Last Commented Allegory Poems (898)

Back in the day - 33's/45's & 78's would play,
upon a heavy plate within the beautiful Victrola.
A true work of art - each hand crafted part,
that composed the whole of the beautiful Victrola.

Exquisite as a fop - that handsome wooden top,
molded of rare Mahogany on the beautiful Victrola.
Crafted handheld parts - used to make it start,
to play recorded tunes upon the beautiful Victrola.

A classic of it's day - wherever it would play,
everyone loved the charm of the beautiful Victrola.
Once new and very modern - an object of stardom,
the world was drawn to that beautiful Victrola.

Over time it's fame - along with familiar name,
became less used or pursued the beautiful Victrola.
New devices came along - bringing limitless song,
reducing need or want for the beautiful Victrola.

Now destroyed or stored - most everyone bored,
with the aging antique of the beautiful Victrola.
Hardly ever seen - that rare Mahogany sheen,
upon that beautiful piece of art called a Victrola.

If given the chance - there's still fun and dance,
to be enjoyed from the beauty of the Victrola.
But like everything else - it's value and wealth,
in time becomes 'worthless' the poor aged Victrola.

At some point in time - thought comes to mind,
that there's still value in the beautiful Victrola.
Then popularity soars - within antique stores,
and everyone wants their own beautiful Victrola.

Now there's few to be had - technology is glad,
there's no power or profit in making a Victrola.
Rarity is their fame, and in reminiscing their name,
smiles form upon faces of those who have experienced...

The Beautiful Victrola

Each man is haunted by his own ghosts.
Some have more, some less than others do.
By no means should these ghosts be a judge of the man
But by how that man faces his ghosts,
Be they past or present.
Each ghost a man faces gives him a strength he never had.
Until he learns to let his ghosts teach him;
For, until he can do that; he is not a man:
He is merely a shadow of what he could be.

Because you know..
We have declared you
gods..
Because great pain has
been born of understanding
you must die the death of
knowledge
But you shall be healed
of life by He who has power
over the sting of death
Only by faith can you ever see
the tree of life
My angel carries the sword not
in vain..
He will protect you in your hour
of trial
Or cut you to pieces if you fail
the test..
Consciousness is born of mercy
It is a gift and the lowly beast
of the field knows not of your
great status-

A soulful kiss is but the illusion of
a serpent gone mad..
He denied us the kiss that comes
without knowledge because the
kiss of knowledge is frought with
the birth pangs of guilt..
We wanted the kiss of endless
burning suns, but we received the
lips of alien fire..
A flaming two- edged sword merely
spoke of a future time when passion
would be a childlike innocence where
we would bend our knees in the warm
red earth and smile the dream of a
thousand eternities.. Surely Eden has
a future-

Tumbled Angel,
fragile vessel
of blood and bone.

The good daughter
of earth made flesh.

I lean into the wind
believe on stronger wings,
and still bright pinions
bear the weight of flying
on broken air.

As the crescent moon
swings low over Venus,
roosters sing the dawn;
the storm's moist kiss
of caged desire
in their desert-dry beaks.

I'll drink the wine
of starry eyed fools
who seek pretty answers
in unexpected places.

Where age will not dim
the slender awe of youth
and I awaken in the morning
to the beauty of my being,
patterned by
the velvet hand of God.

Cuddle by your warm fireplace
within your walled cities says
the mighty lion
Build you vinyards lavish with
the fruit of the ground
Watch your children play in the
warm breeze of life's summer
Regale your minds with the threadbare
wisdom of times gone by
Let the starry night sky be your
blanket of love
Yet listen for the sound of the hunter
in the black stillness of night
If you catch his scent it may be
to late
If the watchman slumbers he will
breach your walls on the wings
of hell
Take heed and watch for the hour
for.. the Lion never sleeps**

This bag of bones
This flesh & blood
Concept birthed a picket fence

Hear the sound
Sight the found
O’er a rainbow by way of ground

Where did it come from?
Where did it go?
From a place the lost do moan

Find me a miracle
Find me a brain
Better yet, release ‘em down the drain

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

From the time you were born,
From your first cry,
From that first searching look you directed at me,
I knew that you thought I was God...

From the first time I held you securely in my arms,
From the first time I comforted your tears,
From the first time I fed you,
I knew that you thought I was God...

From the first grazed knee I ‘kissed-all-better’,
From the first time I satisfied a puzzling question you had,
From the first time I praised your uncertain steps in this world,
I knew that you thought I was God...

Then, unfortunately, the time came many years later,
When the man you loved let you down, and you collapsed on the floor in great travail and hopelessness,
And you looked in my familiar face for the God you saw there so many times before, your eyes begged me for the comfort I had given you so many times before as you were growing up,
But, this time, alas, he was not there, he could not offer you the unshakable solace he had so many, many times before,
Now, you realized you had to stand on your own wounded feet and do it all by yourself...,
Outwardly, I put on a brave front for your sake,
Inside, though, I was dying a thousand deaths,
As I too, lost the God that you saw in me,
And I had to force myself to look for God where God’s always been, ‘up in heaven somewhere’...

As you may be guessing, I did not find God ‘up in heaven somewhere’, and my despair deepened immensely,
Long, sleepless nights ensued as I searched and searched,
I fasted and prayed,
I cried out in enormous anguish,
But, God could just not be found ‘up in heaven somewhere’...

Now, many years later, as my crow-black hair kept changing colors, first to grey and then to white,
I hear a very distant-sounding-knock from some very subterranean part of my very broken heart,
The knock got louder and louder, finally I could not ignore it anymore,
‘Well, who is it I asked...’,
‘Its God dear child..., I just want to inform you that you’ve been searching for me in all the wrong places, whilst, all the time, I’ve been right here, deep in your very own heart... Come in and commune with me, get to know me, get to truly rely on me, till you get to easily love me, till it becomes second nature for you to turn to me with everything that could possibly bother you, big, small, or in-between...’

I took God up on his offer,
And I’m healing much faster now,
And, as I once again see God inside me,
I rush to your side when you need me,
And I let you look into my eyes,
And what a joy it is to me, when I hear you say:-
‘Wow, Dad, God is back inside you, and, you’re now so clearly showing me how God is inside me too, so, that I too, can teach my children to look for and find God, where God always is...

The clouds have showered your
affections and your audience has
taken cover..
Pithy words were seen in mud puddles
and splashed on unforgiving hearts
The wise, the good, and the beautiful
took shelter in dank caves
Come in my friends, warm yourselves
by my crackling fire
Your words will burgeon in the spring
after the showers of doubt have
dried from the land***