Quiet Stimulus Timing Us It Is That Much
Quiet stimulus timing us. A walk through, My forest floor is covered with a thousand snake-skins, Belonging to my multiplicity or my single One? How to keep count? Baffling tenderness felt through many 'Agains, ' Dreams squeezing through quilts and pillows; stretching, and yawning into blued veins. Cherubs teaching the first ants how to march while carrying a hill's dream to be upwards, forming the ground towards a sky. A soft hip. Yellow lays next to me and blue tears me apart, Green carries me in its full stomach smiling. Lion-face faces a roaring bellowing breeze, Birds lift mosses, catching salamanders, beetles, and Appetite-wives.
To Begin at the Very Base of One s Condition
To begin at the very base of one's condition, whichever that 'one' may be at the forefront tonight, listening for it yesterday as I felt my heart surge, to want to plant my knees in the green desert! It's the sand who has melted from having been yellow and blue. There is returning, this is again and again, no more wisdom, no lesser, no judge, the courtroom has not even invented paper to be drawn on. Then there is the conscience of one's private orgasms or 'orgasm conscience.' Where are you man, woman, afterward when you are over 'it, ' your race under the arm of a rabbit, the dangling limb of a worn out athlete, the somber sweating nest of a bird who is so patient, it has forgotten how to lay its egg.
PTSD Canceled to Celebrate Christmas and Easter Every Day
Trauma in the mind is like a deep cut that just festers and gets infected. Strategies and sutures are tirelessly rejected. Self-defeating thoughts eventually paralyze and create disease in the mind. Only God can heal this kind. Go to the place where you can find help that is truly best. It's always the sight where the mind and heart get some rest. God, Heaven's Webmaster hears whatever the heart wants to confess. He is there when the mind and body start to regress. Therapy and artwork can only go so far to heal. When you need mental health help He is the real deal! God sends his Grace free of charge unlike a therapist who cannot forgive sin.
Not a Dream, No
Not a dream, no. What I sense (if 'sense' can be considered a mediator between soul and body) is that I am working on 'this' in me, a being and a place simultaneously. I go out now and will stand there to work towards and into 'a place, ' though 'there I am', like [that] and [what.] 'Could' is such a difficult word. Returning is a very distant event; too, it gathers its strength from having been that same substance that was Becoming: it is a pausing place in some way, a breathing, not an inhale or exhale, simply breath and look. 'I am' and 'ready' should never have been placed together in the sphere of phrasing on Earth, since they are strangest strangers when trying to help one another.
Another Day and All Over Again
Another day and all over again something stands up with us and claims our names, not portions or sections of a thought, whole entrances and exits lay spread out through its hands, like a map turned upside down, backwards, read by being held up in front of a blazing sun shinning. As Moses and Noah go tumbling down together on a grassy hill playing; commandments and great bails of lumber sit awaiting their ascent again... 'back to the drawing board, ' the indescribable repose and soberness of an exhausted child, the ringing of an alarm, and the quiet swimming hole... A beetle sounds buzzzz to the only trout, while halo-ripples surround it, signaling the surface to awaken and take notice of the face peering up through it, the weaver-finned breaking the mirror again.
All Trains Stop Here
All trains come to an abrupt halt, We call it cardiac arrest or heart stop, No time at disposal for things to arrange, No grace allowed for orderly manage, Very essence of things and philosophy, All leave for abode to collect trophy, Paths destined for sure to choose way, Body remain motionless on ground lay, Small indicator within may give little glow, Final preparation ideas suddenly flow. High winds and air make sound and blow, Unnatural happenings with shapes grow, Who know what is lying in store? Whether for sure to reach a shore, Urge to finish work more and more, Suddenly grief takes over and feelings bore, All living beings know it for sure, It is reality and no more cures, Only smooth passage you must ensure, Hands join for prayers and assure, I had my mission fulfilled and complete, All good accounts retain and bad ones delete, Rest left for others to judge, Stood ground well and did not budge, These feeling emerge for noble man, Who prayed sincerely for cause common?
Poems For Dogs Death
The following poems are written to share with someone who has lost a dog. First Poem for Poems for Dogs Death Loss of Your Family Pet As each day goes by and the loss subsides You can't help but remember your treasured friend filling their water and food dish has come to an end The place to rest and watch over you still is a place that they went to at will. For as you continue to remember them yet rest assured that they have the world's greatest vet. Second Poem of Poems for Dogs Death Angels of The Four Legged Kind Wings are not only for the birds above for God gifted your with a dog to love He knew the love that you could give for he knew the perfect place for that dog to live and as you have a void that can't be filled remember that your memories can't be killed.
Look Only at What Makes You Happy
Look only at what makes you happy. Focus on it no matter what. If it makes you happy, you attracted it in your life and that's all that counts. In the now you have everything you need to live: food, clothing, and shelter. Be sure to have Faith for our world is watched by the Creator who will help you in times of need and in ways you are not aware of. Be sure to have Hope for hope draws all the positive energy in the universe. Be sure to have Love for love cures ills, gives strength, provides focus and balance. Negative energy? Where do they come from? People's thoughts created them: sadness, anger, conflict, chaos.
Two Sonnets
This first sonnet is dedicated to the staff and volunteers of Narconon whose selfless dedication and routine achievement near-miraculous results it was my pleasure to witness during the years that I worked at Narconon drug-free drug and alcohol rehabilitation center in the United Kingdom. I Down there but for the grace of God go men, Into a mire as agonized as hell, Our children, brothers driven there by pain, Frail hands outstretched beseeching, "make me well! " This trap, this trick, this torture cruel as death Starts like a balm, then holds like jaws steel-sprung In whose unyielding maw ensnares our best And leaves the native worth of them undone.
When It s Time For the Nursing Home With a Poem
The Nursing Home I wrote this piece in 1982. It's about my great grandmother. After 98 years she could no longer care for herself. She told me she was mad because she had lost a contest with her older sister. What contest? Whoever lives the longest wins. Her older sister lived to be 101. "I was often with her at the nursing home. Her hair was cut short and permed. In the past her thick snow white hair reached down and past her mid section. She looked at me and didn't seem to recognize me right away but her eyes were not so good. While talking to her I realized her hearing aid was old. Squeezing my hand in hers our palms began to sweat.