Jalalbad• Show poetry

 

Skull. The latest creation of my friend Chris Mekern known in AP as rite http://terrarosso.com

              

 

 

 

The Edge of a Whisper

Written for my son and I by the poet Titus

 

At what stage of thinking may we watch,

the whispers of a curel but unlike said?

Imagined it to be a wayward stalk,

one's offering the soul an unlike pledge.

You claw towards predation's set desires,

that once would such inherit things we daunt,

could duly less concern like winsome words,

between the lines we read they fleetly woo.

 

For having tasted copious more breath

related feels for yearning this combined;

which hide the rich rejoice that once besides

essential gifts to raise the sudden chill.

 

I edge toward the sepulchral content,

full knowing, and often as it seems

content that I for one, and two or three,

am hearing all I need to feel sincerely.

The edge is of than duly steeped reply,

unanswered while the fills that envelope

the rate from every sigh it would concern

your whisper as somewhat a private eye.

 

 

Greek Poet Nick Fatseas known in AP as Angelo-di Luce.

Author of ''She is'' one of his latest poems of devotion to me.

Thank you Nick.

 

 

NOW

 

THEN

 

 

Links:

www.emergingearthangels.com 

www.harlowhiteministries.org                            

www.TerraRosso.com 

www.castplus.com   

http://www.youtube.com/jalollybad   

 

UFO that I caught with a camera. 

The small orb on right appeared above my fenceline.

I watched it move in only minutes from fence to top of house.

I never saw the red object when I took photo.                         

 

 

The Gift                              

                                            

 

                 of love

 

           covers a mulitude

 

                          of sins...                       

To the fiery-starry firebird,

Living in every persons soul, heart;

Who is in unsion with the soaring

Of Richard Davis Bach's

Jonathan Livingston Seagull,

As well in unison with the perfect alchemistry

Of Leonardo Da Vincie's

Enlightened bird

And as well in unison with creation of the world.

                              

The violins melody is classic

Ever bursting- with changing melody

White swans swimming in a sea                                   

Like a peacock crying,

The fading echos of the violin,

Quivered in life's last night;

Between my eyes and whispering:

It paved a path of light-

The red rose pressed, strained and cried,

Against my greiving soul,

But never died- and it denied,

The weeds of selfishness to grow.

 

The firebird told me,

That death was not a perfect rest,

And that life was nothing more unless,

You know and love again somewhere,

The one who loved you here,

And that a poet should be ashamed,

To glide a grief with foolish art,

When the future has been stained,

By a past that has no heart,

By a past that has no heart... 

Muse and Poet

 

Jalalbad http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhTL8g5tBAU

Jalalbad http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqyLVRSKzpA

Nearer my God to Thee www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jzgiw2KmxtQ

      

The abysses deep and dark

I tied with bridge and ark

The velvet forests green

I baptized with prayer and dream

Creating a door to heaven;

I explored the sense of seven...

The firebird gave the rose such peace:

''Emptiness:

And a storm in the emptiness...

And the storming emptiness,

Created a starry instant;

In which rest, peace conqured her

Making her think of becoming a saint-

The spiritual owner of rest and peace...

 

''Carless Love''

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5gADTQsM_Y

Firebird gave to rose his heart,

Firebird gave to rose his art,

Firebird gave to rose his violin,

Firebird gave to rose his everything,

But the ardency rose understanding nothing

Disappeared again...

In the pure ether appeared the spirit of power

And the firebird gives to the spirit such flower:

''O, wonderful suns wise power,

Explain, please, the sense of life,

Can I become a genius in one hour?

I get tired of a world without sense,

And the Holy light enlightening my ardency essence''...  

          

I will love the light for it shows me the way

I will love the night for it shows me the stars.

 Otto Mandingo said that.

I am not a human being, being human.

I am a Christ Being, being supernatural real.

I said that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_uVLfnKpKg

I wanted to put this song in the beginning of my novel

 ''Whisper on the Wind'' but wasn't allowed due to copyrights.

The song ''Whispering Grass'' was only one inspiration for my book.

''Whisper on the Wind'' fiction\fantasy 

A sad comedy written in the true

traditional Appalacia language.

 

A friend of mine. Timothy

http://allpoetry.com/poeticweaver

 

Link To Order:

 

http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1424186226/ref=sr_1_olp_1/002-0346753-3324039?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182047625&sr=1-1

 

Lucid Skies of Love speaks on many unique layers of my heart of poetry. I find myself searching for perfection in a world where it just does not exist. On a spiritual level, I find that inner peace comes from sharing a soft whisper of encouragement to a fellow soul in need, and planting good seeds where so many can taste the fruits of Compassion.

