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 Sep 2016
SE Reimer
~

when joy seems lost, when peace is gone;
to earth falls flat pleas skyward cast;
when those thought once to be a friend,
have all gone on, seems none are left;
when ears that heard, yet now are deaf,
when dreams lay torn, and hope bereft.

do not despair, nor call for end,
beyond these mists i am your friend;
your voice, a cry on wing and clear,
not all have left, know i am near;
i am hope disguised as gentle hands,
that reach to sooth the soul in angst.

i am love cloaked as eyes that seek,
the wounded heart that silent weeps;
i am your brother, i your kin,
though not by blood, nor race, nor skin,
yet beats within this breast as yours,
a heart breathed life at heaven's door.

your breath, my own, my will i share,
till yours can breathe, your burdens bear;
my oath, my pledge, your comfort be,
my blood transfused, beats still in thee;
i lend my hope to be your warmth,
i offer arms to hold you close.

you need not face another day,
a lifeless soul who walks away,
a faceless one who’s lost their voice,
but ’til your own has been restored,
to you the lyrics, lines belong,
'til you remember, i’ll sing your song.

~

*post script.

approximately 96 hopeless souls reach the end each day, and pull the trigger on whatever their choice of escape they had planned it to be (that’s one every fifteen minutes).  the number is even larger if we include those who attempt and fail.  if there are only six degrees of separation, imagine how many in your circle this means are contemplating, and are in and out of some level of consideration of making this day their last.  remember, a song is amazingly powerful.  it does not take a fireman to talk someone down off a ledge or a policeman to coax someone into laying down the gun, it only takes someone who is willing to listen, long before the gun and the ledge; someone willing to smile and be hope and notes for a soul who has lost their song... to remind them of the song they have forgotten; their song... hope’s song!
 Sep 2016
L B
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel
As a fourteen-year old, I picked up a book to read at the beach about the legend of the lovers, Tristan and Iseult.  I was so captivated by their story that it ruled my imagination that summer.  

Anyway, I still think of it when I think of the ocean-- as I did on this cold dark occasion when I should have pulled off somewhere for a coffee, but I was trying to beat the snow storm home.
Route 84, also known as Dead Bambi Highway, has a desolate, treacherous section going over the mountains between NY and Pennsylvania.  Didn't have much option for music at the time, so I leaned heavily on the radio pushing the search button to find anything bearable-- not too much static.
Song reference in this: "Time of the Season" by the Zombies-- all time favorite beach song that happened to be on the radio that night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBxK3CcOQD8
 Sep 2016
Mike Hauser
why in the world would you choose to hate
when you have the choice of love
why would you give your soul away
at the cost of so much

why would you take for granted
the every day to day
when every single minute
comes from the second that you make

why not choose the goodness
in all of what you see
as you are your own eye witness
to all in life you need

why trade the best that's handed you
for what you do not know
why not take all the mistakes
and let each of them go

why would you not choose love
in this atmosphere of hate
when there can never be enough
in this world as of late
It's a dream childhood
taking the ten fifteen autumn ferry
for school on the other side of the river
little white butterflies
petite pretty ribboned
babbling like river ripples
boarding from the jetty in the sky
traveling below billowing September clouds
living only in now breathing joyous
no worry for a future
ferrying along the river
and now is all that counts
counting by the moments
fairy furlongs
on the ten fifteen autumn ferry.
 Sep 2016
Maggie Emmett
At Vernal equinox, the Sun crosses
over the plane of the Earth’s equator
and equalises the night and the day.
Then will the Emerald Dragon awaken
from his hibernation beneath the earth.
Rising in the jade forests of Ghizhou,
this yin creature transforms the cold, dead land.
Primal and powerful, he gathers the Qi;
melts the mountain snows to ribbons of fire
igniting the frosty hillsides to growth,
fuses each thing with verdant energy,
revives again the seed, renews the bulb,
sprouting tender shoots juice-rich and sap-full
Shy blossoms set to bloom and burst with fruit
Fresh scented breezes ruffle foliage
maiden ferns shiver with their thrill and ******
Grasses and reeds bedewed and beryline,
murmuring and humming low and dulcet,
dancing and swaying at the river’s edge.
Roots of every tree draw deep from the earth
Magnolia and Frangipani breathe
and pant out fragrant honeyed lusciousness
Spring sparks and quickens, kicks and is alive.

© M.L.Emmett
One of a series of poems on Elements
Although not Spring here in the southern hemisphere until 1st September, my snowdrops are up and about (revved up, no doubt by global warming) so that is my sign Spring is near.
 Sep 2016
South-by-Southwest
Who bends the wind
folds it up
puts it in the envelope
then will send

Who gathers the sun
like a flock
bottles it then
says it's done

Who ropes my emotional
ties it and then binds it
in black and red ribbons
it's not fictional

Who teases the vessel
filling the void
where even the left
has a right to wrestle

Come vapor ***** . . . dream
permanate . . . decorate
you titillate in love's
sweet scheme

When ? Then I am left alone
the walls still stand
The night wails as comes the dawn
The heart longs for home
 Sep 2016
SøułSurvivør
God.
Creator of all things.
So Glorious and Beautiful that
not even the angels can look at Him.
The seraphim fly around His throne,
two of their six wings covering their faces.
They stir the Holy Waters into swirls and eddys of translucent rainbows. Then they sing and sing and sing of his Glory and Majesty. I believe not only because they were made to do so... but also because they glimpse His Shekinah Glory between their feathers!

Accolades to the Most High.
The river of life, The Fountain of truth,
where wisdom dwells and love is alive.
The true physician, salvifically laboring
to heal warped characters of
despondent creatures.
Will you drink from the eternal spring
and be revived?


There are many springs,
there are many wells,
from which to draw.
But they are empty holes
which cannot fill.
Broken cisterns...
which cannot hold water.
Will you come to Him?
To the True Well of all wells?
To the Fountain of Living Waters,
Who alone can quench your
soul's thirst?
All praise and glory be
to the One who alone is
The Water of Life.
All praise and glory and honour
to the One whose voice is like
the sound of many waters.
Will you come to Him?
That you might never thirst.
Again.



SoulSurvivor.
Jamie King.
The Faithful Dreamer*.
What an honor it is to work with these two talented poets! Thank you so much, Jamie and TFD, for wonderful writing! You're awesome!

The God we serve is so awesome, also!
Worthy of Praise, Honor and Glory forever! Thank you for all you do, Jesus!

Thank you for reading us... We appreciate you! God bless!

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