Author: poetryfest

Epigraph and Introductory Thoughts:
The whole world is of images that surround us in a single field of signification. Every flower we
see is an expression, every landscape has a significance, every human or animal face speaks its
wordless language.
– Hans Urs von Balthasar, in Beauty for Truth’s Sake, 37.

All beauty portrays truth,
all truth is God’s truth ,and
all creation shows God’s glory.

Satan is a foreigner in this land, he does not fit.

I
I see fully flourishing creatures
overflowing with harmonious singing
stretching out to reach Him
glowing from the beginning.

Beauty breaking forth,
old prophesies blooming.
Sacred seeds flowering
in the fullness of time.

Geometrical shapes, symmetrical art,
symbolic numbers, all playing a part
of revealing divine Truth and
reflecting divine order,
the Logos centered world
with Beauty in every corner.

Every piece reflects His name,
every part declares His praise,
every place reveals His fame,
His glory cannot fade.

II
Now I see satan, the enemy of our souls,
prowling around to destroy,
whining as he goes.
He tries so hard to take
what’s good and make it bad,
to take the boundless Beauty,
and make it oh so drab.

(But look! Everything he tries fails.
What has he to be proud of? Nothing!
Let us laugh at him!)

He bumbles around, wearing a frown,
sure he’s smart, sometimes he’s scary,
but the beast behind the curtain
is really a mightless flea.

A bruised heel,
but a crushed head,
a whimpering dog,
waiting to be fed.
See his power? See his crown?
Of course you can’t,
they’re nowhere to be found.
He is chased around,
pummeled to the ground,
never to be renowned,
never to be unbound.

III
God’s glory is here to stay.
He’s set up a kingdom that will never fade.

Stay alert!
Watch, and pray.
For the day He comes,
and sin passes away.

In everything
I see you
You made me
You gave me autism,
something people are ashamed of

Instead of a stigma attached to autism,
I am proud of this learning disability
If I were “normal” I wouldn’t have had the same experiences
Most parents would say
that there would be everyday things
that their children couldn’t do if they had autism

I am a fully functional member of society
despite my ASD
Labels sometimes suggest limits

If my parents listened to these suggestions
I would never be a author
I would never have a job
I would never drive a car

When I struggled with learning something new,
I would find other ways to learn
Sure I will always struggle with things
but doesn’t everyone struggle at some point?

When I have to sign medical papers
and tick the box saying I have autism, I chuckle
Most people have a stigma attached to their autism
I am unashamed of my autism

Sure I have autism
but it doesn’t define me
I am privileged to have it
It’s a blessing in disguise
Thank You God for my autism

I hold the world through a dog’s tender eyes.
Periods of brassy gold.
and lengthly stints of admirable blue.

Yesterday we were in the tornado
path, but it didn’t show. We watched

the reports of other devastated places,
overturned trucks, skeletal houses,

people displaced, and were sorry.
But now our birds are chirping their

varied songs, the bees have reemerged,
the tires are humming along

the asphalt, and the air, so dank
yesterday, is now cool and sweet,

it’s like coming from the basement
into a party where everyone’s in love

with you. Probably there are branches
torn and shingles discarded, even

our lavender crashed, but just now
the traffic coming to me then away

is like the ocean of my childhood,
waxing in, waning away the day.

She batters around the place with color, light and music seeping through the air-tight windows and bolted door.
Each day presents a body to be painted and dressed for the flurry of moods that she rides upon.
Her voice out paces the singer in the speaker, her sound bouncing through the place.
The cordials of potions stream all over her skin and are thrown like a spray of rain upon the blowing conditioned air.
Her days are happily spent decorating Christmas.
Some artists need recognition-money-critiques, but not this goddess.
When she does emerge from her containment, she struts her stuff all around the sitty sidewalks.
And she beams with each pair of eyes who worship at the painted toes of her beauty.

