
in the flame of the Faith.


03/23/08
Easter Sunday
_._,___

poem, too tired

weeping
(as i do for
various things

when and though
pills i must take
for mental disease
make my mood flat

tearless grief
will not wash itself away
or even clean

though i
will
it)
would probably help

just as would joy
if anything
(short of
any of my
children
visiting)
were to cut through
the dimness
in which
disease and pills
make me live

but there are other extremes
to which
my defective mind
demands
that i go

i can't live
in the midst
of ice and fire

i tried

if i must
live
in this dimness
then i will act
according to
Your will

not mine

and feeling no extremes
except the bad ones
causes me
to be
merely stupid
not evil

and i will be cleansed
not by my tears
but
by Your grace

and i need not feel each
of the world's subtle winks

and i need not feel that Your grace is there
i need only
know it

--
Jonathan

grace

grace grace gives grace that is who grace isand grace is that which grace givesgive grace to receive grace and grace thosewho seek grace with grace and you shallforever have grace to give grace this is what grace is- lovemany many blessings to all this beautiful Easter Morn!!Filomena Costa

__,_._,___

poem, rhyme and reason

light that breaks
the freeze
before the animals awake
eyes are shut
against their nature
late
(a gift i'll take
gleefully)
i ease my tortured body
down the stairs
then i'll let
the beasts out
to get watered first in pairs

this
Your day
our day
though Thursday
is the break of sin
sleep, then follows light,
and nothing starts
the morning din

alleluia, Lover,
alleluia every day
but now
i commemorate
the reason
i can pray
not endless petitions
but an audience
with You
i exult
in every thorn
blow
nail that's hammered through

now light hammers through
the earth
the world
and all for me

break my heart
Beloved
make it all new

i can see
You sweet face
before me
and Your voice within my brain
acts as balm and promise
to my body's
wrecked terrain

and i smile
a rare thing
and i think
the moment through
all my life's an audience
You made sin yield
death too

Lover
as You stroke my heart
as always
and that cup
filled with my pain
mercy
and was gone
when i woke up

--
Jonathan

The Feather

The Feather

A feather fell from heaven.
From an angel's wing, it flew.
Through the ether, it drifted.
Till in fires of Hell,
A lone soul saw its last heavenly glint.
Raising his hand, he cried, "Salvation!"
And reached for the feather.
Other souls heard his cry and gathered in a rush,
Disturbing the quiet hush.
A feather from heaven to redeem perdition's lost souls.
"For me," one cried.
"Mine," another shouted.
The souls began to push and fight.
"It's my feather!"
"It fell for me!"
The hot rush of air from the struggling souls
Lofted the feather back up towards heaven.
More souls gathered and fought.
Piling one on top the other,
The souls became inspired, as the heap grew higher.
The rush of air from their heated labors pushed the feather ever up.
More souls gathered to climb the human tower,
Questing for the feather, yearning for heaven.
Soon the ground was trampled to a mire.
Yet the tower of souls grew ever higher.
Its mass weighed so heavy,
So dense, that the ground soon began to crack and spew forth fire.
The hot gasses made the feather rise ever higher.
Finally the last soul in Hell climbed the twisting and turning tower
of other souls.
Each one grasped another, holding tight.
He snatched at the feather.
Holding it in his hand at last,
He looked around for the first time
And saw that he had climbed all the way to heaven.
Just then the ground cracked open
Tumbling the souls with a collapsing, jumbling fall of the crust of
Hell.
All into a sea of fire.
While slowly the feather drifted down.

"Freezing rain"

Freezing rain

Late winter—

pines still in deep green,

sap frozen

Birds and twigs of a

big ol' tree,

rattling in the icy rain,

molded dead

A branch drops its needles

to the earth—

needles under heaven,

under icy rain,

gnawing into coral breasts,

with incest teeth

©Conrad DiDiodato 2008

__,_._,___

Dominatrix

Dominatrix

Is it quiet, as your fingers play with the sunbeams?
Those little dust motes move and dance.
Don't contribute, don't judge, no opinions, stasis is the way.
How long can you stare, unmoving?
Do you grin as each little light settles on your hand and fades away,
As your fingers close in a fist of control?
Or do you flick them aside, watch them float away,
Your body moving side to side, a small infinity, gyrating with you?

