I.

I remember the stubborn weather,

The questions of existence I had in the Universe,

It wrestled by stealing and multiplying

The world I walk and my memory;

Time shall breathe upon my wings,

While I brave that simpler pain.

The monuments for everyone, what to sing,

To be a silent baby, farewell,

To dream up some poor rage,

To come to have elite feelings,

To have righteousness for those spaces when sleepy,

Even for an unstable yet great rest,

For a string bringing it out constructed,

For the simple years that conquer you,

For the rage of silent hands.

The impudent poor welcome

To take to somewhere multiplying;

The wounded wings that break

To have a deep and signifying knowledge;

A powerfully good landscape

To have a broken world healthy again,

And become the smallest traveling poet,

And have laughter within the eternal countryside,

And see the scattered spirit of your poem out there:

Groom the storm, master,

Master the invisible floors above.

- Shay with Billy McBride

II.

Show a patient death

And again be in sad weather;

Even in sunny gloom in pain,

Cash out the clasped reality.

Fault now the day,

The stupid wholesomeness outside,

Repeat your word to the wind,

Its impossible drifting among all that's heavenly

To reflect its silver with some comfort

When friendships and love are blue,

To have the comfort of a wealthy time,

To pass on with the life that pounds you,

To whisper for flames or for worlds,

You love the formula of the day too,

And of the evening of secretive progress,

On your throne, stretching widest,

You remember the things of time

That are crowded and deep and bold.

Lord over a sane life,

Of contradiction in its destructive progress,

The sad lonely flames

That are crossing each person with the truth

To live with desires for another voyage

And to have more dominant stuffy things;

To couple yourself with eternal fields

And to love the shine and the wind,

You shout out at the wise darkness

And have breaths for a word for beauty.

- Elaine with Billy McBride

III.

When power becomes wacko power

Falling forthward from the origin

Into shape from a swaggering patience,

The tropic lightning comes.

If the things of parents are sweet,

But against you the world pounds,

Then time yourself upon the pale road,

Shield yourself from death a little,

Know how its power is a monster,

Creep in patience to your origin,

Pass maybe with honor to it again,

And know again the lost vocabularies

So that a deep and eternal violet you become

In order to shield many more months with more light.

Passing back through the mountain,

Fibered with questions about every question,

To supply that stage without pain,

To clear the ages by charity

Clearing out a meaningful hope,

Naming the dimmer to clean up,

You come swelling for a swish,

In the clouds that barbarians loot,

On some surface downwardly smug,

With more wisdom from our pounding Universe,

In the peaceful day on this date.

And when furious about the annihilation of your years,

And when their golden is moving onwards which you do not celebrate,

You still with flowers comfort sincere

To hide or stop the ugliness.

- Grouchy with Billy McBride

IV.

The stubborn ugliness of gloom

To show its weather to a friendship,

And to mean instead a sunny home,

It was tinkering with another flood outside,

While I was here beholding it, while vegging out again.

In sad blue songs,

The musical rain went over the green,

The heavenly shape of the word

Of the wind impossible to love,

Was separated for some mean fault from me.

Now to know comfort

In this angry and late weather,

Its very shape weeping because it must race

Its celestial over all the ground,

Its ocean of life and pass by.

To time the things that still live,

Mine own silver Lord,

In heaven, in the evening, in all worlds,

A little dominant before us all,

To reflect some doing in more whirling,

The pretty progress and strength,

And wish and life and exit,

In secretive deep with all his doing,

To power the day that diverted us.

Over the early paid landscape,

A world to battle for a world

Is giving us more lost flowers,

A whole knowledge lighted

Becoming light to welcome him back.

- Bertha

V.

Grow rude grass your body up,

I am rendering my complaints to read,

Grow beyond your unbearable sadness of childhood,

I am crossing more worlds of wealth,

Your sadness in a bubble-storm like a grave,

Crossing the feelings of the poet without laughter,

To shape the storm and interpret the Angel,

To water with feelings your rude song,

To love that Angel on your bad floors.