By: Timothy aka poeticweaver

 

 

My son Michael Shane

 

If the heart is the place where love comes from,

Then where does love go when it dies,

Back to the heart where it came from,

Or trun into tears in the eyes?

But even if one knew the answer,

What would one possibly gain,

Would the knowledge of where love had gone to,

Ease the heart ache and the pain?

Why is it that one cannot quiet realize,

What a blessing true love can be,

must one lose love to know it is priceless,

Must one be blind before one can see?

Where does love go when it leaves us?

This question will always remain,

But we will never know the answer,

Until we find love once again...

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8iieWXmY0Q

 ''lipsync''Gloomy Sunday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oR07QOTfeqk

Falling in Love Again  http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=7cXpQvL2 BOg 

   

My favorite star ''Giulietta Masina ''Nights of Cabiria''

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Nshf2sQpwc

 

I am the author of ''Whisper on the Wind''

a fiction/fanasty written in the true 

traditional Appalachian style of Eastern KY.

My 2nd novel can be purchased
through any Borders Bookstore-
Order a signed copy from me and save $5.
Send $16.95 check or money order to:
Judy Meeker
711 South Main St.
Monroe,Ohio 45050

 

I am the author of ''another book''

 

Vengence is God's

a 1st novel that was released in 1992-
a 40 page non-fiction about the hard
life and poor living conditions
of an abused wife and mother.
Written in the Applachian
style-
Only a few copies remain-
the novel was banned
and pulled from the bookshelfs
in 1998 because of
a slanderous lawsuit.

My 2nd novel''Whisper on the Wind''
is a 145 page
fiction/fantasy.
If you should be interested in
this book go to Barnes&Nobles and
search Judy C Meeker.
The 6 five star reviews on the book
will tell you more
than I can tell you here.
I write in the true traditional Appalachia language
of the hills. My readers have compared my writing to
the late great author Erskine Caldwell-author of
''Tobacco Road'' and ''God's Little Acre'' and to
the late Jessie Stewart- author and poet.
I am now in the process of editing my 3rd novel
''Devil in the Pulpit''

''Starry Passing'' ISBN-10: 9994132520

A book that has been archived by

 NASA and The Heritage Hubble Team.
This book was written as a devotion to me.
Book can be ordered at www.authorsden.com
or from any of the Noah's Ark book stores in Armenia.

The book ''Spiritual Speech'' can be had by ordering from me.

If my writings make no sense it means that there

are writings about sense. 
Judy C. Meeker Published Novelist
''Mother of Sorrow'' Non-Fiction
''Whisper on the Wind'' Fiction/Fantasy 

 

I would like to present to you, an epic poem with a morale.

Titus has the unenviable task of putting my words into story form.

With that I thank you dearly.   

Poem about John Smith, English colonist in America  1580–1631, b. Willoughby, Lincolnshire, England. Arabic Version    http://allpoetry.com/poem/show/3689184 Italian Version http://allpoetry.com/poem/3689122    (operatic) From the words of John Smith, it is hoped a hero is brought from the suggestions I have found and for Titus to put words to, my son would evolve as the hero in my eyes. Made apparent by the determination of  those who wanted to make it better for others from which will be made apparent in this composition.

The Rubaiyat of Jalalbad, (English Version) 

By Jalalbad                     

   

 

 

Adaptation & Translations (Arabic / Italian)
By Titus Llewellyn From which the verses below be translated.              

 

''The Child King From Song of the Firebird'' 
 

My humanistic mind
Could not comprehend nor hear it
The mystery of his kind
The secret of his spirit
But was to write in morbid verse
In hopes of being healed
Of the never ending thirst
For the things that he concealed
Until at last my pen was cursed
With the knowledge he revealed.
Deep within my dusty den
Hidden in the lonesome pine
I listened to the howling wind
It's icy fingers tapped my spine
And the restless howling wind
Blew into my mind
Was restless but to howl again
Then wrap around me like a vine
The doors I'd dare not enter in
The stairs I'd vowed to never climb
Became obsession to me then
I bound up them 3 at a time.
Drifting through a mortal sleep
Like a star in the night
Eyes ablaze with the heat
Of God's holy light
Descending to the deepest deep
To soar above the highest height
I wandered straying like a sheep
And lonely as a kite
Across many sandy dunes
Across a path paved in gravel
Into legionary tombs
In mystery too deep to unravel.
Hidden in the dusty rooms-
A sleeping child who yearned to travel.
I saw him in the spirit realm
This forgotten child of yesterday
Like some cheap and tarnished gem
In the casket where he laid
His essence but a mummy stem
Trapped beneath the mud and clay
Yet I loved and cherished him
In spite the process of decay.  