Copyright 2008 J Ruana

Love Happened

*Love happened*
*When we least expected it, there it was, *
*smack dab in the middle of God's paradise,*
*to grab and take hold of us.*
*It slid over us, soft and slick, *
*slipping gently*
*like the jasmine scented oil you gave me*
*catching us unaware.*
*We shared, we gave, for no other reason*
*than it felt right. *
*You gave me a coconut, i gave You a lizard.*
*i fed You uncooked oatmeal, *
*You let me think i wasn't poisoning You.*
*Love happened.*
*Blooming like the flowers *
*cascading down the sides of the house,*
*an explosion of color, an exotic aroma in the air,*
*filling one's senses.*
*Growing like a wildfire out of control,*
*hungrily licking to feed and nourish.*
*Love happened*
**
*Without warning, without expectations, and welcomed with open arms.*
*(c) Deborah Woolverton

-----------------------------
http://www.onairtoday.com - Search Videos

Kleptomaniac

Kleptomaniac
Daniel Stine © 2008

Kleptomaniac.
Who knows when she will attack,
she's a maniac.

I never knew she was this way
Until just the other day.
She swiped a bottle of juice,
Drank it down, now its refuse,
She's so clever, suspect her never.

Stuffing coffee packs
into a baby's backpack,
Kleptomaniac

I never knew what was in store
When I gave her the box, said I want more.
Contents were gone quick as a flash
An empty box was in the trash.
She took the hint, never paid the rent.

Kleptomaniac.
There is no safe she can't crack.
There's loot in that sack.

I think I sorta knew what she was gonna do
When she said "wait here hon, I'm gonna use the loo".
Not more than three minutes had passed
when she came out walking kinda fast.
Casually clutching, singing ka-ching!

My heart she did track
Lover's tricks she did not lack.
She's my maniac.

Now I know she's a persistent perpetrator
and now I am her unwitting collaborator.
She's my lover, the kleptomaniac
and I'm her lover, on a different track.
Kleptomaniac, she's my maniac.

Wail Of The Banshee

Wail Of The Banshee
by Edward Wolverton@2008

She cries by night
at the sail of wind.
Doom,and gloom
shadowed the weigh,
weir of tears
and scoffed at bay,
awaiting the voice
of a banshee song.

Wail, my beauty
till death has robbed,
the night cries
and shadow eyes come.
A voice
long distant,
a voile and volant curse,
volatile upon life's mist,
brings my slothful slope
beneath the stone.

The Devinne ghost
of the Emerald Isle
to visit in the dark of night,
riding the trail to my ravaged door,
and naked be my injustice
to hound my human book,
aloof the gargoyle's eye,
and a gait the manor house ruin,
gainfully gaggles my gaiety
with rufous blood.

Rumbling the shadows of wind,
the razor sharp of raze to my nerve
to rattle my brain,
and quiet my soul ready
for a time of death,
the quietism of the Queen
to give me rest.

She howls,
indeed to my thrust,
and gust she shall scream
deeply into my ears
the gallows song,
and gala to gape
upon my eyes no more,
as she waits just outside my door.

Crafting Words of Love

*Ah, that I could craft some words,*

*Or spin a tale or two—*

*Something moving heart and soul*

*Of how I feel towards you.*

*I'd call forth sweet-voiced Muses,*

*To share their melody,*

*To help create some words of love*

*That I could sing to thee.*

*A sonnet sung, a tale that's told,*

*That all the world might hear,*

*To help restore the faith man has,*

*So love might persevere.*

*But if I were to craft such words*

*That I attested to,*

*I wonder if I'd have the strength*

*To share those words with you.*
* *
*(c) Deborah Woolverton*

Her Tears

The rain crashes down on the dry pavement
Forming tiny splashes
Jumping up to meet her

Thicker and thicker
The rain pours from above
Shaping puddles beneath her feet

The strong wind sends ripples through the water
She can barely see
Her eyes clouded by rain

The puddles are growing larger as time passes her by
Had it been hours?
Days?
Was it even years?
All time eluded her

The pools of water
Now creeping up to her ankles
Day by day it rises

Her thighs
Her hips
Her waist
Is she disappearing?
Her frame is now decreasing
As the liquid's mass increases

So much pain she feels inside
She knows not what to do
Bar watch the sea engulf her

It rises and rises
She feels herself floating
Drifting away from it all
Farther and farther
Will she drift forever?

The seaweed flows along the seabed
The fish swim around her
But her pain is still with her
From all these years

Can anything bring her happiness?
The sea has engulfed her
The sadness from within her
Shines through her soul
A beacon forever asking for help
But no one ever answers

As the pain pulls her down
It holds her there
Unable to rise again
She lies at the bottom of the ocean

Surreality

Surreality

Reality is much stranger than you would think
More organic
more alive
more astonishing
There is a lot more to Reality
than any of us can imagine
In fact Reality can only be grasped
through the consistent
and determined use of the imagination
This is how we achieve the essence of the surreal
Surreal is not something existing outside of Reality
but is the higher expression of Reality
within our minds
Imagination is not an escape from Reality
It is our best tool for perceiving it

ANGER

DEEP WITHIN LIKE A WITCHE'S BREW

YOU FEEL THE ANGER AWAKE!

