...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!
Showing posts with label LEJB1. Show all posts
Showing posts with label LEJB1. Show all posts
Friday, September 10, 2010
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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