Dive Land
April 28, 2013
Scuttle me on to my new get-away, over there in Etowah.
Hidden is my low-key lagoon all lively, etcetera, etcetera.
Piled rock was once its tomb until man and his business loomed
And splattered spring waters fully till what we now share bloomed.
On the outs of old Glencoe was something wonderful, secret,
And as natural as a chance to peek, it unhanded all rights to keep it.
This is nature through a compromise and a beam of progress.
It's an ocean in a park steadily soothing as any in it would acquiesce.
Come on with me and hear your echoes deflect off a tall, rocky limb,
And bathe and soak in the scenic wet where bass and bluegill swim.
© 2013 Jarrod C. Lacy
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Brother Rock
February 2, 1991
Brother Rock,
Father Sky, Sister Sun, and Mother Moon,
Auntie Star shines her way to visit.
She'll be shooting soon.
She'll make herself comfortable
and embrace any invitation with
a calm retrieval before her usual
suggestion.
Of course, there will be her hums and heavy
exhalations, wondering, "What will they
make of their voices when hiding from my
question?":
"Who'll watch over my children while I keep
everyone in their place, for a galaxy with
constellations is an infinite race?"
Father Sky observed his kin and quickly
propelled his reply: "Each of us has his duty;
each of us has his place. My dear, I would
gladly assist you but your children extend,
even beyond my meager space."
Mother Moon approached with grace
and shone what light she could: "I'm
full at some point and a boomerang at
another course, and what brightness I'm
afforded to cast and display stems from
another source."
Sister Sun revealed her truth with the
expedience of a sleuth: "A giantess I am
and, like you, a star for our system's abode.
Unfortunately, my eyes are marked for
globes of civilizations, so I cannot be your
children's protector or a hand to hold."
"Oh", said Auntie Star, "My travels are so vast,
though I can speed to each of my family, but
my stay is a frizzle; I want more time with them.
Starshine shouldn't be a drizzle."
Brother Rock heard his aunt's plea and dared
to mark his word, though he's under every
force that is seen and heard: "Auntie Star, my
place, though by a meadow or pond, could
be ascended to grand lifts if you and the others
would, each, present your wand."
"What request would you merit from a minor
so bold?" Mother, father, and sister insisted
without being cold?"
Easily asserted brimmed Brother Rock, feeling
brilliant for given a response: "My life among
my earthly peers have allotted me the courage
to steer, to look up, to dream of travel, while
they come and go, and I'm unmoved here."
"Auntie Star, I ask you and the others to grant
me, a stomp, a little power, so that I, too, can
be stellar."
"Tell me, little stone by the water, what
could you see that I have not beyond the
cuts of cosmic corners? Your aunt asks,
though I should be your mother, and
tell me why your discovery, assistance or
computation would inhibit any other."
"Well", coughed Brother Rock, "I can
go with light ahead of you, due to my
newborn force, and be a comfort to
your children, be a steady for their
recourse, be the cause of their wait and
potential sadness that will fizzle in a dive,
which will ease them into happiness
when you arrive.
© 1991 Jarrod C. Lacy
February 2, 1991
Brother Rock,
Father Sky, Sister Sun, and Mother Moon,
Auntie Star shines her way to visit.
She'll be shooting soon.
She'll make herself comfortable
and embrace any invitation with
a calm retrieval before her usual
suggestion.
Of course, there will be her hums and heavy
exhalations, wondering, "What will they
make of their voices when hiding from my
question?":
"Who'll watch over my children while I keep
everyone in their place, for a galaxy with
constellations is an infinite race?"
Father Sky observed his kin and quickly
propelled his reply: "Each of us has his duty;
each of us has his place. My dear, I would
gladly assist you but your children extend,
even beyond my meager space."
Mother Moon approached with grace
and shone what light she could: "I'm
full at some point and a boomerang at
another course, and what brightness I'm
afforded to cast and display stems from
another source."
Sister Sun revealed her truth with the
expedience of a sleuth: "A giantess I am
and, like you, a star for our system's abode.
Unfortunately, my eyes are marked for
globes of civilizations, so I cannot be your
children's protector or a hand to hold."
"Oh", said Auntie Star, "My travels are so vast,
though I can speed to each of my family, but
my stay is a frizzle; I want more time with them.
Starshine shouldn't be a drizzle."