The Child King #2
His dry bones shuddered in alarm
At this specter by his bed
Whose neon eyes and icy charm
Betrayed her at the living dead
And the baby on her arm
Filled him with uncertain dread
Yet he knew she would not harm
A single hair upon his head
He watched her like a spirit dreaming
In another realm or time
And her eyes were soft and clinging
Around his essence like a vine
Or a foreign sun whose beaming
Is an omen or a sign.
Reaching out I took his hand
Held it firmly in my own
And forced his soul to understand
That death was but a stepping stone
And I held his fleshless hand
Held it firmly in my own
As I went on to command
Life restored unto his bones.
His screams roaring like a tide
Between the heavens and the earth
And the baby at my side
Was none other than his birth
Torn from my bloody womb
Cut off from the mother vine
And hurled into a waiting tomb
Before the destinated time.
I know he's gone yet somehow
He lingers like a summer rain
I hear him in the winds that howl
And rattle at my window pane
I feel a chill cross my brow
Before I hear him call my name
And crossing through the night I prowl
In the form of fog and flame
Swooping down in wispy smoke
This childish spirit to embrace
I find him huddled in a cloak
A wistful smile upon his face
A gentle ghost out to evoke
The love of God's amazing grace.
With hands beneath hooded pockets
He stands silent and alone
Staring through empty sockets
With spirit eyes cold as stone
Then in a shower of rainbow rockets
He bursts into bits of bone
To become sweet memories framed in lockets
For the Masters view alone.

 

The Child King #3     

             
Like some cheap psychotic demon
I return to my den
There to lie forever dreaming
And listening to the whispering wind

There to lie in silent screaming
For him to come to me again

In blood stained verses streaming

Down my face and chin.
And in my dreams so it seems
I hear him call my name
Like a balm his voice redeems
Me from a world of hellish pain
As a light he softly beams
Through my lonely dark domain
Into my hell through spirit means
On soles of kitten feet he came

Through the dark and mirrored glass
That reflect the living dead
Below the withered winter grass
Overgrown above my head
Through the dusty crypt to pass
Breaking through the spider's thread
And with a single blow to crash
The vault around my satin bed.
From a cloud of smoky mist
This childish spirit takes my hand
And grasp it in his bony fist
With the strength of a man
And flying through the crypt in bliss
That I don't profess to understand
We greet the sun with a kiss

As only firebirds can...

Nefertiti                     

                                                   

When earth's last picture is painted,

And the tubes are twisted and dried,

When the oldest colors have faded,

And the youngest critic has died,

We shall rest, and faith, we shall need-

Lie down for an aeon or two,

Till the Master of all good Workmen

Shall put us to work anew.

And these that were good shall be happy:

They shall sit in a golden chair;

They shall splash at a ten league canvas

With brushes of camel's hair;

They shall find real saints to draw from-

Magdalene, Peter and Paul,

They shall work for an age at a sitting,

And never be tired at all!

And only the Master shall praise us,

And only the Master shall blame;

And no one shall work for money,

And no one shall work for fame;

But each for the joy of working,

And each, in his separate star,

Shall draw the Thing he as he sees it

For the God of Things as They Are.

 

Bird of gold, go forth and find me

Him whose bride I am to me:

Search and circle until you find him,

Bind him, bring him, bird, to me.

If you have no thread of scarlet,

Give him greetings without end:

Tell him golden bird, my spirit

Pines with longing for my friend.

Seethe and whisper magic potion:

Thus the phoenix makes reply:

In the night to your beloved

With my secret I will fly.

In his dreams I give your greeting,

In his dreams reveal your face;

Lo! Upon a broomstick mounted

Unto you he flies apace.

When the night was dark above me

And the stars with clouds were stilled,

On his quest the phoenix vanished-

And his words are unfulfilled.

And at morn, at noon, at even,

Still I watch the clouds of fire:

Clouds above me, answer, wherefore

Comes he not, my heart's desire?

Thank you for reading Jalalbad and me.

Judy C. Meeker