Reposted for Marie. Mist can be tears, can be joy, can be blood, can be sweat, can be semen, can be love, can be hate, …can be whatever…what do you think men mist most?
This poem was written especially for Rick Mobbs at Mine Enemy Grows Older. Rick has been so kind to feature his beautiful work to inspire us to write each week. Due to other responsibilities, Rick has informed us that he will no longer be able to continue his beautiful art prompts. His latest beautiful piece is shown above. . . . I wrote this poem as an interpretation of the art . . . and . . . how I imagine most men, including Rick, may feel . . . at times.
Like Spilt Milk – The Spirit of a Man ~Written by CordieB.
I hold the world with closed iron fists
Though others cry; I vaguely mist
My ego causes my heart to roar
Yet also causes my mist to pour . . . . like spilt milk wasting on the floor.
Instinctively I’m a territorial being…
Not into that which can’t be seen…
Though often I claim to see the light…
Most times I focus on black and white.
Beauty prompts my groin to soar…
Yet also causes my mist to pour. . . .like spilt milk reproducing more!
My thoughts so often unrealized…
Not even I can crystallize . . .
the myriad of issues– real or fantasized . . .
My triumphs cause my voice to roar
yet also cause my mist to pour. . . like spilt milk gushing out the door
My God chose me to oversee…
Why has earth’s fate been placed on me?
Should I choose peace; should I choose war?
Responsibilities cause my mind to explore . . .
yet also cause my mist to pour. . . like spilt milk crashing on the shore . . .
~Written for Rick Mobbs in response to his last visual arts prompt. . .
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My creativity has been at a stall here of late. Perhaps it’s the zoids and pain killers I’ve been taking… In any event, I don’t seem to be able to focus long enough to write anything, so, I thought I’d share something I wrote some time ago. . . Blessings to all of you….
Photo courtesy of Jason McKim and is licensed under the Creative Commons
I can be cold as the bluest, hottest ice
And hot as the bluest, fiercest fire. . .
I’m a false reflection of a conceptional misconception
Whatever your limited or infinite mind’s desire
You listen to my loud, yet gentle vibration
You believe me fully with no hesitation . . .
You see me with all colors of the beautiful rainbow
Is that really all the colors? Will you ever know?
Only if you can let me go. . .
I’m young and younger, black and blacker
Smart and wise. A genius. A true catalytic cracker
Beautiful, and most beautiful – is there really such a thing?
Breath in the melody that I most wonderfully sing!
I can be red, yellow, or indigo blue
Although I’m real in essence, I’m never the truth,
I’m at your worst, completely false;
Incomplete at your best; a simple impulse.
I can be joyfully sorrowful and sorrowfully glee, too.
But, whatever I am, I’m always completely real to you.
Do you feel me! Do you get my point!
Do you smell my noise? Can you hear my funk!
Can you see my darkness? Can you touch my light!
Can you smell my vision? Can you taste my sight!
Can you smell the painful pleasure, Can you taste the agony of the estasy? No matter what, I’m always YOUR reality;
I am in you and you are in me.
If you change your perspective.
I’ll change mine– as your’s reflective.
I am oh so evil, and yet so kind
The world would be nothingness if I were blind.
But, maybe not-how dare I say?
And now I lay me down to pray . . .
I pray that you free me every then and now
From your dear self, for this I vow . . .
Will free you from hypocrisies
And all the false analogies. . .
From judgements, prejudices, anger and hatred …
These no longer exist, once I am emancipated.
My negation gives you insight, free and clear
Of a far away place that is yet so near
If you could release my blessed curse and damned grace
And move beyond object, time and space
For that brief moment in that sphere
You’ll sense a unity so crystal clear
Even beyond your limited, infinite imagination
Who am I, I am simply . . .
The following poem was written in response to Simply Snicker’s poetry prompt. This week’s (Through May 10th) prompt prompts us to use the words, Jeer , Jump and Just in our poems.
Also, we are celebrating the life of American pop artist Keith Haring , who was born on May 4, 1958. A sample of his wonderful art is shown above. Also, visit his site. He was a most wonderful artist.
In light of the light-hearted, yet meaningful and deeply spiritual, nature of Keith Haring’s art. .. I thought I’d try a little light hearted poetry to accompany his work. Of course a spiritual lesson is spinned in the words too–I think. Anywho…
Jump Back Juicy
Jump back Juicy, have no fear
Just becuz they jab and jeer
can’t you see the time is near…
when yo eyes seez crystal clear
Jump back Juicy, dry those eyes
look into the bright blue skys
nature’s bout to make allies
of those boys who make you cry
Jump back Juicy; have no doubt
You’ze about to step on out
You’ze beginning now to sprout
Ain’t no need to worry bout
Nothin that those boys a saying
they just boys who likes a playing
pretty soon they be prayin
for the comfort of yo laying…
Jump back Juicy, let’s go play
it’s another pretty day
Picked you flowers round the way
What’s yo real name anyway…?
~Written by CordieB.
Quote for Today: All things blossom in due time. ~CordieB.
I have a feeling you are in the mist of blossoming right now~ Just you wait and see!
Happy
Playful
Cool & 
Flirtatious & 
