...by Claudette Young
(part 5 of 5 for feature week)
Experts say that time is without
measure, infinite. I cannot argue with
Logic that can’t be disputed.
Nevertheless, time is measured in
Days, and months, and years; a
Situation which should never have
Arisen. Time should be measured
In the amount of life one can
Capture within a single breath.
Life and living is all that time
For us entails. So many people live
For tomorrow without realizing
That one lives only today since
Tomorrow can never reach the
Doorstep of the midnight sun.
However, the question of what is
Life rears up, causing a certain
Stir of confusion. I can only
Answer the question by saying...
Life is a baby’s smile or cry.
It watches a child’s first step
Toward understanding. It
Surrounds one’s mind with all the
Knowledge it can hold. Life sees a
Flower bloom and the rainbow
After a summer shower. It learns
To cry in compassion for
Fellow men. Life learns to love
Deeply and quietly within
The mind and soul without
Asking for return of that love.
Life hears the wails of pain
From those who starve and thirst
From loneliness. Life kisses
And caresses a loved one.
Life touches an elder.
It is love, peace, and honor. But
Above all else, life is God, for
He alone was the unknown genius
Who created its body.
These occurrences are life –
All of which can be contained
Within a sunbeam. Because of what
Life is, time and all its measurements
Are unimportant, irrelevant and
Totally immaterial. Because, you see,
One experiences Life, not Time.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Cycles...
...by Claudette Young
(part 4 of 5 of feature week)
Time measures
Life’s pleasures,
Gentle birth
Less Death’s mirth.
Walking tall
Seeing small.
Man arises
Time chastises.
(part 4 of 5 of feature week)
Time measures
Life’s pleasures,
Gentle birth
Less Death’s mirth.
Walking tall
Seeing small.
Man arises
Time chastises.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Spirit Walk...
...by Claudette Young
(part 3 of 5 for feature week)
Walking paths of shadow
Timeless in my effort,
Gliding along, hearing
The wind rustle grasses
In fields waiting fallow.
Gently do I wander,
Trails of dimmer needing,
A hunter among masses.
(part 3 of 5 for feature week)
Walking paths of shadow
Timeless in my effort,
Gliding along, hearing
The wind rustle grasses
In fields waiting fallow.
Gently do I wander,
Trails of dimmer needing,
A hunter among masses.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Voices...
...by Claudette Young
(part 2 of 5 for feature week)
Enshrouding mist of dream time
Whisper secrets never heard,
Give pause to thought more sublime
Of roofless palaces unlearned
Waiting, breathless, listening
To sighs teaching lessons real,
Heart’s demands always demanding
Desires fulfilled, needs repeal
Illusion, leaving behind pleasure
In shifting sands under sky’s azure.
(part 2 of 5 for feature week)
Enshrouding mist of dream time
Whisper secrets never heard,
Give pause to thought more sublime
Of roofless palaces unlearned
Waiting, breathless, listening
To sighs teaching lessons real,
Heart’s demands always demanding
Desires fulfilled, needs repeal
Illusion, leaving behind pleasure
In shifting sands under sky’s azure.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Big Bang...
...by Claudette Young
(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)
Ending here, ending now,
Finish truth but how
The void fills the soul,
Atoms create the whole
Energy sparks abound,
Breeding, feeding, profound.
(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)
Ending here, ending now,
Finish truth but how
The void fills the soul,
Atoms create the whole
Energy sparks abound,
Breeding, feeding, profound.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Resurrection...
...by Jim Bronyaur & Laura Ebohon
(final day of feature week!)
(Jim Bronyaur)
…do they come back?
Inked letters –
hacked to paper
what story do they carry… tell…
Does a softer ground mean more
- than a frozen one?
Is it a misty thought
(or spirit)
That comes…
A soft touch on the back of your neck
or the lost wandering up a cement drive…
I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready.
(Laura Ebohon)
Layers of tainted skin
like gathered fabric
pleated by time into ruffles of sin,
where guilt slowly infiltrated
subtle, endless needles
sewing yarn of sorrow and regrets...
Fragile conscience,
Blind to the spiritual nature
of forgiveness,
Holy gift of departing memories from pain
Looking for the guidance of divine power
holding on to the belief that beyond Life
on the other side of these walls of Time,
over the bridge of Death,
under these dark tunnels of crimes,
through the maze of convictions,
there are eternal flames of Love,
and the possibility of Salvation...
