Skip to main content

The Sky is Ripe for Raining Love


Rejoice that the sky is mine to wonder of, not conquer, that the soil gives without asking anything, save I respect life. My tasks are for the earth, for love. Do battle the least with love that I might breathe life and eternally. End over end, back to the beginning, the perfect cycle of life …and rebirth and life and rebirth and life and rebirth until I see them as equal partners in creation’s outcome. It’s not mine to say, beginning to never-end…

Echo…

~

Laughter pierces my lips…

The stars, my entertainment,the water my drink, love my truth, the sun, and stars and planets and moons and mountains and seas and caverns and caves and celestial dust and the Milky Way, the grandfather. The soil, and all that rises from it evolving life is the grandmother. The two betrothed are love and life. Union. Kinship. Oath. Action. Belief. Truth.

We need find our footing, let the earth dance in the soles of our feet, rise to our flush temples and whisper love in one ear and remind us of where we are in the other. It’s the perfect marriage, love and home.

Love if you've Love in you. Love if you cannot imagine it. Love before the whole of creation looks back and fails to find even one affection…

~

Belief came sidling up to my arms and spread them wide and love exhaled in me, new born, purposed, prepared to face my own brand of music. The bow moved me over the strings, I played on them with an odd delivery, spoke them with full love and danced to my great fortune...

~

The darkness surrounds me, it sounds stunned, it looks distressed, the willow sways with grandmother hips. She moves beyond the gate and waits on our heavenly return.

The guitar cuts the silence in half and wraps its strike against the pulse of flesh and bone, run along now and get busy, love…



© 2012 by mark prime


Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem
........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem