Genre: bereavement / loss
Instead of mourning the soul is lost in the wilderness,
wandering thr’u the weary fate of crooked tunnels
to find eternal rainbows of myriad hues.
Then the dawn breaks open and life is re-born,
like the cracking open of shells to hail it’s reincarnation after all is lost.
And it’s depiction of many souls are like leaves on sunlit paths,
finally restored.
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Genre: Inspirational
Someday we will all be free.
Who, when, where, and how
This fantasy you spout, are you speaking to me?
Someday we will all be free
Is that as the bird, or as the eagle?
Free; a concept that many seek, but it seems that few ever find.
Free; is real or is it fake?
This phenomenon, free is it meant for me?
I look, we search, where is freedom? Is it all in my mind?
I stand and I fight, with all of my might, this freedom I must find.
I am hungry, you are cold, he is homeless, she is sad,
I am black, you are white, he is brown and she is red,
I seek, you seek, he seeks, and she seeks
Freedom, freedom, freedom; we all want it. Is that so bad?
Someday we will all be free
Who? Both you and me, as well as he and she, for we are all the same.
When? The day we decide that what we all want is the same.
Where? Right where we are, because the place we live is the same.
How? We stand, we cry, we support, we forgive, for the way is the same.
Free as a bird,
Flying high as an eagle,
No more concept, but really free
Freedom is real, but it does have a price;
For nothing comes without sacrifice
Will I die for you? Will you die for me?
Does he or she need to die to be free?
Stand up, stand tall, we can all be free
You can’t die for me, nor I for you.
He nor she can pay the price, for on a cross at Calvary
That price was paid by Jesus the Christ
O wake up and see that freedom is won
Believe, and take heart, as we all are one.
Bert Eugene
December 13, 2014
1343hrs
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GENRE: LOVE/ROMANTIC
Bright is the day
Greener are the pastures
Red is the wine, and so are the roses
Our love is of passion,
A love so red and pure
Like a binary of ‘Crimson rosella’ fixed on a leaf and clothed in red,
We are fixed in our love nest
We are clothed in love
A love so red and pure
Our lips chant the melodies of tomorrow
With inestimable smiles on our faces,
We think about the miles we have ambled
Together we have endured tempests
Amid the tests of time, we have trembled
But still came through to see the light
Bright is the day
Greener are the pastures
Red is the wine and so are the roses
Our love is of passion
A love so red and pure
You have in your hand your glass of wine,
Selfsame in my hand
“Lets drink and be merry”,
Acclaims your scenic voice
I listen as you talk about the day we will marry
Me in white, you in your suit and tie
Together; we will tie the knot
Today I know our forever is only beginning
And we will never be apart
Never will our love run out
It’s a love of passion
A love so red and pure!
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Genre: Life, Nature
I’ve watched her in my garden
She visits quite a lot
She lands upon my windowsill
To see what food we’ve got
She likes to peck the nuts we have
That hang in the feeding net
I even get quite close to her
She knows I pose no threat
She’s here again this morning
So cautious as can be
Then hops towards the nuts we have
That hang in the ivy tree
This lovely little homely bird
That stands out from the rest
An adorable little creature
The Robin Red Breast.
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Genre: heartbreak, love, sadness.
I needed a goodbye the other night
I needed closure
I sought it out only to be met with hostility & damage
You’re okay;
I know this
You don’t care that I’m not;
I know this too
I needed that closure like you need your cats and your iPad
I needed closure like you need your blonde roast from Starbucks
I needed closure like you feel the need to hurt me
Twitter handle is @jazzy_writes
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Genre: Dark
The ears of the night are mine
The dogs in the distance
What rouses their darkness
What disrupts our peace?
The ears of the night are mine
Hoping for the company of an owl
But the nightbirds have been poisoned
Long gone from dark skies
The ears of the night are mine
Listening for the sound of your breathing
Hearing only my own, a low rumbling
And the closing of a door
The eyes of the dawn are mine
With the light comes visions of flooding
The sun on the waters of our destruction
Both God and Man had lied.