Brother Rock heard his aunt's plea and dared
to mark his word, though he's under every
force that is seen and heard: "Auntie Star, my
place, though by a meadow or pond, could
be ascended to grand lifts if you and the others
would, each, present your wand."
"What request would you merit from a minor
so bold?" Mother, father, and sister insisted
without being cold?"
Easily asserted brimmed Brother Rock, feeling
brilliant for given a response: "My life among
my earthly peers have allotted me the courage
to steer, to look up, to dream of travel, while
they come and go, and I'm unmoved here."
"Auntie Star, I ask you and the others to grant
me, a stomp, a little power, so that I, too, can
be stellar."
"Tell me, little stone by the water, what
could you see that I have not beyond the
cuts of cosmic corners? Your aunt asks,
though I should be your mother, and
tell me why your discovery, assistance or
computation would inhibit any other."
"Well", coughed Brother Rock, "I can
go with light ahead of you, due to my
newborn force, and be a comfort to
your children, be a steady for their
recourse, be the cause of their wait and
potential sadness that will fizzle in a dive,
which will ease them into happiness
when you arrive.
© 1991 Jarrod C. Lacy
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
A Journeyman
July 31, 1999 - August 2, 1999
This is for a journeyman,
The working man life scheduled to ban.
A casualty among the grains of sand
To sift through a kind of reprimand.
Sixteen years in his settled town -
Till lack of employment would fumble down.
No occupation to feed his tax.
A simple man among the cutbacks.
Often when a mind reaches this sort of the uncharted,
It burrows down the soul so brokenhearted.
So in defense, he boomed his voice.
To rebuild his spirit became his choice.
Though his heart nearly made the ultimate turnabout,
He knew the need to amend all doubt.
"Goodbye, sweet family," came after a night's rest.
"I'm a forager, now, with a bit of earth to best."
This test became a challenge he couldn't waver.
The purpose was to suit his Savior.
From Georgia, he began his ship-less sail.
To Maine would complete the Appalachian Trail.
Aside from a six-day familial halt, he treaded lone
While his wife and children clocked the time he was gone.
They didn't shun each other while he made his search.
Aside from family, there were friends and the church.
To renew but better his wake on the importance of belief,
He sought to seize his ache to perambulate for relief.
Faith can be crushing when hope's star is too ill to cruise.
Maybe those blues and bad luck are in cahoots to bruise.
As flats he smashed blend roughly with steeps,
Mason pined for Dixon, legs wished steps were leaps.
Deeper into the quest snapped his travelling rod.
But he framed no arguments or questioned "Where's my God?"
To assuage his put-upon place and such a seeming curse,
He regaled a journal and himself with poems and rhyming verse.
Yes, amazement can be settled quirks, pending of the absurd,
But like others he met along the trail, he never forgot the Word.
Not Cletus, Jimbo, T-Boy, Billy Bob, Buck, Hoss, or Jeb.
His brothers-on-foot handled him as ole' Johnny Reb.
Every twenty miles when dawn revived on the throes of his caper,
Admiration steered away his grief to the acceptance of gorgeous nature.
Moreover, he embraced what his Creator gave without peering peers.
Though this lonesome event was a revelation, he didn't share his tears.
His waist was a little shortened; his appetite wasn't a strain,
Even sore feet between states couldn't dare him to claim any bane.
More troubles to meet when his trek twisted its lengthy angle.
He slipped onto an old oak; there he would dangle.
Safely clenched to his faith and dispatched fully on the ground,
He held tightly to the credence that his Heavenly Father came round.
Amazingly, his 90-day foot careened him into reality.
His knowledge to challenge personal upsets stalled a lame mentality.
His spirit bored a walk on a fated course other souls combed
to embrace his family and reverse a lost, for he gloried while he roamed.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
July 31, 1999 - August 2, 1999
This is for a journeyman,
The working man life scheduled to ban.
A casualty among the grains of sand
To sift through a kind of reprimand.
Sixteen years in his settled town -
Till lack of employment would fumble down.
No occupation to feed his tax.
A simple man among the cutbacks.
Often when a mind reaches this sort of the uncharted,
It burrows down the soul so brokenhearted.
So in defense, he boomed his voice.
To rebuild his spirit became his choice.
Though his heart nearly made the ultimate turnabout,
He knew the need to amend all doubt.
