Time for Pine Nuts

[nibbed]

Time for Pine Nuts
(well chewed)


I had wondered
why the preacher said
don't talk to the devil,
until I saw what happened
when he did.

I want to tell you
stop trying so hard,
wall of stone,  
I'm not of indigo blood.

My mind wanders
cross-eyed, with poison
made from my own flesh:

hopeful romantic thoughts,
stupid mushy stuff
that left when beauty was robbed
by deader sages, wasting time.

Hovering death illuminates
fabricated resurrections everywhere:
baseball caps and bouncing pig-tails
perked in sunshine yarn.

You seem to be dreaming
as so many others
for just a drop
of my crimson sequence
because we can't give each other
anything else but puddles of salt.

It will never be enough, though.
So I head for tall wispy grasses,
run barefoot on cool, softened, clover

after proving myself
worthy of suffering.

Oh, dear sweet, displaced angel,
giving way to a secretive perpetual life
of ashes and dust
tragically ignoring
you're forever,

though controlled
by a one-sided covenant
involved in birthing
more failed tiny Edens
who kiss the rings of Rome.

Why swim like the Coho?
Why die sore upon unfriendly, ignorant
pebble and stone?

Leave me out of it.
I choose Christ
and His way of eternal life,
not the counterfeit
of your every relentless angle.
You will not damage me anymore,
you only train my strength.



(Original)
Time for Pine Nuts


I had wondered
why the preacher said
don't talk to the devil,
then I saw what happened
when he did.

I want to tell you
stop trying so hard.
All this blocking of bile,
as though I'm of indigo blood.

My mind wanders
cross-eyed, with poison
made from my own flesh:

hopeful romantic thoughts,
stupid mushy stuff
that left with beauty robbed
by deader sages wasting time.

Hovering death revealed
donated tubes
of a best friend
before heaven grabbed her away.
I see her resurrections everywhere:
baseball caps and bouncing pig-tails
perked in sunshine yarn.

You seem to be dreaming
as so many others
of my signature in crimson
because we can't give each other
anything else but puddles of salt.

It will never be enough, though.
I weep and run
through tall wispy grasses,
barefoot on cool, softened, clover
if only to prove myself worthy of suffering.

Oh, dear sweet,
displaced angel, giving way
to a secretive perpetual life
of ashes and dust
tragically ignoring your forever soul,

controlled by a one-sided covenant
involved in birthing more failed tiny Edens
while kissing rings along the borders of Rome.

Why swim like the Coho?
Why die sore upon unfriendly, ignorant
pebble and stone?

Leave me out of it.
I choose Christ
and His way of eternal life,
not the counterfeit
of your every relentless angle.
You will not damage me anymore,
you only train my strength.

[CRNDLSM]

Time for Pine Nuts


I had wondered
why the preacher said
don't talk to the devil,
then I saw what happened I would cut 'what happened when he did' because the emphasis of 'he' is hard to determine, and 'saw' is a nice cliff hanger to the next line
when he did.  

I want to tell you
stop trying so hard.
All this blocking of bile,
as though I'm of indigo blood.  Although i like both of these sentences, thinking about the connection between indigo blood, bile blocking, and trying makes me think this strophe should be split up

My mind wanders
cross-eyed, with poison
made from my own flesh: I like this strophe

hopeful romantic thoughts,
stupid mushy stuff
that left with beauty robbed
by deader sages wasting time. Deader and stupid and stuff all kinda go together well here

Hovering death revealed
donated tubes strange I will find out more
of a best friend
before heaven grabbed her away.
I see her resurrections everywhere:
baseball caps and bouncing pig-tails
perked in sunshine yarn.dont get the tubes still

You seem to be dreaming
as so many others
of my signature in crimson
because we can't give each other
anything else but puddles of salt.this is really good stuff, I would move 'puddles of salt' down to its own strophe.

It will never be enough, though.
I weep and run
through tall wispy grasses,
barefoot on cool, softened, clover
if only to prove myself worthy of suffering.i would think glass and coals prove it more than soft clovers but...

Oh, dear sweet,
displaced angel, giving way
to a secretive perpetual life
of ashes and dust
tragically ignoring your forever soul, I would drop 'soul' and changing 'your' to 'you're' 

controlled by a one-sided covenant
involved in birthing more failed tiny Edens
while kissing rings along the borders of Rome.

Why swim like the Coho? Making me look up words I appreciate that
Why die sore upon unfriendly, ignorant
pebble and stone?

Leave me out of it.
I choose Christ
and His way of eternal life,
not the counterfeit
of your every relentless angle.okay you've been talking to the devil
You will not damage me anymore,
you only train my strength.

Reminds me of one of my favorite stories

A young monk was talking to an old monk and asked, 'do you still wrestle with the devil?' The man said, 'no, I'm old, the devils old, we pretty much leave each other alone.  No, now I wrestle with God'  the young monk said, 'well, I hope you win.' The elder said, 'no, with God, you hope to lose.'

Thanks for the read.

[nibbed]

Time for Pine Nuts


I had wondered
why the preacher said
don't talk to the devil,
then I saw what happened I would cut 'what happened when he did' because the emphasis of 'he' is hard to determine, and 'saw' is a nice cliff hanger to the next line
when he did.  

I want to tell you
stop trying so hard.
All this blocking of bile,
as though I'm of indigo blood.  Although i like both of these sentences, thinking about the connection between indigo blood, bile blocking, and trying makes me think this strophe should be split up

My mind wanders
cross-eyed, with poison
made from my own flesh: I like this strophe

hopeful romantic thoughts,
stupid mushy stuff
that left with beauty robbed
by deader sages wasting time. Deader and stupid and stuff all kinda go together well here

Hovering death revealed
donated tubes strange I will find out more
of a best friend
before heaven grabbed her away.
I see her resurrections everywhere:
baseball caps and bouncing pig-tails
perked in sunshine yarn.dont get the tubes still

You seem to be dreaming
as so many others
of my signature in crimson
because we can't give each other
anything else but puddles of salt.this is really good stuff, I would move 'puddles of salt' down to its own strophe.

It will never be enough, though.
I weep and run
through tall wispy grasses,
barefoot on cool, softened, clover
if only to prove myself worthy of suffering.i would think glass and coals prove it more than soft clovers but...

Oh, dear sweet,
displaced angel, giving way
to a secretive perpetual life
of ashes and dust
tragically ignoring your forever soul, I would drop 'soul' and changing 'your' to 'you're' 

controlled by a one-sided covenant
involved in birthing more failed tiny Edens
while kissing rings along the borders of Rome.

Why swim like the Coho? Making me look up words I appreciate that
Why die sore upon unfriendly, ignorant
pebble and stone?

Leave me out of it.
I choose Christ
and His way of eternal life,
not the counterfeit
of your every relentless angle.okay you've been talking to the devil
You will not damage me anymore,
you only train my strength.

Reminds me of one of my favorite stories

A young monk was talking to an old monk and asked, 'do you still wrestle with the devil?' The man said, 'no, I'm old, the devils old, we pretty much leave each other alone.  No, now I wrestle with God'  the young monk said, 'well, I hope you win.' The elder said, 'no, with God, you hope to lose.'

Thanks for the read.

Thank you, CRNDLSM, for the kind regard of my poem.
I am going to attempt a revision today and take into account much of your helpful critique. I was suffering a gallbladder attack yesterday and my liver seemed to travel to my brain when I wrote it. hahaha What a better time to squeeze out a poem, why waste all that suffering on just groaning? Now for the fun of going back and cleaning up the mess I wrote. Thanks again for your kind consideration.

nibbed