I am to water these things with a thin spirit,

With a love in a dream, farewell weather,

With these things at my origin on the golden shore,

With vocabularies falling into the water,

Falling pale into the wacko water,

Falling, swaggering to know more things,

The pale sky above the sea this time,

And the journey and progress under its shield,

Are striving a little with the pale halcyon.

Are an honor to the worst water in progress.

The peaks of the time of months,

Of the honor of the word of a sunny monster,

Creep through time becoming my foul problem.

Become word, brave sunlight,

Onto the sweet shore pour your light,

Enough forever everywhere your light,

Roll weird soul forever,

Return jolly again breaking out your light.

- Bertha

VI.

Organizing some wisdom from the weather,

People master their gloom,

Fancy images pass them,

A storm is out of welcome,

The hurricane will shape into machine,

Will clear the widest worlds,

Will reflect the matter of the day,

And will race in cycles of contradiction,

When it pounds, farewell to knowledge,

To things, to the afternoon, to truth,

When it becomes frolicsome, when deep and blue,

And the terrible whirling does not comfort,

Then break with your pretty desires,

Shut your faded day up.

Those flames of our years above the ocean

Are lighted as a soul by beauty,

As this day makes progress from yesterday,

Mountains are paid out for their sleep.

Think of the reality of sleep,

The whole of Nature's withering,

A world with poor arguments even to itself,

Yet, be simple for its endless stimuli,

Be stimulated in life by those blessings,

For good by patience and orthodoxies,

To sing, be giving without becoming broken,

Make progress over the ample landscape,

And think, go to the sea and be calm.

- Elaine

VII.

The happy Universe has spread out,

It conquered somewhere all unto its end,

It outgrew itself in its existence of colors,

It touched my body in dawn.

The happy souls of the Universe

Are often diverted by its beauty from hope,

In the dawn that gently is clearing,

While given knowledge of a lie:

Of some lie that its lights will wash out forever,

Of a lie that this Universe is enough,

Of another lie that their hope is not enough

To catch more love, though imperfect,

From out of these majestically made creepy hours coming ahead,

A road is lost, the road to the sea.

And the years have come like arrows,

So you also for a while strive not to return to the sphere,

Powerfully flying lively now.

But you from your peers separate at night,

The impossible architecture is constructed,

The exquisite kingdom is honored

When you came so inspired with your muse,

The heavenly environment is something loved,

As tomorrow changes again into more day,

As its atmosphere becomes stained by light.

- Shay

VIII.

Another weird thesis about everything

To lead us everywhere without meaning,

Another idle meditation in the morning

To illuminate another primitive spirit

To remember its sad studies,

An impossible analogy thrown out

Somewhere into the sandy cosmos:

That the skies which exist breathe

Into us their greatest value through their light,

Although to worrisome folk, overcast,

To us for more gifts from its flood outside,

We see the complete day as welcome as ever

In our clear method with the weather,

With the sun that transforms all ugliness.

- Elaine

IX.

Beholding a blue situation

Revealing a bridge for the sun

Drifting and replacing day for day,

I by nighttime was influenced by these images,

By my sunny and heavenly subjects.

The evening I pursued in sleep,

My whole soul alive

With little response or riches.

Reading becomes a beautiful knowledge,

And a calm power becomes stronger

To keep beginning from out another yesterday

To flow golden over these distances

Where a second pathway of words

Must cast clouds upon their totality.

-Yafah

X.

Day was collected into dust,

It had organized sadness or kindness for us,

It had to change its face today

As it floated and situated itself in the skies,

Both in order to rest and to keep going was its process

In a final completion of my questions.

Forming its best show

That I become confident to see right

All the loitering imagery of the countryside,

A pattern of new moments,

The day replacing itself with tomorrow,

Became visionary wonder clear,

As the entire Universe reshuffled

Signifying and combining for more power.

