He Arrives
He arrives,
To apply a different tactic.
And at His will.
You may not notice this at first,
By the way it was achieved.
With a quiet precisioned skill!
You have been accustomed,
To seeing life from one dimension.
From a point of view,
With an indoctrination pursued.
And His intention although not mentioned,
Is to shatter all limitations too!
He arrives,
In your heart, soul and mind.
And once your eyes have been opened wide,
You will realized the depth of those lies told to you.
Why and the reason...
They were fed to control everything done you do!
He arrives,
To gift you with the truth.
With an absoluteness you can not refuse.
Since He is the One that comes who can do this.
The only One to get a detoxing done.
The One who introduces the kind of truth that stuns.
He arrives,
And those conditioned,
To hiding behind their lies...
Find themselves without protection,
Into shelters after a run.
Or tongues to twist,
A truth for all to see that exists!
He arrives,
No need to prepare with prayer.
He arrives and when He comes...
You wont see Him,
But you will know He is there.
His eyes are upon you...everywhere!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Blind in Bed
Soft eyes, and still face grows blindness,
Your gloom besets when shut are the eyes.
Blind beauty promises unique changes always enormous,
The sleep is a song of the void, the lies.
My room sinks into boredom when he arrives,
He is a good doctor, wonderful and fit to be severe,
When he arrives medicine has come that deprives,
But it helps us with archives, and it makes us adhere.
The key of the doctor is near the bed of another man,
I cannot reach the different person, he is a sanity.
May God deliver his help to me when He can,
Like a doctor or a nurse of Christianity.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Truth As Quiet.
they say that truth arrives,
leaves and comes back again
to let you know,
sometimes, it is late, to some
too premature,
i have heard some sobbing,
others go to the extreme scream,
others deny, they say they have not
seen any,
truth is just around, inside the heart,
and those who feel this
lives in the quiet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Hope Comes My Way
No hope comes my way
No visage shows itself to me
That death will come one day is definite
Then why does sleep evade me all night?
I used to laugh at the state of my heart
Now no one thing brings a smile
Though I know the reward of religious devotion
My attention does not settle in that direction
It is for these reasons that I am quiet
If not, would I not converse with you?
Why should I not remember you?
Even if you cannot hear my lament
You don't see the anguish in my heart
O healer, the scent of my pain eludes you
I am now at that point
That even I don't know myself
I die in the hope of dying
Death arrives and then never arrives
How will you face Mecca, Ghalib
When shame doesn't come to you
poem by Mirza Ghalib
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Flower No Flower
Flower no flower
mist no mist
arrives at midnight
and leaves at dawn
arrives like a spring dream – how many times
leaves like a morning cloud – nowhere to find
When September Arrives, Again
September arrives and Autumn begins.
The Summer then bows to Fall.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
In New England.
September arrives,
And the sky loses brightness.
Winds start to whip...
Leaves off of trees.
I use to wonder,
Why I heard thundering...
As it rained to bring a change to things.
September seems erratic and dramatic.
Shifting as it does...
To prepare all for the Winter.
Children return to school,
As cool winds descend.
September has come back,
Again...
So quickly.
September arrives,
And Autumn begins.
The Summer then bows to Fall.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
In New England.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
When September arrived.
And Autumn began,
With winds again.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
As Autumn began,
With winds again to begin.
When September arrived.
When September...
Arrived!
When September,
Arrives...
Again.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Menopause
The menopause arrives with out warning
Childbearing days over as day is dawning
Hot flushes, tears sheer unease
HRT patches work for me please
Irritable angry one moment, next so sad
Feel good as you wake up Go to bed sad
From teenage years nothing helps you prepare
For the menopause years its not bloody fare
No more pregnancies the body a barren room
The menopause came with no warning too soon
It arrives over night, gets you while you sleep
You can’t control your emotions weep girls weep
Old women say it gets worse before it gets better
A toast to the Menopause a real life up setter
poem by Marie Causey
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Mirror of Lies
My Mirror Of Lies...
There is no where I can hide...
No one for me to confide...
I look at my life...
The Shadows following close behind me
The Dark that engulfs my sight
Fight or Flight?
It has always been flight
I see my twin in the mirror,
the mirror of lies
Tears flowing out of my eyes...
The mirror putting an artificial smile
With relief I sigh...
You see what I want you too
Fooled, Tricked, Dicieved
The one you see is not me
I raise my clenched fist
Shatter the mirror of lies
The broken shards which fly
Glimmering lies... My nasty web
When the mirror is gone...
When someone I'm not is gone...
The demon arrives...
Reality is on which I can close my eyes...
