"I Feel Like Al Khidr to a Bunch of Moses"

I feel like Al Khidr to a bunch of Moses,

Glimpsing ahead, while the present proposes.

My actions may not align with your current view,

But in time, understanding will shine through.

Some things transcend the grasp of our minds,

Mysteries unfold, leaving reason behind.

Don't talk down, don't hate, seek to comprehend,

For ignorance breeds haste, and misunderstanding won't amend.

Stupidity lingers in the rush to judge and decry,

Lacking understanding, the foolishness lies.

Reasons hidden, veiled from plain sight,

Require patience and wisdom to bring to light.

For every action, a reason does exist,

A chain of events, a twist and a twist.

Equal and opposite, reactions unfold,

In the tapestry of life, intricate stories untold.

Seek knowledge, delve deeper than what's presented,

Not all truths lie in the obvious, the contented.

For wisdom awaits those who yearn to learn,

In the realm beyond, where understandings burn.

So let's tread with humility, and seek to uncover,

The layers beneath, where mysteries hover.

I feel like Al Khidr, with knowledge to share,

In the dance of existence, where truths lay bare.

Grade A Cue

Little Cheating Heart:Wordplay:H-DOT

I can't escape,

Can't escape,

From your little cheating heart,

Lies all day,

Masquerades,

And it's terrifying,

Left me with shame,

All the pain,

So regretfully you're not,

Gonna change,

So again........

Pictures of you on my walls,

All the memories that,

Come with the years,

To express,

All the pain I'm feeling,

This is a song,

Sing along,

All you broken Dreamers,

Keep pushing on,

Moving on,

If you're afraid,

And need change,

Let the music heal it,

If you believe in my words,

But your heart conceals and,

Carries regrets from the past,

So much emptiness,

I know it's a task,

To relax,

Vertical lines guess who's back?

Here's a message to you,

Pick any genre but rap,

This is not the usual,

Written response,

This is facts,

That your little cheating heart,

Makes me wanna,

Strike back,

I crossed my exes,

Then blocked all exits,

I thought you women were detectives,

You're talking reckless,

So if you think I went defective,

Recheck your checklist,

Was in that doghouse for awhile,

But I learned my lessons,

Since adolescents,

I was stressing,

But my curse a blessing,

But Interestingly your cheating heart,

Avoids those questions,

You're calculated and hypnotic,

Emotional drama,

Tears of a clown I've been crying,

Your boy is a charmer,

Flowing like water,

Over lava,

It's gonna get harder,

Hell of a view,

Walk away,

And you only get hotter,

I'm a son of a daughter,

Might be someone's nirvana,

Get it daughter call-on-a?

My telephone is crazy,

Like my Wordplay proper,

Profound,

Pronouns,

Educators,

Anonymous partners,

Collaborate,

Press my Single,

With labels,

I'm on a,

Different stroke,

Call it genius,

My I.Q. is monstrous,

I'll hide your little cheating heart,

Under floorboards,

And spark this,

Undeniable heat,

See the flames that I keep?

No burning love stories,

Usher's,

No movies,

Relief,

I'm attuned to a beat,

Pickles,

Relish ya'll sweet,

No deal,

Thanks ok,

Send-a-buns,

Butt there's usually meat,

I don't usually sleep,

Love I'm usually deep,

The backstory of your life,

I just ruined your sleep,

I can't escape,

Can't escape,

From your little cheating heart,

Lies all day,

Masquerades,

And it's terrifying,

Left me with shame,

All the pain,

So regretfully you're not,

Gonna change,

So again........

I can't escape,

Can't escape,

From your little cheating heart,

Lies all day,

Masquerades,

And it's terrifying,

Left me with shame,

All the pain,

So regretfully you're not,

Gonna change,

So again........

Kelly Ephraim Benjamin Jordan

from standard things

t's steeped in American tradition

this is where it starts.

Her name is Olga or Helga

waiting a table

it's 3 in the morning

she's shining a table

she's moving my dishes

(her American dream).

I'm divorcing myself from standard things.

It's a trickle over to the realm of dreams

I don't know what is

real or fake or in-between;

I only know

we're dancing.