- Elaine

XI.

Skies flow above the grass

Of the garden until they stall with storm,

The invisible throat of thunder

Shouts at the poet and Angel alike,

It tells of the end of sadness,

But it cares not for the baby in its cradle

As it drops its rude song

Into my scattered silly poem.

The storm casts its power

To play strong for bird, for baby,

The thunder claps for lightning,

We hear it; it stages more light

That shows in the shadows of the sky,

We see it sport the golden rain.

- Yafah with Billy McBride

XII.

A bubble flows in the storm

Until it stalls before the blooming countryside.

With complaints the storm shouts at it.

The bubble tells it of its childhood in a song.

The storm-clouds do not care to listen to these things,

The bubble drops down into a sad grave,

And scatters its spirit everywhere

In order to cast out for a fun poem

And in order that it may play by reaching farther out

Than the storm its lost body,

The weather claps and we hear.

We see it show us too the spirit of the day,

It sports kindness when it does not rush,

It passes into a poem so many simplicities.

- Honey with Billy McBride

XIII.

When your wonder fails to be supreme,

And you fear the unpleasant weather,

When gloom ruins your light,

And you are devastated and shatter with more questions

That you think you need for resolution,

Which in time you can claim again,

You seem to have bothered the wind with thoughts

And are banished from the loud outside.

So you travel inside all but free,

And yawn that things will be better.

Stretching toward another fancy tomorrow,

You rest with the heart of the day

Comforted by simplicities.

Toward a gloriful tomorrow you nap.

- Ora Ora Tiferetot with Billy McBride

XIV.

What you behold in the lonely night

I have searched for all throughout an angry atmosphere,

We love the freshness of tomorrow,

I know this but with a patient knowledge.

What you give to me is practical glory,

And I rise to your strong soul.

For the outrageous stars you care;

We view how they blink at the day gone by;

You want the blessing of this beauty,

So in our garden we wish today

That while we kiss we will remember those stars.

You have beheld their meaning which you do not question,

And I search for a passing word

To love you as you rise far.

- Arielle with Billy McBride

XV.

The night needs the day,

It rests as the day passes,

And when the night shows its shadows,

And the hills are comforted into a nap,

It meets the peaceful trees,

Who dream their existence away in the mist,

And it wishes to have a meaningful word with them,

But the trees are freed of all questions.

And yet with hope the night brightens more,

And begins to lamp into morning

Because its healing hope does glow.

Cycles turn this way

Moving flowers on the floors into bloom

As the day travels in happiness.

- Ora Ora Tiferetot with Billy McBride

XVI.

I heard the arguments with patience,

But they failed because they needed newness,

So I rested from the order of the world,

And slept in its deep kingdom for a while.

The atmosphere came to be theatrical,

I could tell it was strong in complexity.

Yet you heard only air from its storm,

While you waited for more answers today.

I stayed here fearing an obscurity

Which the answers would have brought to light;

They would have scattered into so many golden words,

Which could have fancied my new work

To collect their shining meaning,

And what they could have poured out,

We would have had to use forever.

- Elaine

XVII.

When afternoon comes to life,

We live a little more in its deep,

And follow the day to be more free.

We say the weather is not stuffy,

And think of its cycles of comfort

Which are deserved as we sit on the shore;

The ocean answers to the ground

From its deep sandy knowledge,

And all seems to slide by in time

Stuffed with many curious things.

Like it we say the world is whole,

But the outside eats up this reality

When it destroys our patience within.

- Elaine

XVIII.

Years destruct the landscape

Spreading across a peaceful plot.

We return to the surface of our paradise

And flow with the cycles of the weather,

As it we rant about the Universe forever

Pounding our desires into song,

Or are silented by the hunger in the day.

We stand enough in its light

And cry out for more help

To battle the changing skies

Which turn forever into a dream.

Eternities are broken up over many ages,

And what makes the love wholesome

Circles back from its own icy heaven.

- Valerie

XIX.

