Health and Fitness

Candlesticks in a Den Poetic Prose

The Lord said, "I will kill her children with death, and her also... " and someone said, "But he is God, he does not do such things! " And someone said, an angel I believe: "... she is the one who will not repent of her sins, and she is the one who infects... and he is the one that searches the heart, of the many, yet she does not repent." I do believe, I am but a candlestick, one God can quickly blow out, remove from his den, from the place one once stood, to Satan's prisons, removed so the light is at best dim, removed from the tree that bears the fruit of God in his paradise, we are but candlesticks, I do believe, just candlesticks in a den. And she received a morsel of grain, and I saw this, and the angels saw this, and the same voice said, "I have given you according to your works." And someone said, "But he is God, he does not do such thing! " And she hid in a stone, her name carved in its center, (she was told, she would be safe there) and God came, with a rod of iron, and broke the stone, like pottery, broken to shivers, and yet, she would not repent, she couldn't, it was not her stead, and someone said, "But he is God, he would not do such things!

Born Into Brothels - Unfortunate Children Need Love

Born into brothels Unfortunate children Though precious indeed Sadly they have great need As their parents are entangled Often in prostitution and drugs Yet like all other tender children They need love, affirmation, and hugs Would someone show mercy and care? Would someone look beyond and dare? To provide a future and hope to these Which circumstances have handled roughly Terrorizing their hearts brutishly and endlessly Orphans are many and most without a Daddy As for Mommy she often is engaged elsewhere Selling her body to men to earn wages and bus fare Trapped young ladies oppressed by manipulative pimps Controlling, diverting, disguising, and always domineering Dashing any hopes of love, life, and peace without strife The brothels are a place of ill repute and shamefully lewd Adorable children scathed by circumstances that are rude Have to hear foul language and see unimaginable acts crude Is it any wonder they cannot concentrate in school and feud To survive on the streets and struggle to protect themselves At what they call home and in their hearts wish to far away roam Born in brothels is a dreadful existence that makes every heart groan Yet somehow these kids can find hope when a caring soul arises Sees past he who despises and earnestly in expectation realizes That they too can be loved, lifted, nourished, and skillfully educated Taken beyond this gross society full of sin that has irreverently deviated Believing in the wonders of God, dreaming beyond the wretched and jaded Perhaps if just one meek soul could show love to a child feeling alienated A wonderful rescue of a beautiful child could occur in a world inebriated If just one person could fight for the innocent children and be infuriated A mighty deliverance could occur for a child who has prayed and waited.

Two Bar Poems Two God Complain Poems

Portrait of an Old Bar In a Forgotten Neighborhood Oh, down at the bar the boys are playing, singing around the bar, on stools, chairs by tables they sit here and there did you hear what I whispered? I merely whispered here and there the boys sit, like pinned dogs in a cage locked as dead as dead is possible to exist and exist there still. I said, a poet once lived there I saw him singing and dying, around the bar, on stools. Across the room, a pool table made from corpse's, once there their ghosts exist there still as dead as dead is possible. Did you hear what I said? I merely meant how glad I am not to be there I'd be singing my songs with them and bragging and singing and lies. And I know now, and knew then, it was my soul, lost in the booze, my cage door opened, unlocked, my drunken face, stopped singing and the Poet got away somehow...! No: 2392 6-4-2008 Noon Walk in the Bar The spring sun beams drift through a narrow bar door as I walk through Death Valley with no shadow It pulls at my breathing and searches about for me.

Making Bricks For Pharaoh - Send Prosperity Swiftly God And Liberate Us To Live Freely

Oh, no my wonderful Lord We're making bricks for Pharoah Jehovah-jireh don't delay to show Your mighty power so all may know That you provide for your people abundantly Once again come forth and open the Red Sea Provide miraculously and pay taxes supernaturally Open the mouths of fish to cough up cash happily As in times past as you did for the apostle Peter Don't let financial constraints silence and deter Your people from seeking first the kingdom of God Show yourself strong so greedy creditors will applaud Let debt cancellation and cash flow magnificently Let financial acumen and skill break forth intuitively Within your people's hearts and minds spiritually Creative ideas to solve all our monetary problems Divine appointments, alignment, and relationships So we can rejoice, stay afloat, and not be a sinking ship El Shaddai the nourishing one Father to whom we come Help us because of our endless toil life is no more fun Grievously vexed by our employers we cry for liberation We need far more than the power of the resurrection We also need wisdom, wealth, prosperity, and satisfaction Alleviation from this gruesome plight of financial despair Arise for your namesake oh God and show us you care Before stress and strain prematurely grays our lovely hair Or makes it fall out entirely as we worry and agonize daily No more do we wish to make bricks for an oppressive Pharoah Arise dear Lord so with the Great Commission we can boldly go And preach the Good News of Christ throughout the entire earth Telling all souls the glories of your name and about the new birth.

Our Beautiful Predicament

She's beautiful, perfect and Oh-So pure; Your our Mother, we Love you, and we're Grateful to be here! We honor you, we respect you for all that you give; Without you... we'd have no place to live. We're sorry we hurt you, we were asleep at the time; But we're awake now, and we see that you are Oh-So Divine. We were silly to think that you were something to own; But you're alive, you're our Planet, your the place we call home. We're your children, you're our Mother, бnd it's time to play fair; There's plenty for everyone, if we just learn to share. There's no need to kill or fight one-another; Every woman's my sister, every man's my brother. We didn't mean to disrespect you with toxins and pollutions; But we're working together, we have tons of solutions. We have learned our lessons, with the contrast we see; We raise the white flag, so World Peace there can be. What a beautiful predicament we've got ourselves in; With the end so close, this is a good place to begin.

