godliness

Inclement Weather Upon Us

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inclement Weather Upon Us

 

 

 

 

There was this doom
impending,
which
science calls an
"Amospheric river".

 

 

But I've seen a
different scenario,
during a time
of this type of weather

on my own,

 

 

mammato-cumulo
clouds, low-lying

which happened
just right after
my own mourning—

 

 

That's the time
when I learned about
prophecy

that [someone have said]
does not exist in your
modern society

 

 

—I violently disagreed
due to their ignorance:
like no such a squall wind

 


is ever-so-significant





But,

without 'spiritual discernment',

 

 

(truth be told),




the numbed person can be
wearier than those lying
sickly in their deathbeds




and getting old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Her] Genuine Smiles [Are Against Others' Wiles]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Her] Genuine Smiles [Are Against Others' Wiles]





No beauty is going to
be there
for things that do not wither


(I suppose)


We see what's beyond
(the mists between us),
Just like their Renaissance


A happy, wilted leaf
(On That Pavement),
beyond belief—


—Stairs to your Zen garden,
[but it's all tall fences],
colors are..that golden


Every mark, marked

in its substance;

people's irritable
lifestyles, their suns!


Yet we woke up
barely having known
those chafed edges

(these artificial vessels or furnitures

or implements of our dreams)
its beam of natural light,

not the fixtures, when it gleams


—content in the simplicity
of the God-given days


(but, of course)


also, for every nighttime,
when there isn't a rhyme








Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reedited 11.02.2022 [04:20]; 11.01.2022 [06:26]:

 

Added "(but, of course)" for clarifying what I was meaning & to create a more

fluid free-verse composition according to my current whim and drift.  Also, I have added some more hashtags/tags (e.g., kataware-doki, kataware doki, Zen Buddhism [two words], and tebineri, esp. rustic beauty to emphasize what I have meant by some of its thematic relations/topics that I indirectly/directly broached).  Thank you.

 

2. Upon rechecking & reviewing if there is anything that I missed, I found "subtance" to be a misspelled word and & an error which is on my part.  Therefore, I apologize for this mistake (it has now been corrected.)

 

 

Uncorrected form of the verse:

 

"Every mark, marked

in its subtance;

people's irritable
lifestyles, their suns!"

 

 

2. b.  Added another hashtag "#rusticity"

 

Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 










Transcendence (And Body Politic)

 

 

 



Her guises were stripped off

Like paint;

 

I had wondered where she could 

have gotten to—to act like a saint

 

The earthquakes have multiple meanings, after all:

 

There are moments of truth. 

But our attitudes, in facing them, such are several.

 

Why should we try to act on certain

situations, just to make us huge?

 

Her views of change mattered to

me, for lacking subterfuge

 

'Tis so raw, so fresh, 

so debilitatingly godly

 

When fake media is stressed, let all

disdain blasphemy.

 

Are we just spirits in human bodies,—

in the physicality?—

 

 

For, when— it makes it clear,

our true selves gather up

a multitudes' spirituality!











Author's Notes/Comments: 

"Transcendence (And Body Politic)", w/c is also an affected poem, previously titled "Transcendence", is a repost from my Twitter platform (inevitably composed on April 29, 2017/at around "06:58"...based from the deemed quirky causes & that perhaps had sprung from thoughts of a possible love interest (rather assumptive [on my part] & my motivations were unclear; thus, a type of a poem like this was done).  Also, I had edited this version (a little bit by modifying the use of punctuation marks & perhaps the stanzas/form, those were minor tweaks).

 

 

Holier Than Thou

Forgiveness is something needed,

For oneself, when we know we have hurt another,

Some people think they're perfect,

And that they only hurt others when they intend to.

 

Truth is, we hurt each other every day,

In one way or another, reason being,

No one IS perfect, just born blind about being human,

And having flaws, making mistakes,

And being the same, but different.

 

Men hate their differences 

And glorify their religions

Instead of glorifying the gods.

We have built ourselves up to be

Something great in our minds,

But so small in reality, 

That we can no longer even see,

We are nothing we claim to be.

 

Too much talk and no action,

Allowing money in the hand to mean satisfaction,

We all have blood on our hands,

Our prints on the gallows,

We've all murdered you know,

As we chant 'Hail Marys' 

And His name be 'Hallowed',

As long as innocent men,

Are murdered on death row, 

Better talk to yourself about forgiveness,

Cause anyone could be next ....you know?

 

Preachers and teachers,

All the blessed ones,

Get in line on Sundays,

And then go home to clean their guns,

Running their mouths,

About things that they read,

Never finding out for sure,

If it's even true, indeed,

The way to compassion 

Is through examples, not your mouth,

And a good place to start might be 

To start with yourself.

 

You may want to tell me

This is one big croc of s*it,

And that's ok, because it works for me,

And that's why I wrote it.

 

 

 

8:43 PM 7/2/2013 ©