Xenophanes has a regard for the gulf of night,

As does Sappho with her people in the light of the sky,

Another Homer comes to bless us in our darkness

With another Achilles angry and loud;

See how Achilles is riding over the shining landscape.

And what beauty of Sappho has in her happiness,

As eternal Homer, who sparked the flames,

See how Sappho is tinkering with pretty people,

Like her peer, Pindar of the speedy, they have arrival,

They have their own ancient change for freshness,

Have their own jolly vocabularies too.

And while Archilochus is worth more tomorrows,

Solon has a shield for silence,

But strong Pindar came without any sadness.

- Elaine

XX.

Beauty hoped to be numerous,

To fill one with orthodoxies;

It had heard its own strong name,

And wondered at the thorn to follow,

So the bloom hugged in place,

Its hands stand the string

Of the kingdom that would fall.

Inspired to restore more,

Thousands of us say that we are sad;

A halcyon returns to us people

Changing the beauty on the bush.

Our atmosphere is a sleepy one

Collected by a weak storm

That drops newness all around the people.

- Elaine

XXII.

Potential flow, reflective night,

The master's lushy word,

The peaks that shine when we are sick

Outside the body low,

A Spring wind in the morning light,

The pathway of the bird,

Reflective fields of heaven's span,

Redemption from a beam,

Now passes the machine to claim,

Its victory sincere

Is written flying all alone

Through drifting healing wind,

Beginning babies weep and shout,

They nap whenever well,

And pass the glare of water cast

Into compounded dirt.

- Elaine

XXIII.

A meaning has a dimmer Spring

With naming all the stage

Where trees will fall into the glow

Since silence was exposed.

A perfect peace and marriage proud

At home together join

The beauty of the ancient world

In wonder time at night.

The atmosphere is never one

In patient shining months

A boundless beauty everywhere

Does join with wishes time.

Enough ahead of pounding talk,

Vocabularies change,

No scorn for even farthest books,

Their newness in some hands.

- Marilyn

XXIV.

A stronger love made knowledge work,

A sparkle rose from flame,

It whirled into the starlit sky,

I stood with more room now.

I looked in afternoon for rain,

And dimmer meaning filled,

Some words rose in that vision's time,

I wished for perfect words.

The rain was given everywhere,

It caught a little light;

In never silenced happiness

I even sat to rest.

The comfort held me while I read,

I listened losing time;

The days were beautiful and good;

To read was to be free.

- Arielle

XXV.

The weather cycles new destructive grey

Diverted from the plain.

Some wholesome patience becomes lost,

The world a bed for rain.

With light and endless stimuli,

Our welcome world to flood

Becomes for day compounded clear,

It comes with healthy light.

Some rain or cold air far away,

Unpleasant weather new,

It lurks in wetness with a wind

That makes unstable shout.

A beautiful great countryside

Bears somewhere all that wind.

Our helping days are better days

When storm and gloom have passed.

- Shnoonah with Billy McBride

XXVI.

The sad shore pounds

A little destructive of its deep.

Heaven is stretching widest

Into the stuffy afternoon.

To master the terrible flames,

The poem is crossing out its end,

To remember the strength of the soul,

The poem must brave the barbaric day.

I too remember crossing heaven

With a great frolicsome exit from the earth,

Farewell to those things of matter,

Farewell rude destructive shore.

But in order to master the ocean one day,

The poem crowded with flames

Will live in the love of a new time of words

And reflect its own slide back into the deep.

- Shay

XXVIII.

There is never enough knowledge

Which wrestling, brings resolution

Helping one to the great paradise

That the world can join.

What Genius desires knowledge,

Its own Teachings to light that enchant,

When thousands already have it,

But if it gives no resolution for hope?

The wonderful sun of the morning

On its voyage to the heights above the ocean

Sitting motionless at dawn

Everyday seems always strong and great.

Knowledge seems to me to be itself another passing sun,

And hope is its mystical and peaceful atmosphere;

But a storm springs, the thunder and lightning return in the skies,

And questions again want for resolution.

- Diana

XXIX.

You celebrate your efforts and find

That there is a happiness around the landscape too.

On the little grassy paths into town

You amuse yourself sometime with sunshine.

You did take care for the withering earth,

So you are proud now and celebrate tomorrow too

Until your exit from this landscape

On a journey into the shadows

Or into the light of another.

Wherever you go, silence shall not dominate,

Life is all but private you have learned;

Into dust your Being makes its way,

And the city still swaggers on with you somehow.

There in the dust, you will find your greatest power,

Some prized pleasure, your reward,

You will never again be left out or lost,

Your life will never fade out like it did

Nor will the lives of those others in our next.

- Arielle

XXX.

The world was strong with books once;

We still find them a little,

And show more wonder at their own newness,

And then we cast them back into the beauty of the sea.

We are happy to create more people,

Then the time comes to idle from our complexity.

We used to play with everything we could,

But now we collect a charity for the poor.

Our environment came already constructed,

And we stand responsible in the world.

People say to be inspired

In order to bring more splendor to the Universe.

Wonder and money are collected

For our heavenly journey into eternity too,

The beauty we see all around is a newness,

And we say that the poor must become better.

- Penelope

XXXI.

We desire no end time,

It would make life absent from books,

What our peers create for our idle time,

These builders have constructed more newness.

I know there are bad arguments

That to live is to be grouchy,

And I pray that for whatever we rant about,

That a reward of a calm forever will come.

We multiply our knowledge everyday,

The images we know are unloose in the light;

The day sings to us all afternoon,

And we keep curious into its own darkness.

Nothing has been completed for the poor,

We know that their sadness is now,

That they too desire more knowledge from great books,

But they say that without beauty there is no hope.

- Yafah

XXXII.

Forever cannot be placed out of our reach,

Tomorrow all the day it will be won by some again,

Shadows of the world, rushing at tomorrow,

Parent another world with frailties.

The frailties from this television seem forever,

Everything impossible for it must have been thrown out into shadows.

What is the meaning of these weird skies?

They are loitering but sad and kind.

In their greatest backward time,

They are helping the impossible be good,

The airy spirit in them has a meaning itself

In the backward frailties of its bush.

We have had visions that our sad ball,

Dancing again into the evening,

Is dying sane too, waving adieu,

Signifying a circular education.

- Shay

XXXIII.

I master the ocean weather,

Every day lives in its own weather,

So much progress comes into the light of the blue

As the ocean pounds barbaric.

I need a little comfort for these desires,

The ground is rising with the water,

The widest contradiction is stretching below,

And again with deep words the waves slide.

Before me is a simple book,

With a simple knowledge and simple arguments,

My final moments in the day

Will play out for a pristine answer from it.

To join the gloom is certain

As the great questions are overcome.

Into the obscurity of the ocean I sink the book;

Without any end my bridge to tomorrow is stretching.

- Arielle

XXXIV.

The rest of the light is hidden for now,

It made into worth the interesting day,

The light was pale as a cloud

Shining into the silence before night.

Today became separated from the sunshine,

The freshness of the afternoon on its path

Into the calm darkness was perfect,

And a Spring paradise was everywhere.

Flowers were in each garden on the landscape,

The simple heavens came unloose with light for them,

The soft air was waving farewell

To the lonely day in friendship.

Wrestling with the light, I went losing time,

The poetical light was traveling farther away;

With the weather and night I was left in a shadow,

And in that shadow I would build my bridge

To return to the day.

- Marilyn

XXXV.

An interesting tree in the light

Seems healthy to be outside with me,

The hills rival the beauty of the clearing,

And during this welcome time, I can think.

I sleep when the hours are overcast.

Words span into my poem in some supply,

And with them every dimmer thing becomes light

As I remember the fullness of the sunshine.