"Goodbye, sweet family," came after a night's rest.
"I'm a forager, now, with a bit of earth to best."
This test became a challenge he couldn't waver.
The purpose was to suit his Savior.
From Georgia, he began his ship-less sail.
To Maine would complete the Appalachian Trail.
Aside from a six-day familial halt, he treaded lone
While his wife and children clocked the time he was gone.
They didn't shun each other while he made his search.
Aside from family, there were friends and the church.
To renew but better his wake on the importance of belief,
He sought to seize his ache to perambulate for relief.
Faith can be crushing when hope's star is too ill to cruise.
Maybe those blues and bad luck are in cahoots to bruise.
As flats he smashed blend roughly with steeps,
Mason pined for Dixon, legs wished steps were leaps.
Deeper into the quest snapped his travelling rod.
But he framed no arguments or questioned "Where's my God?"
To assuage his put-upon place and such a seeming curse,
He regaled a journal and himself with poems and rhyming verse.
Yes, amazement can be settled quirks, pending of the absurd,
But like others he met along the trail, he never forgot the Word.
Not Cletus, Jimbo, T-Boy, Billy Bob, Buck, Hoss, or Jeb.
His brothers-on-foot handled him as ole' Johnny Reb.
Every twenty miles when dawn revived on the throes of his caper,
Admiration steered away his grief to the acceptance of gorgeous nature.
Moreover, he embraced what his Creator gave without peering peers.
Though this lonesome event was a revelation, he didn't share his tears.
His waist was a little shortened; his appetite wasn't a strain,
Even sore feet between states couldn't dare him to claim any bane.
More troubles to meet when his trek twisted its lengthy angle.
He slipped onto an old oak; there he would dangle.
Safely clenched to his faith and dispatched fully on the ground,
He held tightly to the credence that his Heavenly Father came round.
Amazingly, his 90-day foot careened him into reality.
His knowledge to challenge personal upsets stalled a lame mentality.
His spirit bored a walk on a fated course other souls combed
to embrace his family and reverse a lost, for he gloried while he roamed.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
Thursday, April 3, 2014
"A Vision of Seperation" and "Haunted by Heteros"
A Vision Of Separation
March 29, 2013
Why can't all beautiful scenes be applicable to certain somebodies?
We all dream of colorful flushes of favorable fires that sear our
menacing whatnots, while escaping to wonders and desires,
though the identity of our worlds, honored and respected, mild or
outlandish spectacles, are flaunted as specialties for the liberties
and faculties, who by caustic invasion, say that multitudes of indigenous
faces cannot hope to witness and be awarded all artistry and
allure through creation.
© 2013 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Haunted By Heteros
February 10, 2013
The reel of softness compelled a hello as tenderness revealed her skin when he caressed it. He was mild with it, though she was conscious of his deeper creature that could never be stunted, and there was nothing to elude her acceptance.
Grokking their joining warmly, there was no design from either her or him to peel back past tensions that would have freed both drones in them. Stars, moon magic and silly startling habits were amassed avalanches, often romantic, that cancelled direct measures to pause their happy inheritance. This is what is believed to be added to the vehicle that collides with distraction. She is the wheel and he is an axle.
© 2013 Jarrod C. Lacy
March 29, 2013
Why can't all beautiful scenes be applicable to certain somebodies?
We all dream of colorful flushes of favorable fires that sear our
menacing whatnots, while escaping to wonders and desires,
though the identity of our worlds, honored and respected, mild or
outlandish spectacles, are flaunted as specialties for the liberties
and faculties, who by caustic invasion, say that multitudes of indigenous
faces cannot hope to witness and be awarded all artistry and
allure through creation.
© 2013 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Haunted By Heteros
February 10, 2013
The reel of softness compelled a hello as tenderness revealed her skin when he caressed it. He was mild with it, though she was conscious of his deeper creature that could never be stunted, and there was nothing to elude her acceptance.
Grokking their joining warmly, there was no design from either her or him to peel back past tensions that would have freed both drones in them. Stars, moon magic and silly startling habits were amassed avalanches, often romantic, that cancelled direct measures to pause their happy inheritance. This is what is believed to be added to the vehicle that collides with distraction. She is the wheel and he is an axle.
© 2013 Jarrod C. Lacy
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