Yahweh my Shepherd : October 2014

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Aesops Fable

Death               FRIENDS
AX                                                         SON
Serpent                                                   TAIL
Cattle               SATISFACTION 

Aesops Fable

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Romanian poem - Costache Ioanid

How great is God 

How great is God 
heavy billows see the sea, 
the mountains ma-tall basalt 
and my mind flying among the stars, 
all taller what takes his king-army to a gigantic climax? That what nature put in goals, That meant that anyone wrote,more than infinite is my Father 's Cat feared God on Sinai roaring echoes when the voice of the Lord speaking. while Moses, before the clouds and shaking .. . sfielnic White Throne gather firewood Empireu princes, And cherubim devout come, eternal glory treasurer. Almighty Master And this is my father! And how good is God! Even if old stars all have a time when-write down , but who in Jesus has eternal is a son! And to face shimmering glory in the world's most difficult time, those who were given the holy beasts -will see creative force, I will soptii with adoration: "My father is ...

Follow Your Saint

Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet:
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.
There, wrapp'd in cloud of sorrow, pit move,
And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:
But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,
Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne'er return again.

All that I sung still to her praise did tend,
Still she was first; still she my songs did end;
Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy,
Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight:
It shall suffice that they were breath'd and died for her delight

- An epic poem, about a lot of different things rolled into one theme, feminism, is a long shot for this poems motif but classifying poems is difficult outside of classical types.

Thursday, October 16, 2014



Eons of miles with shadows of this love.
Visionary voices burning flames
of smoldering desires for you.


my space is consumed by yours.
Joyous melodies beckoning from my heart
with each breathless whispers
you have of me.
My spirit soars whenever,
I see into the depths of your golden brown pools.
I was in sync with beats of your hearts.


for this soul was wholly barren,
Absent was you!
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11702908-Eons-by-Judie#sthash.Cc4yMzMT.dpuf

- This poem is very inclusive, it dwells on things unseen and unsaid. Eons...The word Eons what does it mean? Well this poem completely explains Eons in a sense more invoking then any describing could ever do or even say!

Wednesday, October 15, 2014


October 15th, 2014
Couple Beaten and Christians Threatened by Extremists
A Christian couple in northeastern India's Bihar state was hospitalized after
being beaten by Hindu extremists who vowed to kill them. The extremists
stormed the home of Shri Lal Khatiyan and his wife, Asha Devi, and attacked
Shri, accusing him of paganism. When Asha intervened, she was also
severely beaten. Later that day, about 100 Hindu extremists armed with clubs
took up positions around the village and threatened to kill any Christian trying
to file a police complaint. Recently in India, extremists have moved on from
simply beating pastors to inflicting mortal wounds.
Source: Release International
Photo: This pastor was injured in an attack by Hindu extremists in India. He
suffered multiple stab wounds when radicals attacked him and his family.
Pray for Quick Recovery
Pray for Shri Lal Khatiyan and his wife, Asha Devi, to recover quickly from their extensive wounds. While the Hindu
extremists tried to discourage believers from seeking justice or meeting together as a Christian community, pray that the
believers in this village will not be dismayed or discouraged. Pray that all Indian Christians will experience courage. Ask
that even those who face potential harm at the hands of their persecutors would call on God and that they will continue to
share the Gospel message with boldness of spirit.
Cast your burden on the LORD, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved. Psalm 55:22
VOM is providing medical treatment for Christians injured in attacks and

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

They say Angel Fish Don't Shoal in Tanks

my surviving sister told me once,
when she was young
the only way she could tell if I was still alive was
by the changing music from my room

I lived voicelessly by night,
creeping down to forage nearly empty cupboards while they slept
communication, was a four letter forced acknowledgement of hallway passings, that often became arguments

this house was a restless mausoleum
and we were strange ghosts trapped in separate delusional fantasies
who only knew how to smile for cameras
in family portraits


the only one I ever loved didn't last long
I was there when they picked out her gravestone
I was six, and I knew then-
I never wanted one

because no matter where I went I'd spend my whole life
buried and choking on this silent dirt
and still have no place
in a family plot 
© Genevieve. All rights reserved, 5 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11692172-they-say-angel-fish-dont-shoal-in-tanks--by-Sweet-Genevieve-noguest#sthash.NAYgHzhu.dpuf

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Selling Dreams

So far in doubt,
 All along the lines, 
Of play, and removal,
 I've just wished you luck, 
From the Prime,
 Of my only, 
 Infinite Wish, 
I wonder are you all still, 
Staring at that lonely, Lasting Dream, 
Fishing, groups of decorations,
Inline, Virtue,
 Vapor sealed mind,
 Maybe for today - See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11687956-Selling-Dreams-by-Dibbs#sthash.p3nQYk3r.dpuf

onerious1 author from allpoetry.com

notes to a blister (oprihory)

hello darkness (my old friend) i’ve come to talk to you again
about visions creeping within that tenth pill
and i am reminded once again
nothing echoes louder
against the cobblestone of a sleepless mind
than the sound of silence

dear silence: you must be broken, let the pus run yellow as the sun,
but always know you are my favorite moment, like an ex who can
still make me laugh even while packing

dear ex: do not leave this poem for you are as perfect
as i want you to be. my little doll who will undress when told,
smile even as you bruise, and never say the things you actually said
because here it is always my turn to speak

