ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 2, 2017 14:48:24 GMT -5
In Loving Memory:
The leaf of her who was my fragrant rose Is lost, her petals no more drinking dew; The sun itself hides shuttered behind clouds, All your buds withered: in the cold repose Of death, there is no flowering for you, Wrapped as you are within the good earth's shrouds.
Will sunlight warm you, deep within the tomb? Will you be watered by the gentle showers Of fallen tears to grieve your stolen hours? Will pain and love bring light into the gloom, And will your grave be decked with fragrant flowers, Exulting you with their tempestuous bloom?
Now that my thoughts turn to approaching birth I often think of you, cold in the earth.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 2, 2017 14:49:26 GMT -5
The seasons of our life:
Youth is the spring of life, in which we grow Out of our dark womb into fearful light; The world's a simple place, full of delight, Which we stride proudly, braggadocio Emboldening us. When summer shines his bright Glittering warmth on us, in gaudy show, We're in full bloom, our loveliness the height Of all the beauties in the seraglio Of nature. Then our looks begin to fade, Autumn creeps on us, and our leaves are shed: Time wrinkles us, and we prepare for death.
Winter is change: we should not be afraid As our hair's capped with snow. Within the bed Of earth we rest, till spring brings us new breath.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 3, 2017 9:57:25 GMT -5
Gestation:
1) into the darkness of this cave of mine the miracle of light occurs, the lightning rod of body against body, sparking, in a marriage between my darkness and your light, your source, my container, and the seed planted within grows into a root, anchoring itself in me 2) I do not turn away from your light, instead embracing gladly, the fodder you bring, and my stable is nourished and my body becomes the living earth, housing and nurturing growth to come 3) as the kicking inside begins, as if the unborn person within me danced on my welcoming womb, I feel a circle closing around me, transforming me and I grow and swell, becoming bigger, as you prepare for your bursting out of the dark tunnel of me into the world of light 4) part of myself, yet utterly separate, an existence dependent upon me yet soon to be your own person, it is as if you whisper within the cloak with which I shield you 5) I long to cradle you in my arms, feel your eager mouth sucking the milk of my breasts, for you to become not a shadow within, but a light visible to the whole world, once your have completed this process of which the entry to seed to earth was only a beginning 6) sometimes there are movements in the darkness, my body stirring as if the wind sweeps the leavves with a powerful gale, and the shadow within seems to flicker like a candle flame in a breeze 7) I ache with longing to feel your separate breath upon my face, to warm you as you lie peaceful and safe in my arms or on my lap, for the you of the still not fully grown flower inside me to burst from bud to blossom, wake to light 8) you are, strange paradox, only truly whole when you and I are separate selves, and perhaps the first death in life is arriving into birth, expelled from the protection of the womb into a world of others, the umbilical cord cut 9) your world of silence will end, and you awaken into that mortal shore we all inhabit, and your new-born breath will blow upon the world, a wind pushing back the heavy drapes of the darkness within which too many dwell by choice 10) your eyes, sleeping inside me now, will open on a world so different from the shadow land of me in which you lived for nine long months, and perhaps new life will be for you a fragrant garden 11) out of darkness, you will emerge into light, out of the protection and nurturing of night you will be bathed in the sunshine of day
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 4, 2017 18:59:13 GMT -5
Donald speaks:
I will make America great again; God chose me to work His purpose.
Muslims are our mortal enemies: The hatred they feel for us is the hatred of God, And all the many Christians and Jews they murder In sacrifice to their heathen idolatry.
I will win them over with bombs and guns, Exclusion orders and deportations, Standing as I do for the true religion, The gospel of truth and light.
We are in danger of being swamped By the black tide of Islam With their fanatical zeal, with murder and hatred Etched deep within their heartless hearts.
I love America, I see the threats that surround us Just as Christ was crucified So too the savages of Islam Seek to devour His flock.
To be American is more than a nationality: It is to be a Christian, To believe in the liberty not to pay taxes, To believe in the liberty to kill.
So we Christian folk, (And the Jews too), Must stand united in resolution.
America is God's country, Heaven on earth, And so I say to you all - God bless America!