The motions of raising these cups to my lips

and forks to my mouth is

becoming a crisis of robotic

and overly-conscious proportions.

I'd sooner just sit still and starve

for posterity

and integrity of a thinning spirit

that used to be called

personality.

There's no sign of people here.

Just

inorganic flashing lights

imitating movement.

But, oh, I love the Christmas tree

that diamond

in the desert-sea of standard personality.

How long can

tradition

comfort me, before i am corroded?

She ha-ha-has and he-he-hes,

likes Mozart but she lies about it

and only admits to what seems to be

usual.

Typical robotic commonalities.

I'm claiming to rebel against these things.

But I'm a liar.

a liar.

a liar.

My existence

in participation

is perpetuating condonation.

I am steeped in standard things.

-clw

11-29-06

self-help

self-help

I've always loved liars

for

their beautiful, delusional double-speak.

Always believing,

no matter how empty.

I was raised on such words

by my father,

the teamster,

who drank vodka in secret

(probably right in front of me).

This

is my baseline

for 'normalcy.'

Broken promises and a penchant

for daydreams.

I grew up having surgeries.

I missed a lot of things.

I got all affected

by the people around me.

But I'm working on it.

I'm working on it.

I'm working on it

(actively).

-clw

A Detonated Pageant

I shuddered in

silent disbelief

when I first saw it,

crudely strapped

to the bottom

of almost

everyone’s chair.

Amidst the fanfare,

it produced a low

buzzing sound,

that was obvious,

If anyone was willing

to pause and listen.

If they did,

they would have feared they

would never hear

another sound

more fatal to

their pageantry.

©cmd 2023 [aka o.monger]

Cible Divine Mercy

In the still of life's complex tapestry,

I weave words of paradoxical mastery,

A seeker's silhouette in the twilight's glow,

Cible Divine Mercy, where the heart's rivers flow.

Reflections of life, in the mirror of the soul,

P.o.e.m.s of self-discovery, where the silent stories are told.

Bearing the cross, feeling the love's embrace,

In the divine mercy, finding our saving grace.

Journeys of reflection, paths less defined,

Perspectives on life, through the corridors of the mind.

In the labyrinth of faith, where shadows dance with light,

Cible Divine Mercy guides us through the night.

Empowerment and enlightenment, in the trials we face,

Navigating life's challenges, with dignity and grace.

Wisdom in words, a beacon in the dark sea,

Cible Divine Mercy, set the spirit free.

Resilience and empowerment, humanity's quiet plea,

In the echoes of silence, we yearn to be free.

Soulful reflections, in spirituality we immerse,

Seeking Cible Divine Mercy, for the universe to converse.

Insights on society, faith, and self-reflection,

A mosaic of love, loss, and life's direction.

Through the storms and calms, the heart bravely sails,

Cible Divine Mercy, where the truth prevails.

It's a quest for love, in the depths of despair,

Finding self-discovery, in the breath of prayer.

Cible Divine Mercy, where our journeys commence,

Embracing the dance of life, with resilience and sense.

So here's my testament, my poetic decree,

The essence of life, in Cible Divine Mercy.

For in each verse and rhyme, there's a lesson to impart,

An eternal reflection of the human heart.

Grade A Cue

Returning

I imagined my return home after 

Christmas the way the Prodigal

returned struck by the landmarks 

that retained enough of yesterday 

to guide him.  The past not yet fleeing

fast enough away and the certain, 

uncertain steps of return.

I drove in the rain surrounded on all

sides by valley mists, stream fogs,

the winter bareness.  

I didn’t drive trying to make up time

but drove as if each revolution of the tires

was a tentative step between desire

and regret.  The rain didn’t let up.  The gray

did not go away.  So I drove uncertain 

of welcome, of if I’d be taken back

into time and eternity and the place

I was returning to.  I got confused 

forgetting I was returning home,

felt I was the Prodigal, that I was thin

from deprivation and desperation,

forgot – for a minute – I had seen my

children, my grandchildren, my once

wife and had broken bread, exchanged gifts 

and  I knew I could come and go

along that road that led me away

from home and back again.  Thought

I heard the Prodigal say, “Dad, I’m home.”

-Byron Hoot

 hootnhowlpoetry.com.