But not the memories...
poem by Lisa Martin
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Your happiness smiles
As the autumn arrives
the trees shed their innocence in to twigs
the leaves break the ice of silence
and fall on the soil so indifferently
that the wind wanders on the sheaves
only to feel the warmth of spring
only to ear the songs of the heavenly bliss
The Satan that always cajoles me
drifts me in to the salmon sea
in to the darkness perched deep within me
disgracefully lies like fallen leaves
thy blessings my lord circumvents
every malefic deeds of the Satan
and the dashing beauty of autumn
wiggles me out from the dirt
of self-pity and unfaithfulness
I draw a curtain of clouds
that blurs the sight of my vision
I snug your hold close to me
and tenderly tighten my noose
and your world seemingly melts
into my endless passion
I plant a sweet sapling of peace
on your kissing lips so wet
the shining dawn blushes
and sneaks into the swanky dusk
the pansies decorate the butterflies
as the autumn arrives filled with promises
Your happiness smiles
as the autumn arrives.
poem by Tarapada Mohapatra
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Comehere With the Quick Fix
They will get it when it comes,
And arrives on the block.
Loaded by a motive that it can't be stopped.
They will get it when it comes,
And arrives on the block.
Loaded by a motive that it can't be stopped.
People,
Hurting from a pride deep inside...
And found to bitter bite!
And people wanting,
Love.
And more love...
To share and keep around at night.
They will get it when it comes,
And arrives on the block.
Loaded by a motive that it can't be stopped.
They will get it when it comes,
And arrives on the block.
Loaded by a motive that it can't be stopped.
Gotta-git-a-quick-fix-of it...
Your love.
I can't resist it when its sittin' there!
Are you gonna come and get it?
Or do you want this good stuff delivered to you...
Wet and bare!
Telling one another,
This is not a love affair.
But a fairytale that has come true.
I hope I'm getting this exclusively.
This is what I want with you,
And what I wish to do.
Comehere!
Gotta-git-a-quick-fix-of it...
Your love.
Gotta-git-a-quick-fix,
It just hit me!
On my head like a ton of bricks!
Gotta-git-a-quick-fix-of it...
Your love.
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere.
Comehere.
Comehere.
Comehe re.
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Comehere.
Comehere.
Comehere.
Comehe re.
Comehere with the quick fix of your love!
Come and get a quick fix,
Of this love!
Come and get a quick fix,
Of this love!
Come and get a quick fix,
Of this love!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Door Slams
Sunshine arrives,
as frequent as the door slams.
The rhythm of the door turns into,
Melody. His face arrives, my sunshine,
but the door slams, into greater melody.
poem by Rebecca Stansfield
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To articulate what is past does not mean to recognize "how it really was." It means to take control of a memory, as it flashes in a moment of danger. For historical materialism it is a question of holding fast to a picture of the past, just as if it had unexpectedly thrust itself, in a moment of danger, on the historical subject. The danger threatens the stock of tradition as much as its recipients. For both it is one and the same: handing itself over as the tool of the ruling classes. In every epoch, the attempt must be made to deliver tradition anew from the conformism which is on the point of overwhelming it. For the Messiah arrives not merely as the Redeemer; he also arrives as the vanquisher of the Anti-christ. The only writer of history with the gift of setting alight the sparks of hope in the past, is the one who is convinced of this: that not even the dead will be safe from the enemy, if he is victorious. And this enemy has not ceased to be victorious.
quote by Walter Benjamin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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That's Okay!
That's okay!
Push me away.
Keep me at arm's length.
Deny what I say.
There is always two sides of a coin.
And I've seen both of them.
See things your way.
Protect yourself in that box you live in!
Trapped and wishing for yesterdays to begin...
Again.
That's okay!
Push me even further away.
And when the truth arrives at your door?
It will not softly knock.
It is going to kick it down.
And although I may not be around...
I'm sure you will be able to find 'someone',
Somewhere...
To come out of hiding,
With offers to sedate you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ode To John Keats
Oh lost love from long ago
I think on you once more.
When spring arrives and birds do sing
and colorful blossoms grow
My memories spring to life again
as if you were right here.
And all the phrases that you wrote
still sound within my ear.
I treasure them all within my heart
just as I treasured you.
I measure the days I must live through
just as I measure the dew
that arrives and glistens in the morn
and shines upon the grass.
Oh that you could walk upon it with me
and I could make it last.
But only in my dreams of you
can thoughts like these last.
And only in my wakefulness
can this not come to pass.
Somewhere in my future times
we shall meet again.
I know not where? I know not how?
But I'll recognize the when.
And together my love our words will be written
with the ink from love's sweet pen.
Written from the memory of
FANNY BRAWNE
poem by Edwina Reizer
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2010
Twenty ten introduces a seduction,
Infused with a sigh of relief.
Excuses fade away.
Satisfactions come to stay.
Burdens lift to minimize fear.
Or those perceptions once endeared.
To Leave many freed of sought attachments.
And a connection pursued that romances life!
That feels so right and deep with meaning.