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 5, 2017 15:05:09 GMT -5
The End of Days:
so many tell me now we're living in the Last Times, Judgement Day, Armageddon, rapidly approaching
well, we survived 1999, the Millenium Bug and the Mayan Calendar, so I'm cautiously optimistic we can survive Brexit and Trump
harder to predict is the extent to which gullibility and stupidity will lead a bunch of fanatical clowns to try and immanentize the Eschaton
in their fevered brains scatology and eschatology are confused; as for me, if it comes to Armageddon, Armageddon out of the way!
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 5, 2017 15:05:42 GMT -5
Magazine:
the same word with different meanings, the magazine of a loaded gun, the magazine you can buy in a shop, even (in some languages) the shop itself
if I enter a 'magazine shop' to buy a 'glossy magazine' will the shop have what I am after? or do I need to threaten or kill the staff with the magazine in my gun?
bullets, billets, billhooks or even ballots stutter the language of fear and hate; where is the conscience of those who demand a loaded magazine in every hand?
for all the crocodile tears shed at yet another unnecessary funeral (which you can read about in full colour in the latest issue of our glossy magazine) only the victim's families truly cry
but the gung-ho magazinistas remain unmoved, even when a mother shouts out at the funeral: 'I gave birth to my children, suckled them; I gave them milk and life and love: what have you given except the bullets from your magazine?'
do you, lovers of magazines, lie awake at night, your conscience troubled by the thousands of needless deaths for which YOU are to blame?
no, you sleep the drunkard's slumber, intoxicated with the ecstasy of your power to hurt, maim, kill; your fear dwarfs everything else, in your bloated, bullying, cowardly brains
white, black, brown, mixed race, we are all human, all deserve the same love and respect; you, magazine lovers, are deaf and blind as, stoney faced, you swim knee-deep in rivers of carnage carved out by the magazines you love.
fuck you!
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 6, 2017 16:27:39 GMT -5
In Memoriam Trayvon Martin:
all America should kneel, bow its head in shame at the anniversary of the murder of Trayvon Martin
your bright eyes were lifeless as glass replacements when the hatred and fear of Zimmerman shut them coffin-tight
your once laughing voice silent in the undeserved early sleep your murderer forced on you
if only we could give you back your life, raise you from your grave, see you dance in hip-hop along the streets you knew
our hearts must hold a place for you instead, another victim needlessly done to death, anohter murderer acquitted of his crime
each time it rains, the sky sheds bucketloads of tears for Trayvon Martin
(I wrote this because the anniversary of Trayvon's murder by George Zimmerman has just passed)
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 6, 2017 16:29:36 GMT -5
"The freedom that you cherish is the freedom to kill"
to some, a gun is a symbol of freedom; to others, a sign of oppression. Is that tears or blood flowing down the cheeks of the Statue of Liberty?
some long for the freedom to fire bullets, to enforce their definition of freedom through shooting others; how Maoist the gun lovers are! The NRA might have used his words: 'political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.'
the nightmare in which you live is peopled with imaginary enemies, so you hide yourself away, clutching your gun in quivering fear
without a sense of shame or even irony you try to cleanse your dirty souls in the blood you've shed, the blood you long to shed
there are so many murderers, and even more would-be killers, roaming your streets like crazed lynch mobs, seeking to murder new Mary Turners
but hey, say the NRA, we're equal opportunity providers; we don't discriminate: black, white, woman, man, gay, straights, even the mentally ill are welcome to buy and use a gun
like the guards at Auschwitz 'we are not responsible' for the blood sweeping across the streets; guns don't kill anyone, you say
hypocrisy to the nth degree, wimpishness beyond belief, frightened of your own shadow, you cower behind the illusory safety of your boy's toy, terrified that the door may open and you discover no enemy in sight except yourself
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 6, 2017 16:31:01 GMT -5
Virtually Real:
no longer satisfied with the banal game shows or 'reality TV' the people demand 3-D video games like 'Grand Rape Auto' or 'Kill Your Enemy'
and in line with increasingly sophisticated technical advances, you can almost feel you're raping and killing me for real, empowering yourself in a virtual world by disempowering and disembowelling me, to conceal from yourself the brute reality: you are utterly powerless
your scrambled brain's more full of junk than a junkie's arm with smack; oh, you're so thoroughly programmed, robotic to the core
against the virtually real landscape of doom and death you wander within stands the messy, unpleasant world of real life
to get anywhere in the BIG game of existence you have to choose the really real, to learn to fight REAL enemies, not victims and villains carved out of 3-D graphics
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 6, 2017 16:31:55 GMT -5
Black sheep:
the black sheep of my family, the druggie, the whore, the criminal, don't I serve my purpose, showing the rest of the world how virtuous they are?