Claude Mckay - From a Patois Poet in Jamaica to Harlem Helping in Reinvigorating Black Literature

One of the most distinguished poets of our time Claude McKay was born in Sunny Ville, Jamaica, British West Indies in September 15, 1889, as the youngest of eleven children of his peasant parents in Jamaica, Thomas Francis and Ann Elizabeth (Edwards) McKay. McKay's family was fairly well off having received land from the bride's and the groom's fathers.He. is mostly known by his much-quoted sonnet: "If we Must Die" which was popularized during World War II by British Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill. Raised in Sunny Ville, in Clarendon Hills Parish by a compassionate mother and a stern father who passed on to his children much of the Ashanti customs and traditions of Ghana where he hailed from, his poetry demonstrates his undying attachment to his roots and a deep affection for Clarendon where he was born and raised. Such nostalgia for Jamaica was demonstrated even in his later poems when abroad. His early dialect verse makes nostalgic references to the Clarendon Hills. His father, Thomas McKay, had always shared with his children the story of his own father's enslavement seeking thus to instill in them a suspicion of whites that would become particularly evident in the writings of his son.

Come Blessed Holy Spirit, Breathe Afresh on Me Living God and Live Through Me Mightily Unto Eternity

Wonderful Holy Spirit, blessed Holy Spirit of the living God You are my life, you are my love, you are my God above! Breathe afresh upon me, make my life what it ought to be Burn away the sin, flesh, rebellion, and stubbornness in me Take my life to the heights of heaven so I can dwell with Thee Give me a delightful and sustaining taste of inescapable eternity Lift my head high above the pain of the past so I might fully be All that you created me to fulfill throughout my life and destiny As you come gracious Holy Spirit and patiently work mightily in me I shall be transformed continually and arise to give you great glory Take this little boy, make him an honorable man, rewrite his life story. Christ in me is the most precious hope of my soul and magnificent glory In my own presence I find no satisfaction, motivation, or internal peace I therefore pray dear sweet Jesus, my Prince of peace, for divine release My tensions come and quiet, my burdens bear, my worries swiftly ease This I humbly ask of you with tenderness as I beseech you earnestly please Deny me no longer, arise even stronger, and come dwell with me longer I cannot live without the living God, the Spirit Christ called the Comforter Blessed, gentle, tender, long suffering, mighty, wise, loving, and my Friend With the Holy Spirit I am never comfortless, as divine life in Him has no end For such a divine Person within the Trinity I open my heart and refuse to depart Here I am blessed Holy Spirit, make of my life a remarkably divine work of art.

Lies For Liberty and Homeland Security

Lies done for the sake of liberty Demonize all who disagree Personify dissidents horrifically Never listen patiently or wholeheartedly Run off bravely to war in Iraq hastily Secure the military industrial complex Ensure their ongoing pride and profits Never mind the loss of life among innocents Spew fear over the airwaves to all citizens Launch an executive order to regain power Remove power from the people to decide Trust in the arrogant President to chide Goad and get at all evil world dictators While our chief henchman becomes one himself Overthrow all dictators sitting on mineral resources Never mind false fabrications of WMD which we created That's right they were manufactured in the great U.S.A. Sold abroad to tyrants we ourselves happily armed and made Hypocritically turn when they don't with us profitably play We break loyalty, turn the tables, and think to for imperialism Write our own geopolitical play and remove them away From the global chessboard as we greedily move forward Meanwhile our half ass job done in Afghanistan effects Pakistan Why don't we root out evildoers in that Islamic fanatical land?

Animated Fairy Pictures Inside My Atrium - Protected by Fantasy Art Warrior Women

Animated fairy pictures I thought I'd lost them but there within the pages of my notebook they are protected still by fantasy art warrior women. I long to know their resilience. Chinese floral prints origami folding instructions flower fairies garden ornaments kept safely here inside my notebook. Love poems written to the voice of creativity. I seek a solace. I seek a hidden world once bequeathed inside sweet poems. I am fairies in art that got lost in obituary searches. I somehow know I am not there yet so pack up your goddess post. There will always be ways to end a relationship this is not that story. Plant anew refresh my table fresh flowers are all lined up unaware they will soon be picked Chinese floral prints despite all those vacant stares. Heartache bestowed some self inflicted by way of postponing beauty beautiful things that have always been within reach yet neglected like my baby roses. These things sad days that become a way of life objections to circumstances screams that have gone out denials embraces eluding to hope I am defined by what I now accept as normal.

The Inspired Poet

As i sat up and opened my eyes, i watched the most beautiful sunrise.Then i noticed a moving shadow that filled me with surprise.It is the old man who is very wise.I knew he came to give me another speech, so i asked him"wise man why do you come to me and preach"?He replied"i only come to you to teach".I said"you cannot always preach to me"! He replied"i must, you write bad poetry"! I said"i disagree"! He replied"you must go to school and get a degree, your writings are wasting paper, save a tree"Then i showed him the poem about my journey.Attached to the poem was my prestigious award, the look on his face i wish i can record.I showed him my pen and said"this is my sword"."You are no longer the poetic wise man and your teachings will be ignored"! "Now i am the wise man so sit on the floor, my teachings now are for you to explore.""You will learn about poetry like never before, and remember you are not the wise man anymore"! I am sorry wise man that it turned out like this, but its what we poets call poetic justice.

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