dear turning: i love your back. both the action and time. the former because
i had to as i lacked the language to convince you i meant everything i said.
the latter holds hands with miss and her boyfriend opportunity, but i prefer her gentle cousin,
missing, as i seem to do that best of all

dear cousin: you killed yourself on a march night. i often wonder how you looked
after you jumped. did your fishnet legs kick back and forth like a newborn baby in the dark?
what pjs were you wearing, maybe your son’s favorite?
guess it doesn’t matter
was told you were too decomposed to tell anymore.
i bet it was the first time the inside matched the outer.
you must be proud to know ten years later what a good example you turned out to be.    
no bible spoke truer words to me

dear words: you are the only thing that actually represents yourself. that is why in the
beginning there was only you and god

dear god:
you are my enemy
come out and fight with me
and bring your cannons three
climb up my poison tree
slide down my sword
into my cellar door
and we’ll be enemies
forever more more
1 2 3 4

dear 4: you mean death in chinese. that is why you are forbidden in asian elevators.
but i do not fear you; because change it to the first tone and you become tearing
and revealing is what always follows. plus add an unbroken circle next to you and you become
40, not nearly as deadly and a highway to a memory

dear highway 40: i found so much happiness with you from fayettville to little rock on weekend runs.
but that is a different story. you do not belong in this poem

dear poems: i can never have children, so you will have to suffice.
i hope they will treat you kindly when i am gone. you were the best part of me.
i swear to always give you a voice. i know how silence like a cancer grows

dear cancer: **** you. **** you. ****you****you****you. ****. YOUUUUUUU.

dear hysterical: you were there when her nine year old melon head got stuck
between the staircase bannister and she wailed like a shewolf in heat. also last night
when i realized i wasn't talking to my dead mother, but a picture nailed into a white apartment wall

dear wall: you were my best lover and when we were five or six we rode horses made of sticks
                           bang bang
                                               no one could shoot me down
when i coated you like a wet seed nestled within a red womb

dear womb: i don’t like you. you bleed too much. you carry hope and pressure.
your sister is an alarm clock but mine will never ring

dear ring: i’m glad i put you on. it matches a man that is good at making me laugh.
he will make a merry widower, his belly full of my pictures. and i hope he finds another,
someone not as broken as his last

note to last: you are not the last in this poem, but i feel you coming…

dear ellipses: thank you. you say what needs to be said when i cannot go on. you are the only warning
given, poking like a cold middle finger through a sheet of thick despair

dear despair: you are my incestuous twin and you fill every hole with your fingering until
you explode, making my limbs numb and i lack the strength to push you back.
you are desperate to touch my body, obsess over how to possess me. i do realize no one will
ever love me like you do so it is impossible to let you go

note to go: yes. yes, i want to. how you make me dream.

dear dream: i can no longer afford you. but i will buy you one more drink before last call
if you promise that as i lay me down to sleep, you’ll send a message to your sweet sister death to keep

and it will read -

dear death:  

do not come as a metaphor, but solid as a window facing spring.
see the hand still lacing a favorite book; page 23 sleepy from under the shadow.
tea glass cool and sweaty, the sugar at the bottom tiny punctuations
to a story that stops before it ends.
do not announce yourself like horns, the hot spit of late traffic,
but rather in the click, slide, and plop within the top of that glass;
the sound of ice

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11684826-notes-to-a-blister--oprihory--by-onerios13#sthash.gQIdNNSv.dpuf

Does she know how much her God loves her?...I need to know...

Thursday, October 2, 2014

You always hurt the ones you Love


You always hurt the ones you Love - Heath McNease

This is a really good song, recommend to everyone.


Today Is Sunday

Today is Sunday. 
For the first time they took me out into the sun today. 
And for the first time in my life I was aghast 
that the sky is so far away 
and so blue 
and so vast 
I stood there without a motion. 
Then I sat on the ground with respectful devotion 
leaning against the white wall. 
Who cares about the waves with which I yearn to roll 
Or about strife or freedom or my wife right now. 
The soil, the sun and me… 
I feel joyful and how. 

Nazim Hikmet

Translated by Talat Sait Halman
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Today-Is-Sunday#sthash.7cxrCgkC.dpuf

Proverbs 29:25

Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe.
Proverbs 29:25 NIV

Wednesday, October 1, 2014



It little profits that an idle king, 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
Unequal laws unto a savage race, 
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink 
Life to the lees.  All times I have enjoy'd 
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when 
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 
Vext the dim sea.  I am become a name; 
For always roaming with a hungry heart 
Much have I seen and known,— cities of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments, 
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,— 
And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
I am a part of all that I have met; 
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades 
For ever and for ever when I move. 
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! 
As tho' to breathe were life!  Life piled on life 
Were all too little, and of one to me 
Little remains; but every hour is saved 
>From that eternal silence, something more, 
A bringer of new things; and vile it were 
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 
And this gray spirit yearning in desire 
To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,— 
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill 
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 
In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods, 
When I am gone.  He works his work, I mine. 
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; 
There gloom the dark, broad seas.  My mariners, 
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,— 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads,— you and I are old; 
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. 
Death closes all; but something ere the end, 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; 
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep 
Moans round with many voices.  Come, my friends. 
'T is not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' 
We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,— 
One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. - See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8473279-Ulysses-by-Alfred-Lord-Tennyson#sthash.Odg3VORm.dpuf