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Excerpt for Discipular Poetica by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Copyright 2018 Mister Construed X (Michael S. Davis)

Published by Smashwords














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Table of Contents:

Amble into Freedom

Existence Considered

A Dead Friend

Answer me Why

Salvation

A Day in August

Tired

Time has had its way with Me

He Fell

A Winter’s Birth

Full

Struggling to fill the final Spaces

Happy Sunny Day

Saying Goodbye

Her (For McD)

The Unread Poem

Silent Wood

Music in Me

Now is the Time

Finally it Rhymes

Understanding

Until Tomorrow

The Glance

A New

Circles in the Rain

Races

A Gift for You

The Rose

All Brand New

Praise thy Pen

Three days with a Stranger

Pitter, Patter

The Kiss

Golden Road

Why Write?

Answered Prayers

A Reason

Kissing a Fool



























Prologue



A disciple of poetry

a path unchosen, yet not forsaken







































There’s no Stephen here

Chapter One; the only one



Follow me, repeats the voice in my head

We’ll go skipping thru time, thru space

Leaving behind nothing but ink our place

Pictured words

Ink rolled beauty

You can’t turn away

Tis your duty

Rite



Point the way, Disciple!











Trying to sleep with a head full of thoughts

Trying to write without getting caught

Struggling for words to scratch-out with this pen

The length of this page is nearing an end

Like so many endings throughout all time

This one falls just short of the final line



Amble into Freedom



I find myself writing of you because my mind will not let me think of anyone else

I escape your torture only while alone in the forest

I can walk without pressure to hurry there and my mind ambles along as slowly as my feet

Eventually though; I have to return to the world that society has built

The world of working long hours, sleeping through short nights, and the boring repetitions of awake at seven and lunch at noon

The world of people and community, filth and anger

Cheating wives and cheating husbands and those that cheat but talk about others as if they don’t cheat themselves

It is themselves that they are cheating

To hide from this craziness, I run to the forest where life is simple

A place where if you are hungry you eat and if you are tired you sleep; but mostly you just amble along

Space is all that surrounds a person there and freedom can be taken in with each breath of fresh air

No telephones ringing or car horns blowing and no thoughts of you to sting my eyes

The chatter of a red squirrel is like music to my ears when compared to the tone of a fax machine receiving another memo

Soon I’m sure that I’ll just walk away, like a ghost into the forest, to escape the noise and poison air forever;

But then I realize that eventually my mind would catch-up to me and again I would be caught thinking of you

Out of the forest I run, into the noise and fumes, hoping to catch a glimpse of you

Please visit my thoughts

Please sting my eyes



Existence Considered



After much study and consideration I’ve come to the conclusion that Heaven is not is the sky, nor is Hell in the fires below

God is not in some church on the corner begging for your change so that the man in the pulpit can drive a Maserati

Heaven and Hell, God and more, is inside each and everyone of us

Letting these energies out is what life is all about

A person can release their spirituality and be kind and helpful to their fellow man

Or they can release their instinctive animalism and be predatory and destructive

Death of the body is the ultimate release

Allowing the energies of both the spirit and the animal to be released back to God the Mother

Or in other words, back to the energy from this planet of which we, as humans, were formed

Fear not death, for it is simply a path back to where you started





















In all things there is a middle; meet me there and we will both be happy

A Dead Friend



He sat in the driver’s seat, uncomfortable and fidgeting

He looked straight into my eyes and said, “I’ve never made love to a woman”

The reality of death had sunken in

I could see it as plainly as I could see him

Even though he was older and more outgoing he didn’t have what I have, a “face”

Now that cancer was about to cast its judgement upon him, all he wanted was to feel the soft, warm hands of a woman upon him before the end

She needn’t be beautiful or even cute

She just needed to be real

To touch him like she meant it

To slip her tongue into his mouth when he kissed her

To whisper in his ear that everything was going to be okay



“Help me”, was his request

“Use what you have to give me a chance at one night of pleasure”, he asked

I did not realize the imperativeness of his request, but he certainly did

He was dead before I had a chance to realize how short his time truly was

And why he had asked me for help when he did

I felt so guilty that I couldn’t even go to his funeral

A young man dying as a virgin due to my failure

To never have known the passions of a woman’s body

In hindsight I beg

Please forgive me now, I was merely a boy and did not realize the true timetable that had been set upon me

With more time, I could have helped; I would have helped

If only we’d had more time



Answer me Why



At times I feel lost

Like I’m walking through this lifetime without so much as a match stick flame to show my way

I go for days without sleeping or eating; just wandering, thinking

How; is a good place to start

Followed by; When and Where

Saving Why for the last

I believe that “Why?” is a question that can go unanswered for eternity

Perhaps it is even the reason for spirits to stay and wander the physical world instead of traveling to the celestial

They cannot find an answer to “Why?”

Eventually I try just stacking the questions in the back of my head like a cord of seasoned maple

The bottom pieces begin to rot with time and become unrememberable; forgotten

For some, this process seems to happen much faster

They go through life without questions

It’s not that they do not have questions, it’s just that theirs rot away faster than mine

Sometimes I yearn for rot, ignorance, complacency

The ability to forget seems a blessing to me

I’ve seen forgetfulness help many people; but for me, I go without help

If only I could find the light switch to a bulb that would burn bright enough to show me the way

The way to the door that’s labelled;

“The answer to why is behind this door”

“Do you dare open it?”

I would yank it open with both hands



Salvation



Speak softly, these words as you die



Forgive me my savior, for I have lived

I have laughed at others pain as they have laughed at mine

I have drank fermented and distilled flavors until nearly blind

I have fornicated and ejaculated into other men’s wives

They too, have fornicated and ejaculated into mine

I have crawled upon the ground with the beasts of the earth

I have feed upon the fruit that gives a painful birth

I have danced with your most beautiful angel whom challenged your power

I beg for your mercy, in what is now my final hour

I ask for forgiveness for all of my living

For if I never had a life to live there would have been no sinning

You gave to me this life so many years ago

Now I give it back to you; carried by the wings of a crow

Forgive me my trespass for I have lived

Savior, open your gates and let me in.

















A Day in August



That day in August started like every day, with the sun rising in the East



That day in August with the humid morning air which clung to your clothes and dampened your hair

That day in August that birds rested their throats and simply sat in the shade

That day in August that thunderheads came rolling-in, turning the sky to haze

That day in August made for lightening to smash trees and electrical poles

That day in August for flooding downpours of raindrops as big as saucers for tea cups to be born

That day in August when hailstones raced towards helpless cars, dimpling their skins

That day in August I walked to work yet I heard no thunder, saw no lightening, felt no rain or pounding hail upon my skin

For me it was simply a day in August

An Autumn that comes for everyone




















Tired



My eyes are tired from all that they have seen

My ears are tired from all that they have heard

my voice is tired from all that I have not said

My mind is tired from all of the wood that it has corded


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