A question is going around social media, around the twitter traps A philosophical question with all its befuddling meaning That is sure to challenge neuroscientists and psychologists alike Which will involve market research and possibly even NASA. Should these experts be unable to adequately describe an answer God’s bold-speakers might step in and look at it theologically When answers to any question involves listening to their words Strong words spoken of in languages of the East and West alike Whose authority lay in the directions speakers are pointing to. It is from the consumer world this deep question has arisen From a person expecting at least ten minutes of worthy fame The person having written it using their driver’s license name Ignoring the risk that their twitter account might be hacked. But now to the question which has got the media world talking An aside from the usual stuff about what the princess is wearing The question is a simple one whic...

If he speaks in the tongues of men and of angels, but has not lust, He is merely a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if he has prophetic powers, and understands all mysteries and all knowledge, and if he has all faith, so as to remove mountains, but has not lust, he is nothing. If he gives away all he has, and if he delivers his body for burning, but has not lust, he gains nothing. Love is patient and kind; but lust envies and boasts; it is arrogant and rude. It insists on its own way; it is irritable and resentful; it does not rejoice at rightdoing, but rejoices with libido. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, But lust never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For he knows in part and he prophesy’s in part, but when lust comes, his partial will pass away. When he was a child, he spoke like a child, thought like a child, reas...

We drove over a crest and down a winding slope and came upon Gunns Plains, broad and deep What we saw thrice intensified our vision for through it a fine vein of water flowed but we are stolen from our special glacial view by water diamonds; the suns like to impress,     aureoles that lap at the river bank then flee   We descended cult light, and made the cradle   intensely fertile, crafted by giant’s hands The vivid valley before light appears unlikely We found the stream that caught our eye and went to its gentle flowing waters and we saw ourselves as our parents did and tried to imagine ourselves as newborns We are at the water’s edge, coo-cooing   We soon faltered, saw our clean selves vanish and the brilliant gems do not return For a fleeting moment we were lost and unsettled We got it together and made our journey and stayed close to the waters as long as we could Until the road rewound, and sent us away fro...

There are those who seldom go out of themselves Who feel they miss out on the best of everything, And their spiritual discontent Will stir the dark depths of their hearts And they grow restless, They lose heart and they draw deeper into suffering. And soon they need the smell of the sheep, Their unpleasant smell, The smell of rectums and vaginas, The smell of disease, and of fodder. They need to be familiar with it, And then they will act. They see their fantasy selves in Baroque Art, For there they are beautiful and special, Shepherds whose smiles are benevolent, Their destiny is to struggle with the truth. A visit to schools, and to hospitals Should stir them into action, For there is much to smell there, Young sheep, vulnerable sheep, So hungry, so thirsty, So in need of hands being laid upon. They are easily led, these sheep, By these spiritual men of voice and staff, For vulnerability knows these voices And they recognize the staff...

A windy rush of cloudy sleep A caress of cold shadows on the mountain green Turbulence for causing mad rain to seep Into a grey ground earth deceptively unclean.   A windy rush of weather gloom Through rainbow glow with back pure arched The dying chance it, and seek to bloom For bleak dust may fly from soil long parched.   A windy rush of stratosphere’s breath A morning’s blasted heat and bearing down fast Weak creatures dream of a sweeter death This cycle fit to end dark remittances of the past.   A windy rush through perforated sky Immensely swollen by myths of cloudless blue A sneak upon all who live poorly and sigh In pre-summer mulling over a spiteful wintry hue.

And the pleasure in my blank face is for the memory   Now that I’m doing what needs be done And if nobody sees it, then look harder It’s been there since my town days maturing. A quiet lad I was, doing the right boy things Neighbours smiled when I’d go military walking I suppose they admired my quirky discipline The way I conducted my polite and respectful self, Serious and determined, I knew I’d be a warrior For trouble was brewing abroad back then. When I was mucking about with my mates They couldn’t sense it, but I could, Something was happening, I was 12, and I knew it. The local memorials hadn’t any new names Impressed upon it, That’s what my dad said, looking hard at me, Not since his glorious name. He told me there are many enemies of his faith, He never had enough time to bottle their minds all, Underneath dirt, or down the beaks of carrion. I looked up to my dad, and then he died. I left home and my family fell from my name, And ...

Fine; Amongst the brush; A Yellow rose; Petals arranged like a crown of elliptical butterfly wings; Spring perfect; No rain to spoil its delicacy; And in full view it is glorious; To cause the black gaze of me; A pruner heathen; To soften.