Monthly Archives: April 2018

On Children…©

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BY KHALIL GIBRAN

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

 

Peace & Love,

Light..

 

Light..

I am; not the contents…©

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Secret Centres

In the spring

there is winter,

resting.

In the day-light

there is night-time,

patiently awaiting.

In my low and high drives

there is, at all times, the Inner Me,

secretly marvelling in,

each and every

moment of Being

in existence!

 

Insperience, 2004

 

Don’t let the struggle become our identity. We are more than what ‘happens’ to us; more than what people think of us, and more than we have come to believe we are. We are basically very good to the core, given a real and true shot at life..

Peace & Love,

Light..

 

 

 

 

 

God Blessed The Child ©

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A poem:

The Child Within, a gift therein,

has been since The Beginning of our time-

before you, we, us became an I.

The Child’s Eyes Sees far and wide-

if you Let It Be your guide, it’s wise sunshine

will make you smile.

For The Child is both old and young,

a true champion that can make you Feel, instantly

revitalised and undone.

So if Your Child Inside lies wounded, denied, buried

in a shame that binds, heal its pain and regain re-cognition

through its Wonder- Filled Fountain of Youth-

Patiently awaiting You.

For you cannot enter into Self-Love’s glorious kingdom

until You first Come To Be as little children…

That is why deh mans dem so vex,

that A Gift so Heaven Sent, weren’t taught

to love and respect itself,

and as some wise soul once said,

“Hate yourself in the morning of your life

and by noon time, you’ll be hating everyone else.”

So, who God Bless, let no man curse-

and God Most Definitely Blessed, The Child,

so let us learn to Do and Be, Likewise.

Insperience, 2004

Peace & Love,

Light…

Sweet, but Street…©

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SWEET, BUT STREET

She is a Child of Love,  a Street, but Sweet kind of Love-a Free Kind of Love that’s Real kind of Love.

Bathed in Positivity, She Is, because We Are, Her Beloved Children-and Her Mission? To Preserve All Her Precious Creations.

The Breath and Depth of Her Love, Informs the Heart of her Craft, of Fleshing out the bones, of the Mind Body & Soul, of all Her Mis-guided Relations.

Her Truth and Right Justice IS, exactly the same, and like Good Music, When it hits you, You Feel No Pain.

But don’t get confused thinking you can play Her Love for fool, for although She’s Sweet, She’s also Street, and Her Bittersweet Golden Rule?

“Who don’t Hear Must Feel.”

So treat Her Right, She’s your Queen, and Her Love Reigns Supreme.

Now, take Her hands, and let Her Take You to Your Sweet but Street, Life-longed for, Dreams…

Peace & Love,

Light..

 

Back In The Day…©

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I have been revisiting the poems I wrote 14 years or so ago, of which I also used to perform on the poetry circuit in the late 90’s and early 20’s. Black on black crime was very much alive and kicking then. I would like to share one of those poems with you all. This poem came to mind this evening, brought into consciousness by these inner city youth cries; these Inner City Blues, if you like…Here goes,

Mother-Lover

Back in The Day we lived large, 
played hard-unconditionally loved
by the Great Mother; self-loving in Her Nature.

Then it came to pass,
a mean spirited, player hating, cold chill farce
held Her Sons to ransom; claimed Her, then raped Her.

Now Her sweet Sons don’t shine like before,
their throats are sore, from the pressure she applied
to hold them back, until such time
Vision was restored.

And as time passes by, memory fades;
whilst some of Her Sons still re-members
The Day, others buckle under the mental health strain;

Some becoming more like Gangcesters,
dis-membering, everything, both big and small
that resembles themselves at all.

But Her Love is Pure, She both under and over stands
that the rage like fire burns strong
and is still in need of being undone,

So Her offspring’s may sing
a more reparative redemption song
and like Eagles fly East-Homeward bound;
forward out of this, Babylon.

And then, The Right Time Come,
and the Grand Mother bawl-‘Fire a ga bun!
Go get ‘em Son! Regain your rightful positions!’

And with nuff love ina dem Hearts,
Her Truth upon their Tongues, their Quest?
To cut away all falsehoods from this-
Her kingdom.

So, “Fret not yourself my brothers” (sing)

The Mother Loves us ever so much,
and as a Matter of Cause, is oh so Desirous of us
to find the Will to Live and Love.

So Remember, as it was in the beginning
So we shall be in the end; Her Sons shining,
like the phoenix Forever Raising-
again and again and again.

Amen

Denise Marcia James, aka Insperience, 2004