The Flag Slaps at Full Mast

(It’s too late to stop, and you know it, Rimnod!)

I haven’t had my caffeine intake today, Curmudgeon. I kindly ask you to leave me be for a while this morning, there’s a spiritual battle going on inside me that requires I dive my full Love to the center of its winds. Good to see you, nonetheless…

If my belief of the one exactness and Home is to be without hell (fear), they must, it stands to reason in my mind, be crafted and painted of the fullness of our Love…

The traffic sweeps in going seventy-five and I hold the wind as shield from the foul noise of rabid consumption…

I don’t recall anything really. It’s been a blur all of my life. I can’t explain it without sounding loony, but I’ll give it a try… all I recall with any clarity is a memory from my childhood. Not sure how old I am but I could not be more than six. Perhaps it’s the memory that Creation wants me to hold dearest, or perhaps Love scoured my spirit for affection and had to go all the way back to a spirit that brought me Home again. The memory is one of only one or two frames. It feels like an old movie reel and all I can see from my child vantage point with my back upon the eartH and my innocent eyes seeing life below and above- everything is God- above me I see the bluest morning sky and there are tall grasses all around me and a butterfly floats above, or is it a dragonfly? Either way I’m in Heaven…

If our beliefs pull up short of the runway to soaring, we had best get to reshaping the eartH of Creation into the thing our belief’s believe in…

The flag slaps at full mast, yesterday the wind did it no favors at half…

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

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SKYFALL

Skyfall... We continue to play along with an unnatural game that has serious consequences, soon we'll find ourselves enslaved without recourse to the system. (Is that true of local charades?) Yes. (Why can't we free ourselves from the system?) The madness of money. (It's not money, it's people, right?) It's both, money and us in tandem, thus assuring money's might and our adherance to its loudness. (Madness...) Indeed. © 2017 Mark Richard Prime

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THE ROCK HOLDS

The rock holds the soil in and from the soil springs the tree, the green of LIFE rolling from the blue, rising to the occasion of itself. . “Be!”, the (H)eartH declares, “Be what you are!” . (We thought we were!) . (We think we are!) . “You are, but not freely, therefore, only a thought, and a thought without much thinking, as if you were scared into it.”, the (H)eartH added. . [a quietude begins, the truth being heard and heeded, grooving to the flow] ~ © 2017 Mark Richard Prime

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CONFESSION ZERO

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