ImaBear

Angel’s Voice

I adore you

My voice isn’t strong enough
I don’t know the words
Lend me your gift
So I can be heard

Teach me to sing
In a room all alone
Help me understand
That’s not the right tone

I want you
I need you
To sing to me

Listen in the car
The shower, my room
Makes no difference
I’ll still be your groom

You’re my girl
With an amazing voice
Don’t ever lose it
Not that you have a choice

I want you
I need you
To sing to me

Good Morning for Thoughts

Sitting on the couch
In my boxers
Coffee in hand 
Breakfast plate empty by my side
I wonder,
"Who has it this good?"
Cat attack!
She thinks she can type
Feet, sweaty, but lounging on the ottoman
The busy street bustling behind the branches
White noise to me now
A soothing calamity
I often think about what I want in life
Love, happiness, money…
Writing “poetry” gets me two of those
But, alas, we all must make sacrifices,
Don’t we?

Feet firmly put
About face
Time to get ready for the day. 

Him

you spoke quietly into your silver cup
placed it on the withering tree
took a step back to bow your head
gently sighed in desperate relief
steps are bound by where they’re placed - 
God provided and now you know
pain is just a part of the process
slow and steady we live on
whispers are heard by those who are listening - 
you’ve tended a beautiful garden
new life and hope are with you now
praise God forevermore. 

Past my bedtime

Dark midnight clouds
Pierced by stars’ distant memories
Blackened blue artfully smeared throughout
Globs of wet paint drip from the heavens

God bless the Montana sky

putthison:

"Morning Song of Senlin" by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie. 

Vine leaves tap my window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry treeRepeating three clear tones. 

It is morning. I stand by the mirror And tie my tie once more. While waves far off in a pale rose twilight Crash on a white sand shore. I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: How small and white my face!— The green earth tilts through a sphere of air And bathes in a flame of space. There are houses hanging above the stars And stars hung under a sea… And a sun far off in a shell of silence Dapples my walls for me… 

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning Should I not pause in the light to remember God? Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, He is immense and lonely as a cloud. I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair. Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! I will think of you as I descend the stair. 

Vine leaves tap my window, The snail-track shines on the stones, Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree Repeating two clear tones. 

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. The walls are about me still as in the evening, I am the same, and the same name still I keep. The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, The stars pale silently in a coral sky. In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, Unconcerned, I tie my tie. 

There are horses neighing on far-off hills Tossing their long white manes, And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, Their shoulders black with rains… 
It is morning. I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor… 

… It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, And a god among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know… 

Vine-leaves tap at the window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.

(Audio version here)

Simply beautiful

putthison:

"Morning Song of Senlin" by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning 
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, 
I arise, I face the sunrise, 
And do the things my fathers learned to do. 
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops 
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, 
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet 
Stand before a glass and tie my tie. 

Vine leaves tap my window, 
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, 
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones. 

It is morning. I stand by the mirror 
And tie my tie once more. 
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight 
Crash on a white sand shore. 
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: 
How small and white my face!— 
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air 
And bathes in a flame of space. 
There are houses hanging above the stars 
And stars hung under a sea… 
And a sun far off in a shell of silence 
Dapples my walls for me… 

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning 
Should I not pause in the light to remember God? 
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, 
He is immense and lonely as a cloud. 
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror 
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair. 
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! 
I will think of you as I descend the stair. 

Vine leaves tap my window, 
The snail-track shines on the stones, 
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree 
Repeating two clear tones. 

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, 
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. 
The walls are about me still as in the evening, 
I am the same, and the same name still I keep. 
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, 
The stars pale silently in a coral sky. 
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, 
Unconcerned, I tie my tie. 

There are horses neighing on far-off hills 
Tossing their long white manes, 
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, 
Their shoulders black with rains… 

It is morning. I stand by the mirror 
And surprise my soul once more; 
The blue air rushes above my ceiling, 
There are suns beneath my floor… 

… It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness 
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, 
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, 
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. 
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, 
And a god among the stars; and I will go 
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak 
And humming a tune I know… 

Vine-leaves tap at the window, 
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, 
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree 
Repeating three clear tones.

(Audio version here)

Simply beautiful

Insomnia

Sleepless forest during the yellow moon
Chained dogs howl tirelessly into the night
Dreams are drifting from head to head
Distant mountains sing of a broken tune
Shimmering stars wink down upon us
Trembling hands reaching, reaching
Silence is a forgotten God
Reserved for the righteous and just
Dusty boots shake off the Earth
Piles of wet wood heaped in the corner
Blazing fire warms all but your soul
Thoughts and actions planned from birth
Return to the stillness of the night
Venture out into the forever blue
Journey fiercely, with thoughts in order
Rejoice and know there will always be light

I’ve been really into ‘Suits’ lately. 

I’ve been really into ‘Suits’ lately. 

(via thetieguy)

Restless night

Restless night