In an ethereal journey back to Life
running through green fields of peace
swimming in calm seas of wonder
passing by streets of celestial calm
where we talk without words
we see the invisible
we breath eternity
In the screaming light of Resurrection!
(final day of feature week!)
(Jim Bronyaur)
…do they come back?
Inked letters –
hacked to paper
what story do they carry… tell…
Does a softer ground mean more
- than a frozen one?
Is it a misty thought
(or spirit)
That comes…
A soft touch on the back of your neck
or the lost wandering up a cement drive…
I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready.
(Laura Ebohon)
Layers of tainted skin
like gathered fabric
pleated by time into ruffles of sin,
where guilt slowly infiltrated
subtle, endless needles
sewing yarn of sorrow and regrets...
Fragile conscience,
Blind to the spiritual nature
of forgiveness,
Holy gift of departing memories from pain
Looking for the guidance of divine power
holding on to the belief that beyond Life
on the other side of these walls of Time,
over the bridge of Death,
under these dark tunnels of crimes,
through the maze of convictions,
there are eternal flames of Love,
and the possibility of Salvation...
In an ethereal journey back to Life
running through green fields of peace
swimming in calm seas of wonder
passing by streets of celestial calm
where we talk without words
we see the invisible
we breath eternity
In the screaming light of Resurrection!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Life...
...by Jim Bronyaur
(part 4 of 5 of feature week with Laura Ebohon)
Awake!
Begin!
(to understand all that will remain unknown).
The time has started…
(it’s also losing breath by breath –
and someday you’ll learn to appreciate that –
once you get closer to that last one…)
Yes, the blood may be existed
but it’s the celebration of innocence.
(and innocent).
It’s the fresh eyes of the “new” –
those too (two) are in such a way given life.
(again).
The sounds outside –
and inside –
they all add up to something greater than we can ever understand.
Like the changing winds that push and pull seasons
Like the rolling clouds bringing picture and thunder
Like the other skies… long fingers spin and big eyes mean.
But this… only this… just this…
This… this is life.
(part 4 of 5 of feature week with Laura Ebohon)
Awake!
Begin!
(to understand all that will remain unknown).
The time has started…
(it’s also losing breath by breath –
and someday you’ll learn to appreciate that –
once you get closer to that last one…)
Yes, the blood may be existed
but it’s the celebration of innocence.
(and innocent).
It’s the fresh eyes of the “new” –
those too (two) are in such a way given life.
(again).
The sounds outside –
and inside –
they all add up to something greater than we can ever understand.
Like the changing winds that push and pull seasons
Like the rolling clouds bringing picture and thunder
Like the other skies… long fingers spin and big eyes mean.
But this… only this… just this…
This… this is life.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Life...
...by Laura Ebohon
(part 3 of 5 of the feature week with Jim Bronyaur)
Growth of tissues
covered in a membrane of surreal events,
mother cell of multicellular layers
procreation of reflections,
vegetative production of wishes...
In that room
suspended between life and whispers,
surrounded by cell walls,
beating of hearts and pulsing of souls,
through the net of little holes of hope
thick thread-like organisms,
Breaths and a feverish search for happiness
anxiously determined by the conjectures of time
when pain strikes like poison
relentlessly,
locking doors,
relegating desires,
creating divisions.
Like a deep chasm between conscious being
and unconscious dreaming
connecting again
through the bridge of destiny,
eye lids shut
freezing images
in departments of never.
Coincidences
missed opportunities
and the strongest will
to see tomorrow's colorful rainbows
through rain drops of doubts
and whistling of winds...
Tilting against windmills!
(part 3 of 5 of the feature week with Jim Bronyaur)
Growth of tissues
covered in a membrane of surreal events,
mother cell of multicellular layers
procreation of reflections,
vegetative production of wishes...
In that room
suspended between life and whispers,
surrounded by cell walls,
beating of hearts and pulsing of souls,
through the net of little holes of hope
thick thread-like organisms,
Breaths and a feverish search for happiness
anxiously determined by the conjectures of time
when pain strikes like poison
relentlessly,
locking doors,
relegating desires,
creating divisions.
