Skip to main content

SEEING MOTHER FIRST...


MOTHER, may I have more of you, less of your unsolved mystery?

(Love & Peace, child, didn't satisfy your want. You mustn't nourish such dull things.)

I sense your depth of sorrow,
Oily tears sounding like a drum,
Like our paintings of the sun.

(The sun needs nothing from Humankind, however, Humankind needs much from the sun.)

And the moon, ocean, star and sea.
I give praise to the known and the unknown,
Who am I to say what is true? We unfold with time, with gladness, with Love and into Peace. One of these is an illusion.

(Ticktock...)


© 2017 Mark Richard Prime


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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

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

Access to...

It's odd to me that the future is accessible to God, but we're stuck with remembering the past, it's untenable. History repeats itself from our obsession with it. I say leave history where it is and instead create something of a present worth repeating.  © 2015 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem