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That good gardener, who wept thorns plowing his fields - harvests grace with joy.
Aberjhani
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Aberjhani
Age: 67
Born: 1957
Born: July 8
Blogger
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Literary Critic
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Savannah
Georgia
Jeffery Jerome Lloyd
Joy
Wept
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Thorns
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Gardener
Harvest
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Angel
Fields
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Harvests
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Literary genres and techniques tend to take form in one's mind somewhat the way computer templates provide form for different computer tasks.
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The same hot lightning that burns your blood with passion–– cools your fears with peace.
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Happy World Poetry Day: 'The American identity has never been a singular one and the voices of poets invariably sing, in addition to their own, the voices of those around them.
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A world without poetry and art would be too much like one without birds or flowers: bearable but a lot less enjoyable.
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Millions of tears have fallen for black sons, brothers, lovers, and friends whose assailants took or maimed their lives and then simply went on their way.
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Love taught me to die with dignity that I might come forth anew in splendor. Born once of flesh, then again of fire, I was reborn a third time to the sound of my name humming haikus in heaven’s mouth.
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This is what our love is––a sacred pattern of unbroken unity sewn flawlessly invisible inside all other images, thoughts, smells, and sounds.
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Christmas When Music Almost Killed the World
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Before the thunderous clamor of political debate or war set loose in the world, love insisted on its promise for the possibility of human unity: between men and women, between blacks and whites, northerners and southerners, haves and have-have-nots, self and self.
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Dare to love yourself as if you were a rainbow with gold at both ends.
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I called it a baptism in flaming ink that forced me to shed my shyness about recognizing myself as a poet and to accept the fact that life had never given me any choice in the matter. And then I had to discover exactly what that meant.
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Unless you are here: this garden refuses to exist. Pink dragonflies fall from the air and become scorpions scratching blood out of rocks. The rainbows that dangle upon this mist: shatter. Like the smile of a child separated from his mother’s milk for the very first time. --from poem Blood and Blossoms
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Art gives its vision to beauty not always recognized. And it surrenders freely -- whatever power it possesses to every sincere soul that seeks it. But above all else--it presents us with the gift of ourselves.
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Poetry looking in the mirror sees art, and art looking in a mirror sings poetry.
Aberjhani
The passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 represented precisely such a hope - that America had learned from its past and acted to secure a better tomorrow.
Aberjhani
As painful as life can be at times for people all over the world there is some component of existence, or nonexistence perhaps, operating to implement a balance and give us an opportunity to turn the horrors we've forced upon each other into something more conducive to sustaining at least minimal degrees of sanity and love.
Aberjhani
The more sincere the soul, the heavier the cross endured.
Aberjhani
The dancing vortex of a sacred metaphor clashes horns and halos to make wounded music set to the tempo of a new era in brilliant labor.
Aberjhani
Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.
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In a rich moonlit garden, flowers open beneath the eyes of entire nations terrified to acknowledge the simplicity of the beauty of peace.
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