One of my earliest memories
That comes to me
Every now and then
Is sitting on the floor
At grandma Mary’s
I remember
Not unpleasant stale carpet
Warmed by the sun
Large box television set
Watching Bob Ross
Painting trees
Behind the television
Was a window facing East
Letting in the morning sun
Beams of light would appear
Highlighting pieces of dust in the air
Little ships
Little souls
Swimming around like little fish in a living room sized fishbowl
And then waves roll in
Waves of thin pleasant pipe smoke rolling in
Finest sheets of silk
So thin they float away
And melt into the air
They roll
And flow
And bring the air to life
So much activity
Made visible in the light
Little dancing particles
Dancing in and out of sight

Be a loner, kiss mirrors in private
Shake hands with none other than God
Always wear your hood over your head
Monetize your blinks, your eyes are rocket science

Come on, you treacherous creature, don’t give up
On that incredulously diabolical rhythm
Cooking in your heart, every tendon an olive
Or a leaf of rosemary

And one day, you will overpower the Romans
In their own kingdom, it is said and yet to be done
Yes, it is said that you will do it, God has chosen you
And your skin, browner than a mud-stained t-shirt

Or the meticulously chosen white welcome mat
Many have trekked mud on, after indeed welcoming themselves home
Shine, my darling, like your name was Piccolo
Picked from a tree of silver naartjies, a tribute to the village chief

Bow, but don’t break your not-so-all-round neck
But anytime, I’ll fold your arms into mine, my love
Kiss the trembling stars into your mouth
Feel the sting of their candy hues, bizarre and melting

Like a bubble bath, it’s amazing what we’ve got going
Between us, this horizon is now a neon liver of love
Flowing my heart to yours, I thought I’d maybe write
You a poem, while the whole world is benched

And there’s not a single one to cover us
From the adolescent moon beams that have tried in vain
To love like each of us does the other.

I want to live life like magic is the essence of almost everything
And like every pick-up line could also be a poem
I want to see everything, feel whatever
Possible, and taste good lips and kindness
I want to wake up late and see the sunset at dawn
I want to be as steady as a rodeo clown
And I want to look the bull in the eyes
And laugh and be chased
Because I know that once the fear is gone
You’re left with life and nothing else
I want to see my friends smoking and
Drinking and I want to see them kiss and fall
In love

I want to see my friends smoking and
Drinking and I want to see them kiss and fall
In love

She climbed to the top of the mountain
In her ascent
She failed to see
Red roses blooming, so fair, so sweet
Grass green growing there
Purple lilacs, stalks so bright
Pink glowing sky
Turning white clouds red by and by
Blue fading into black
Her steps show her track
Higher and higher
No turning back
On and on, no pause or rest
Ever approaching the summit, the peak
Where at last she placed her feet
Looking down
All around
Brings a tear to her eye
So on the way down
She doesn’t even try
She stops at every flower
Inhaling their scents
Touches the petals
Feels them on her skin
Throws them into the wind
To see the colors fly

She climbed, continued

She twirls, dances
Like nothing else matters
No one is watching
Just her and the sky
Realizes here on the ground
She could have found
What she was climbing for …

Raspberry paradise,
all the bushes are strewn with ripe juicy berries,
in the morning, I run a sprint before work,
in the evening, I crawl like a black shadow animal
in a crowd of gloomy and tired workers on a boat,
where people with Harvard rings smoke and smoke
the clouds over Hingham Bay lay down on my chest.
Mosquitoes roar like lions in the dead of night in the forests,
and above the water it’s quiet, there’s not too much forest here,
and I don’t really understand, but I feel that the area is wonderful.
I like to let my guard down, relax,
don’t worry about anything and don’t worry about anything
at least for one minute, because then everything… and a new morning comes,
and you no longer know what to expect from the next day,
lie with me and hug me too.
I’ve read books by Korean women, but most of all I like books by American women,
for some reason close to me, maybe mentality, or maybe
names of the locality of our median.
Meridian.
Me in a tiny white top, with a very cute but makeup-damaged face,
and you are also the same age, the same age, my light, sleep and wake up with my pollen.