Twenty ten introduces a seduction,
Infused with a sigh of relief.
Many will seek as pure happiness.
Others will not know this gift for what it is!
Accustomed to clinging to duets,
In disharmony.
2010 achieves a sense of freedom within.
A spirituality arrives.
Having little to do with perceptions of religion.
Twenty ten introduces a seduction,
Infused with a sigh of relief.
And an expanded consciousness accepted...
No one can debate or bait to deceive!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hellos and goodbyes
Ne'er feel need to say hello
Nor ne'er need bid to one goodbye
In it's stead, show love
And touch the shoulder of…
Greet and leave them
With a smile in one's eye
Greet them…as had ne'er parted
Only for a moment but had stepped away
Take one's leave
As in arrival
With friendly face
And heart on sleeve
Hellos and byes be simple lies
When one's heart ne'er in truth …
Arrives or parts
One can ne'er stray
Too far away
from those who dwell
within thoughts and hearts
Are they not in one's mind wrought
Full and warm in mind's misty eyes
So to me, you see, it's
Happenstance of hypocrisy
These rituals that be given life
Happy greetings, sad leavings
Cheerios, toodleoos,
God be with you's,
Fond adieus
…Hellos and goodbyes…
poem by David Whalen
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Okaerinasai
this is the stranger
dusty face and muddy
feet
caulked
he still holds the key
to the old room
his room
opens it
he was away for months
his dog is dead
inside the bathroom
the whole house
stinks
all lines are cut off
it is dark
he arrives at night
dogs are howling
the trees have no leaves
the winds are cold
the path is
grassy and wild
the squirrels left
when he arrives
nuts
the rats stand at
the door watching
his every move
there is a mirror
at the veranda
at the side of the
door
it is hazy
it could be me
in this
horrible
thought
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The shortest poem
The poem arrives in the middle of the street
It travels across the lines that should be crossed
It moves blindly absent of danger
Avoiding the warnings
Stepping out at the red light
Side stepping into side streets
Finding a secret turning
The poem travels the distance of the sun
Lifting clouds apart
Cartwheeling in parks
It feeds the grass under tired feet
It sings on the swings
where the children are playing
It sits silently down
Beside an old lady praying
It is in the hands you have shaken
The smiles you have taken
From a stranger
It arrives unexpectedly
Without looking
It leaves unseen
By the back door
It is in the gift of one day
Soon passed
It is the love that goes on living
Peace that will last
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Hymn of the Socialists
By the bodies and minds and souls that rot in a common stye
In the city’s offal-holes, where the dregs of its horrors lie —
By the prayers that bubble out, but never ascend to God,
We swear the tyrants of earth to rout, with tongue and with pen and sword!
By the child that sees the light, where the pestilent air stagnates,
By the woman, worn and white, who under the street-lamp waits,
By the horror of vice that thrives in the dens of the wretched poor,
We swear to strike when the time arrives, for all that is good and pure!
By the rights that were always ours — the rights that we ne’er enjoyed,
And the gloomy cloud that lowers on the brow of the unemployed;
By the struggling mothers and wives — by girls in the streets of sin —
We swear to strike when the time arrives, for our kind and our kith and kin!
By our burning hate for men who rob us of ours by might,
And drive to the slum and den, the poor from the sun and light,
By the hell-born greed that drives our sons o’er the world to roam,
We swear to strike when the time arrives, and strike for our friends and home.
By the little of manhood left in a world of want and sin,
By the rift in the dark cloud’s brow where the light still struggles in,
By the love that scarce survives in a stream that is sluggish and thin,
We swear to work till the time arrives for ourselves and our kind and kin.
The little of love may dry in its stream that scarcely flows,
The little of manhood die and the rift in the dark clouds close,
And hope may vanish from earth and all that is pure and bright,
But we swear to strike eer that time has birth with the whole of our gathered might!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Feel Like Talking
“There is a talk about you at the house,
Sit down for it is not a tale but a sad pity;
Your master is a liar, and you have no goal,
So happen like a lad of distress to gain pity,
Like the one lodged in the throat.”
At this snatch was a key to discussion,
For the master was a scoundrel always;
The master refused the lad and so innocence
Arrives, with queer things, queer ways,
Like the pity of a lifetime at the house.
“Flit out of doors so that you arrive,
Feeling able as you do, like a fine lad”;
The keys turn the door to alleviate the suffering
And then knowledge arrives to mock,
Feeling the fire of the mansion and everything.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Giving Away, The Last Stage Of Perfection
whatever is saved here
now must be spent
or simply be given away
because
happiness on its first stage
to be itself
must be shared
at the last hour it becomes
completed
when finally all of it
is given away
all of it, all of it,
its perfection is
its own annihilation and
then you go to a place
where everyone arrives
affirming the truth
of said paradox
all of it, all of it,
yes, my dear self,
all of you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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