RIPPLING MOONBEAMS on 23

Rippling Moonbeams on 23

In the still of the night

when only the moon 

feels the wind whispering,

and ancient Hades sleeps,

I think of you.

In the still of the night

when tears are raindrops

of forgotten love,

falling down cherubs'

corroding cheeks;

silence shivers in

a blanket of dark, 

Eris soft memories,

leaves return by curling in.

Tree trunks reach and  

rub together,

sending screams out

to the still of the night;

I think of you and lay to rest

my core to the root

of our earth.

In the strike of the night,

I call upon the 

resurrection of the sun

at 5 a.m.,

the hue of blood rises, 

a red river of temperance

folds her arms across

my prostrate back,

purifies me,

and anoints the break of day.

TJKG

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE YEARS

These four poem selections are the highest viewed on my blog.
Which is your favorite ? Click on the title and ENJOY.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary. 
                           Khalil Gibran


Attracted to Royal Nectar

Rain On a Funeral Day

Countess and Her Whip

My Heart Swells

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.”
                                       Saul Bellow
Thank you readers for many successful years of blog sharing. Tracy Kuhn Greenlee

AWE ENCOMPASSING

Awe Encompassing

My mango sunrise,

a mantra of warmth

leaves striations of

wisdom through the

window of my heart.

Your divinity fades into

the past calamity,

waxing with the sun.

My knees find

the scrape of concrete,

my breath-- the need to breathe.

My heart, the force of light,

lost to the depth of the ocean,

my faith is the now waning as

the questions fall over me.

Embracing the fallen mortar,

mending  the mortal cracks--

my humble prayers

drive

my hands to form a finger sail--

a steeple upon my chest.

Visions

pulsing with

oracles wind, acumen

parts the sternum of my breath,

ribs traverse my erect posture,   

binding the cross of my path.

I am blessed by you;

I give you my happiness,

for I am the endless one

enlightening the

morning’s humbleness.

My wings have taken new flight,

mothering the feathers

of transformation,

inspired sublimity and awe

find the shores of faith,

and land of divinity.

TJKG
check out deverse  and our launched novel Her Mother's Lover

SMILE THERAPY 46

Smile Therapy 46

I am in smile therapy
knowing I can feel the
love.

Happy New Year to
all my readers
TJKG

POCKETS OF TIME

"Ever notice how ' What the hell' is always the right answer." Marilyn Monroe

Pockets of Time

They found Marilyn

in the nude--

ordinary as milk,

or exotic as an orchid,

or caught between lips

which whisper

words that

paint immortalized pictures.

Pictures lost in a matrix

of twisted vines

latticing despair

and laughter,

birthing love and hate

in the pigment of fading time.

TJKG

 

IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE CHRISTMASY AT SCHOOL

It’s Supposed to be Christmasy at School.

Bambi’s  pooled eyes knows to fear the gun shot;

a gun took his mother’s life.

A child knows to fear guns, to fear real guns.

Black metal, gun powder, a trigger finger …

Guns take.

One shot will take a classmate,

A teacher,

A friend,

A mother,

A father,

An uncle, A cousin,

His enemy,

His brother,

His sister.

And now there is more than

GUNS—

There is fear

where there was safety…

Where there was learning,

there is pain…

Unimaginable pain is

when  tears fall on

the unexplained.

There is blood stained

on tiled floors,

dripping from colorful poster-board--

children scrambling, hiding under desks.

There is not time for lock-down drill.

The practiced routine,

the pledge of allegiance to the flag.

Line up for massacre,

the lunch bell rings--

the church bells weep.

A man.

A man.  A terrorist.

A man,  

is running through the halls

with a

gun,

a gun,

a real gun.

The noise is deafening.

The shot.

The shooting.

The screaming.

The scream.

We are crying.

The rotations of the

ricocheting bullets

puncturing softly into

the dewy skin of your kin, and then

there is coagulated silence,

where only the heartbeat

of the living witness and struggle to keep on living.

tjkg

There is no sense there is only documentation. Let each soul that is lost to tragedy rest in peace.

SMILE THERAPY 45

I pray for the families who wont see their children or their parents this morning as if they are my own.

Smile Therapy 45

I am in smile therapy
as my children come
down the stairs this morning.

TJKG
If you have a moment watch this shot clip-
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=Hzgzim5m7oU&vq=medium

12-12-12

12-12-12


Let us take this day and make it the beginning of our end. Let us take the monumental number to celebrate our awakening as spiritual beings in quest for peace, harmony, and change. I find the number 12 follows us through history and is a natural resting place from the spiritual to the mundane. Take a moment on 12-12-12 and pray for peace for our planet and harmony for upcoming change.

12 months in a year. 

12 tribes of Israel

12 gods of Olympus 

12 old testament prophets

12 hours on a clock face.

12 inches in a foot.

12 strikes to bowl a perfect game.

12 people have walked on the moon.

12 face cards in a deck.

12 days of Christmas.

12 apostles of Jesus.

12 signs of the Zodiac.

12 pairs of ribs in humans. 

12 represents harmony 

1 is yang 2 is yin equaling balance

SMILE THERAPY 44-- SERVA ME ET TE SERVABO

Smile Therapy 44

Monday morning Smile Therapy goes like this:

I am in smile therapy when I learn 
it is 11:30 p.m. Monday in FUNAFUTI and it is 6:30 a.m.
here in PHILADELPHIA.  I want to go to
Funafuti in the South Pacific where the sun has already set
and the FUNafuti has begun.

TJKG  --And thank you to all the people who read my blog--
I am honored to have hit 10,000 views on Friday. : )

 

CAIN'S MARK

“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” – Proverb

Cain’s Mark

These marks

on the surface of my

skin have begun to

run and form tunnels

to my heart.

Those marks, coy as

shy tears

and dysfunctional lies,

wrangle with the

raped raw

arteries of my life

pushing blood to

those marks from

red stinging

finger tips, crashing

on the surface of my flesh,

leaving

a road map

to my magnum opus.

The mark, the fingerprint,

the passionate bruise,

the blood;

the symbols of my heart

are the bull’s eye for

my marks-woman’s rifle--

a bullet giving birth to

my stricken life,

fallen,

cursed,

risen,

and found

to be the score of my purpose.

The marks are now on my bones,

in my breath,

inscribed on my sword,

touched by my dignity,

and guided by my strength to

lead these scars forward.

TJKG