LIKE A BIRD OF PREY SWOOPING TOWARDS IT'S QUARRY,

FASTER AND FASTER IT SNAKES!

COMMANDING THE BRAIN IT RUSHES FORTH,

SINSTER,FOUL,OBSCURE!

ERASING ALL TRACE OF THE PREVIOUS HOST,

THE IMAGE BEFORE NOW A BLURR!

IN TOTAL COMMAND NOW IT CONTORTS THE FACE,

SPITTING AND SPEWING CONTEMPTUOUS WASTE!

CONTORTED FEATURES, GUTTURAL SOUNDS

METAMORPHOSIS COMPLETE NOW

AS ANGER POUNDS!

Sins of the Father

Sins of the father,

inflicted on the child,

whispered threats of silence,

followed with a smile.

Acting very properly

within the light of day,

then turning into something else,

when all have gone away.

Endless hateful hurting words,

a slap, a touch, a grope.

Never knowing what comes next,

not knowing how to cope.

Made to feel like nothing more,

than just some dirt and grime,

a struggle with her sanity,

she lost from time to time.

A fight to break the pattern,

so the sins do not pass on,

ensuring happy memories,

that youth may dream upon.

The evil, sick and twisted games,

to which the world was blind

her childhood lost forevermore,

buried within her mind.



© Deborah Woolverton

The Next Time

The next time I see you

I'm going to tell you how

When things are dark and dismal in my world

I find you there….bringing me light and comfort

In a way that only you can do.

How in the moments we are apart

When time seems to stand still

I can close my eyes and see your smiling face

You're right there with me

Helping to ease the loneliness until we are together again

I'm going to tell you

How when a gentle wind passes by

It's like the feel of your fingertips caressing my cheek

Before sliding up to embed themselves in my hair

Or how I'll never be able to eat a strawberry

Or watch the night sky as it explodes with lightning

Without thinking of you

I'm going to tell you everything

How I never thought someone might want me…let alone love me

And make me believe it….until you

When you kissed me, breathing life and love into me

Jump starting my heart

The next time I see you

I'm going to tell you how

I always knew you were an angel

Before your spirit melded with mine...

When your invisible wings touched my soul

Caressing me with your love



© Deborah Woolverton

Lonely Valentine

*Valentine's is coming
but you won't be with me,
I will not get to gaze upon
the face I want to see. *
*
Chances are we might not get
to talk upon the phone,
On the most romantic day,
I'll feel the most alone.

I never noticed just how bright
the stars light up the sky,
Until I looked upon your face
and saw them in your eyes.

I never knew the burning flames
that come from passion's fire,
Until one little Celtic kiss,
ignited my desire

I never thought it'd hurt this bad
to love someone so much,
Until your hand reached out for mine,
with just a simple touch.*

(c) Deborah Woolverton

THE NEW PARADISE

THE NEW PARADISE
Neng Tony Mercado Peña
ArtDax Translation


Open the door
Oh loving Shepherd
for my lost and forlorn soul
It moans and cries
looking for shelter
Your abode will make it whole

Give me new friends
Who will take me in
Who have goodness in their heart
And strenght to love
all their fellow men
and make each Sheep of Yours a part

Set me free in
the new paradise
devoid of an evil serpent
though bare I'll be
all my days there
Will forever in goodness spent

In the new paradise
The fence is secure
So only goodness will be stored
and the holy staff
will spread the blessings
of the Shepherd of the Lord

poem, (harm)acrimonious

will it be
the guillotine
the rack
or the applause
of (at least) one person

it could be
any of these
and all
depending on
the platform
onto which i blindly
step
from my cave

i fear
ill or not
careful or not

trembling
even while in this shelter
because
i think
before i
walk forth

apprehension
is nothing more than
extending
the bad part
of what could be
waiting joy
or tar and feathers

and all these reactions
mean
the same thing

i have done
as You want me to do

the only applause i need
is Yours
and that
is a constant ovation

Mother

Snuggling
your two year old budda belly
curled into my body
warm soft cheek to cheek
drifting
awash in the smell of your baby curls
giddy with mother love
a tender river pure flowing
filling all of me
in love
you
demanding bossy stubborn 4 year old
a standoff
stomping tantrum
tyrannical
manipulating me into concessions
beating me into submission with your inexhaustible demands
frustration anger
an urge to flee to run
escape
into nothingness for awhile
blessing
curse
mother.