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 5, 2017 11:51:48 GMT -5
Fake mystics:
under the eclipsed sun lies nothing, just as the cold white stars glimmer with long extinguished light, deceiving us with their empty twinkles into a vain belief in their existence
so the fake mystics murmur vacuous follies out of their dumb mouths, out of their blind eyes, ichor rather than blood gushing from their smug, stony hearts
magnificent in an abstract way the splendid aloof indifference with which they regard the grave's embrace, the evaporated smoke, scattered ashes, and in their dead eyes specks of dust or rotted carcasses, utterly beneath their consideration, deserving neither dignity nor pity
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 5, 2017 11:53:37 GMT -5
Survivor:
now the cold sucks us under, struggling against the inevitable arrival of rigor mortis. Our flesh contracts into a barely breathing statue, the heart within us pumps blood frantically on a survival treadmill, doomed to exhaustion, extinction. They say the heart is treacherous, but even though I feel afloat on an ocean of love, will I find in the end my hour of need sees me adrift in the sea, a passenger on the raft 'Medusa?'
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Apr 15, 2017 9:25:13 GMT -5
A poem I wrote for Good Friday.
Christ and the World:
No one listens to the words of the wise and loving; no one hears the cries of the wounded, the dying
however bright the tears of the world glisten on the tapestry of life, shut eyes refuse to open up and see the world with kindness, choosing instead a willed, perpetual blindness
out of what iceberg was the human heart chiselled, to such consistency of cold? how was the quality of mercy strained out of so many, leaving us dead and barren?
Christ on His cross still winces at the dart of our ingratitude; His crown of gold turns to a crown of thorns again, so pained to see our own hearts grown so utterly foreign to love, and life, and all that made Him die to give us life; see, from His eye tears weep across the earth once more in sorrow: shall we be worthy of His love tomorrow?
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Post by Scottish Lassie on Apr 15, 2017 19:28:30 GMT -5
A poem I wrote for Good Friday. Christ and the World: No one listens to the words of the wise and loving; no one hears the cries of the wounded, the dying however bright the tears of the world glisten on the tapestry of life, shut eyes refuse to open up and see the world with kindness, choosing instead a willed, perpetual blindness out of what iceberg was the human heart chiselled, to such consistency of cold? how was the quality of mercy strained out of so many, leaving us dead and barren? Christ on His cross still winces at the dart of our ingratitude; His crown of gold turns to a crown of thorns again, so pained to see our own hearts grown so utterly foreign to love, and life, and all that made Him die to give us life; see, from His eye tears weep across the earth once more in sorrow: shall we be worthy of His love tomorrow? Hi Lady Linda, For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son as a sacrifice. We will continue to be loved.
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Post by Scottish Lassie on Apr 15, 2017 19:46:34 GMT -5
A Prayer: Lord, I'm no angel, nor have ever been; I don't know if there are such folk as saints But if there are I won't be in their number When they go marching in. My mouth is foul, I'm told so often, and although I mean Well on the whole, too many just complaints About the deeds I've done will surely sunder Me from all hope of grace. A willing heart Is not enough to save me: though I howl In penitential tears, I stand apart Forever from your glory and your grace, Unworthy to approach your dwelling place. I who am nothing, worthless, dirty, low, Ask nothing for myself, deserve to go To an abandoned state, not Paradise, My life too full of perfidy and vice. Yet I remember how your guiltless Son Died on a Cross: the sins of everyone He took upon Himself. Can I believe That through Him even I can find reprieve? Hi Lady Linda, once a person has acceped that Jesus is the Lord that saves through the sacrifice of His life, then why query? The past is forgotten in regard to our sins, though they be scarlet. There is no room for doubt, don't you think?
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