Like a deep chasm between conscious being
and unconscious dreaming
connecting again
through the bridge of destiny,
eye lids shut
freezing images
in departments of never.
Coincidences
missed opportunities
and the strongest will
to see tomorrow's colorful rainbows
through rain drops of doubts
and whistling of winds...
Tilting against windmills!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Death...
...by Jim Bronyaur
(part 2 of 5 of feature week w/ Laura Ebohon)
It’s been a good run…
As if bubbly rusted holes tear flesh away
As if the engine won’t start –
and all the little pieces break and shatter.
When the passing time deals its final winning hand
you aren’t the only one with fuzzy eyes…
but you do get the answer to the biggest mystery…
(what’s next?)
I can only imagine how feeble the feeling of failing must be –
to know IT’s coming… any second…
(breath in, breath out, breath in, breath…)
There is the trickster lurking –
the more evil hands of the clock
(the ones rubbing together –
creating sweat in the small lines of the hands –
as they reach for your neck…)
It happens more than you think.
(but so does good things…)
It happens more than you have ever thought about.
(it does.)
There will be a last good morning
There will be a last good night
There will be a last bloomed flower
- a last kiss
- a last moment you will never have back
I don’t make the rules.
I can only follow.
I am the piece of paper in the wind.
I am the autumn leaf that makes it through winter.
I am the blade of grass that will not be cut.
But no matter what I am or what I try
(or you)
Everything will end. Yes –
it will.
(part 2 of 5 of feature week w/ Laura Ebohon)
It’s been a good run…
As if bubbly rusted holes tear flesh away
As if the engine won’t start –
and all the little pieces break and shatter.
When the passing time deals its final winning hand
you aren’t the only one with fuzzy eyes…
but you do get the answer to the biggest mystery…
(what’s next?)
I can only imagine how feeble the feeling of failing must be –
to know IT’s coming… any second…
(breath in, breath out, breath in, breath…)
There is the trickster lurking –
the more evil hands of the clock
(the ones rubbing together –
creating sweat in the small lines of the hands –
as they reach for your neck…)
It happens more than you think.
(but so does good things…)
It happens more than you have ever thought about.
(it does.)
There will be a last good morning
There will be a last good night
There will be a last bloomed flower
- a last kiss
- a last moment you will never have back
I don’t make the rules.
I can only follow.
I am the piece of paper in the wind.
I am the autumn leaf that makes it through winter.
I am the blade of grass that will not be cut.
But no matter what I am or what I try
(or you)
Everything will end. Yes –
it will.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Death...
...by Laura Ebohon
(part 1 of 5 for the feature week)
Curtains drop shut on this stage,
without the anticipation of a closing scene,
no hints, no premonitions...
A simple termination of all biological functions,
no words, no gestures
definitive extinction of breaths and hopes,
destruction of plans
left to blow in the wind of never.
Looking from the other side of consciousness
through holes in the wall of time
everything seems so small...
light, paper thin...
Tears are dry,
hands are cold,
Unknown voices all around
whispering secrets
no wish, no desire,
no saviour, no sin...
Immense space of nothing
only flashbacks of padded images and colors
without memory
wandering through dreams and reality
It all seems so far away,
existence and essence
ideas and abstractions.
Trying to reach those fields of colors,
getting caught by a lightning,
finding you,
entering the walls of your heart
where death dies again
it dissolves in the endless spirals of your embrace.
(part 1 of 5 for the feature week)
Curtains drop shut on this stage,
without the anticipation of a closing scene,
no hints, no premonitions...
A simple termination of all biological functions,
no words, no gestures
definitive extinction of breaths and hopes,
destruction of plans
left to blow in the wind of never.
Looking from the other side of consciousness
through holes in the wall of time
everything seems so small...
light, paper thin...
Tears are dry,
hands are cold,
Unknown voices all around
whispering secrets
no wish, no desire,
no saviour, no sin...
Immense space of nothing
only flashbacks of padded images and colors
without memory
wandering through dreams and reality
It all seems so far away,
existence and essence
ideas and abstractions.
Trying to reach those fields of colors,
getting caught by a lightning,
finding you,
entering the walls of your heart
where death dies again
it dissolves in the endless spirals of your embrace.
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