PUBLICATIONS: Huffington Post, Kindred Spirit, Permaculture, Welsh Coastal Life, Celtic Life International, Big Issue Cymru, Mediterranean Gardening and Outdoor Living, Bee Culture The Magazine of American Beekeeping, National Federation of Occupational Pensioners (NFOP), Prediction and Living Tenerife magazines, as well as Tenerife News, Tenerife Weekly and the Tenerife Sun newspapers, and the Tripedia and Ancient Origins websites.
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Genre: Life, Society, Rhyme
I wrote a poem
about the inferno
that burns
in the pit
of God’s belly,
and how it’s spit
with caustic intentions
unto a world
that still hasn’t
quite figured out
how to handle
the last dose
of suffering
delivered
as a plague
of pestilence
and other such
terrible perturbations.
Then I swam
in your eyes
as the earth cooled off,
calming at its core,
soothed at my center.
Not just an ocean,
but an oasis.
Not just a womb,
but the waters of life.
Not just a smile,
but electric songs
vibrating
from your lips
with every shift
of this sweet symphony.
I watched a poem
write itself
while the day went black
and the curtains fell,
shrouding evolution
as the last gasp
of civilization
snuffed out
beneath the violent rhythm
of decayed seizures
and hollow shaking
in the bones
of a broken theory
gone oh so wrong.
Then I danced
to the sound
that echoes off walls
in a room
blessed with your presence
as we spun
under the spotlight
of a circle
drawn by the hand
of fate
and freewill
aligned perfectly
in harmony
with the bliss
born from your touch.
Not just a dream,
but a vision manifested.
Not just a raft,
but a ship that saves souls.
Not just a laugh,
but the frequency of your purity.
Not just a moment,
but a sign
on the path
ahead
that points toward
you and me
together.
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Genres: Hurt, Hope, Redemption, Relationships
Drive north down Highway 301, past
the school where, weekdays, deaf children
run wild on the playground. Keep going until
you see the sign, “Snake Man,” then turn left
into Camper’s Lodge and swing on around
pass the turquoise pool in front of the
Laundromat and park your car. Get out and
go inside – any wayfaring stranger is welcome
here of a Sunday morning, rain or shine.
Take a seat in one of the six pews painted
white as the washers and dryers lined up in
the back of the room. If it’s winter when you
arrive, I’d advise you to bundle up in layers,
and don’t forget your thick socks, gloves,
and lug soled boots. The cold north wind
creeps through these cinderblock walls like
pneumonia into lungs. Soon you’ll meet the
“Preacher Lady” and members of her flock,
the snake man included, and sister Kim,
newlywed, along with her husband Blinky.
Don’t worry if you’ve been drinking, just leave
your bottle outside for the time being. You
never know, this could be your lucky day.
If the weather is warm, short sleeves are fine.
No need to hide the craters on your arms. To
these folks, needle marks are common as acne
on a teen, or tractors on a farm. You won’t
hear any Trinity chimes or sing the usual
hymns, recite the Apostle’s Creed, drop a
check in the offering. Just come as you are.
You have nothing to fear, nothing to dread.
There is no religion here, but for the laying
on of hands and the resurrection of the dead.
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Genre: Realism
Within ourselves we’ve lost our way
From deep valleys to mountain decay,
While swimming in the pools of blood and bones
In the process of giving birth to an enthrone,
We’ve forget the method of wrong and right
Its time to see the dying light.
The veteran taught us to help others
We ignored everything with uncertain druthers,
The clock ticks and time passes so sharp
From Beethoven’s tune to Syrian bombard,
We’ve forget the method of wrong and right
Its time to see the dying light.
Just go ahead with a heart full of pain,
And remember me when times restrain.
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Genre: Life, Society
Instead of recognizing we’re king you intend to abolish us. It’s always been obvious first we dangle from trees now it’s filmed murder in the streets. Using mass media television, radio, and music to create deceit in us. Yea we’re free from shackles but you’re still leading us. We keep sleeping not understanding we have reason to say they’re defeating us. Why are we afraid to be heard or seen maybe we’ll be the next martyr or leader killed for a reason. A strong people killed without a cause it’s disgusting; can’t you see injustice has me questioning what trust is?
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