foist
jooji to impose something on someone who doesn't want it. Where does this word come from? Why is that its meaning is so clear without any definition? 060118
...
oldephebe and the man said
you have the woul of a poet
i've been told that many many times
they don't know what it costs though
women bat their eyes and blush
and men are astonished at the depth
of feelings my little carraige of bone and skin are able to evoke in them
but it costs a lot
my soul burns
my heart is well
a little weak
it's not hard enough
it's not bold enough
it doesn
it care enough at this point
i want to
i want to care
i really wanted to
after so many times
of having love
of seeing a persons
affections decay and
turnb to hostility
or indifferance
after experiencing that
over nad over again in ones
life
it's just
you feel like
turning to smoke
no bitterness
no resentment
i wish i could be that hard
i wish i could rally bac
i wish my heart could
change its clothes
its mind
its note
but i keep looking back
at eyes that once followed
me with such affection
such adoration
eyes that gushes
a radiant smile
a mouth that parted so easily
and now eyes furrowed
with an imperious glower
the brow furrowed in contempt
or a dismissive kind of disgust
i've been rendered to nothing more than an unwelcome inconvenience
the mouth that makes and made such glorious music now twisted into a smirk
or a series of undulating hostile
line, frozen finally into this heart piercing grimace of disgust
you are not welcome it seems to say
you wound my eyes and my life
by your very presence
we need to forget you
that you EVER got so close
that we Ever LET you get so close
leaking your pathetic pure poetic
or so called poetic posture of heart
whatever it was that emanated out of your soul or heart or whatever it was
it is unwelcome now
let flowers accept your love
as your tears rain upon the petals
keep your pain hidden
and i try
but i must not resent or become bitter
hell
we don't care if you do or not
just keep your
tired crying soul
away from us
and i ask
how does one
hide it
the pillar of sorrow
ignited into flame
ten thousand tears
drying and piling high
within you
one thought
ignites
the pillar of salt
and it burns
forever inside you
how do hide the sound
and flare
of a fire speaking
to itself?
----------------------------------------
her smile became part of my reason for worship at the alter
her smile and gods grace
to see Christs face
and her iridescent eyes
wide and set upon the Lords Favor
in my and out of my depths
flowed no lust or carnal desire
no adulterous or fornicative
want or need
it truly was like basking
in the virgin mothers beatific glory
it's strange
isn't it
how the heart can
turn everything back to god
and then
as is the nature of all
transient things
sooner or later
how can such a thing so beautiful
become so hostile
by my living breath
i ask
has my very life
my presence
my bowed body wandering
into the radius
of her lovely eyes
line of sight
has that become such a burden now
am what i am, or was become
such a grotesquery?
what is it that i've
done or said
is it merely that i am alive
is it merely my presence
that evokes this hostiliy?

a poets soul
it is the living seal of destruction
there's no more left in me
to die
to harden
to push down
there's no more room
so much has been pushed down
and denied
and melted away
there's nothing left to harden
there's nothing more
that i want
just to be perfectly empty
and drawn
drawn
pulled
somehow
soon
pulled into the realm
of perfect seraphic joy
... 		060118
...
oE soul not woul 060118
...
oldephebe and then
i say what
a self-indulgent
self pitying
smorgasborge
of adolescent whining
why have i been given
this bleeding, eviscerated
beating thing
this heart that
trembles violently
and cries out in a loud
voice at the slightest trigger
O Bess me Father and wrap your heart around me!
kill me with your sword
and place your bow
as my headstone.
i said this to my sorrow.
if we are to be transfigured
by our suffering
then let this be then
the hour of my departure
to close the open and bitter well
and then cupid
i've never known him
not to want to watch me
die in agony with his own eyes
so seal the open and bitter well
this drink
it is dry and hollow
harsh inebriate
it scalds the tongue
and throat
and yet i keep raising
the cup to my lips
even though it leaves
a burning circle in my stomach
i keep walking down damnations
road even as my sorrows pursue me
i pursue them
christ let judas
betrayal pave the road for him
to calvary
he let it open up
open him
to surrender and to find
no value in his own actions
but to see the value
in being drawn
closer to gods heart
by his own dying
his own suffering
he was given a vision
he was transfigured
out of an emotional and spiritual
state that could have yielded
resentment and a sense of betrayal
and anger
but instead he let himself be
beautifully broken
so that the balm would issue
forth out of him
... 		060119
...
oldephebe when you make someone
your muse
you give them them
the power of life
and death over you
the poets
soul
is clawed
or caressed
or sent into rapture
by the sounds of the notes
the sounds behind the words
but this kind of
deification
puts an unrealistic expectation
and responsibility upon someone
who never aspired to it
or wanted it
or even asked for it
what do they really owe you
but the aspect of themself
they honestly or willingly show you?
but thier true nature?
what can they possibly Be
to anyone
but
when
and
where
and
who
THEY are on thier road.
Build your road
back to calvary
even if you have
to awaken in the
middle of winter
and walk in bare feet
to the way of the cross
upon the snow
to relieve
the suffering
of your lapsed soul
that languishes
and writhes and seeps
into dead things
that belong
buried in a
burned out cemetary
...

so no
the poets soul is not
an easy thing to bear
but pray
i pray
that i can learn to bear
it more silently
with dignity
with a holy kind
of suffering
that enobles the soul
and that this
tender thing
struck
pierced so violently
that thrusts itself
into its death bed
can emerge from the night
realizing His presence
His life reincarnated
in Us
that is the work of the cross
that is the reward
that is with Him
that is the other side of worship
that is the blessed sacrement of
our suffering
the other side of sorrow
... 		060119
what's it to you?
who go 		blather
from