From the experience of another lost day,

I remember everything of worth,

The years rush but life ahead is peaceful,

The mind brings back the light into the world.

Still the madnesses of the barbarians rage,

A proud afternoon is not as welcome anymore by them,

They say that one man's memory, if indeed so great,

Must be dangerous

If in its cycles of light and love they are still poor.

- Valerie

XXXVI.

The wind is slacking powerfully,

It is calm although the skies are grey,

I cannot wait for the sunshine

When sailing with friends, it is a glory.

Sailing into an aura with a muse,

A poet is inspired to wholesomeness,

Our poem is furnished with pleasance and spirit,

We pick these sensitivities out for a life.

Engulfed in the play of light,

Ten-thousand years are piled;

The melodies of the music of paradise

Build the best things of those pleasant years.

The sounds of the breath of my muse

Project such an undertune into my sleep;

Nothing is needed but peacefulness

For a solitary hope to return me to day.

- Diana

XXXVII.

Visions somewhere seem backward,

The world must return enough

Clearly with another airy farewell,

Its traveler, not in the gloom anymore.

The silver musical hurricane,

The images of its ugliness to mind,

Its rain must repeat our reality,

Its sunken shape from our own weeping.

My own patient and separated Being again

By tinkering, vegging and drifting

Has won some comfort from above from you,

And is beholding now more people around.

We cash out the glory of our day

Parting from it with righteousness on its wings,

Your shining friendship blinking at me

Seems more a stranger secretive formula than ever.

- Elaine

XXXVIII.

Being blessed with the endless golden sky,

Being within the light of tomorrow or today,

A thing in the weather, a poem,

A love is crossing beyond not rushing.

The proud glow of heaven,

The brightest powers above the world,

The environment at peace, the best light,

The desires for more light are dying away.

A being rushing to return to power,

Who was stranded in the drifting evening,

Who was sad yesterday but not now

Is unloose with a hope for more things good.

The proud silence of the landscape

Makes idle the stretching country;

And I somewhere in the Universe am doing my life

To return to eternity when I am done.

- Shay

XXXIX.

Come smallest undertune,

A smile makes you welcome in the home.

It is not useless to be alive

With the simple shallow flowers

Which are constructed without rage or pain.

Selfhood with its welcome smile is eternally good,

And any simple pain of a selfhood that is now

Will make its theatrical farewell one day,

Even after it did conquer a body multiplying itself there.

With wounded wings and some questions

The great are parting already from what is simple

On their good voyage home.

The little shining years

Are wrestled a little by all of us simple folk.

We ourselves dream of a time when no individual

In our world is ever a slave again to pain.

- Shnoonah

XL.

It is good to be without much obscurity,

Over years we have experienced many teachings

Wrestling over our questions to learn from them.

Paradise must again shape into show.

The end is overcome in a twinkle,

More beautiful years twinkle ahead of us,

And we join with their blessing for all of time.

Morning comes together on the landscape.

On a journey into the greatest kingdom

The morning is separated from the endless images

Of the violet shadows beyond the sun,

Nothing is found more welcome it seems.

We return into darkness at evening,

A richness of the sky is coming tomorrow.

Yet, while even into that motionless shadow

Of the faded world I fall,

My freedom to hold onto hope is still strong.

- Arielle

XLI.

You claim your shine at the peaks of the clouds,

And pass through the clear darkness.

The day is drifting like my happiness,

It will branch out its light in the next.

The pathway of your destiny is reflective,

It is drifting too, flying through my shine.

The hurt that I have is healing

Like a beam stretched on the dirt loitering.

The supreme weather seems always new,

With our love and our wonder we rival it.

Everyday we answer the Universe,

The power of our words to each other is just as great.

Questions come now about how to hope.

Our desires for it in this Universe are strong

For everything to return to good,

For a healthy resolution to our pains.

- Yafah

XLII.

In your reign, can you stand the comfort

As your project pulls and speeds away?

Like it, clouds fold over with fuzz;

To their own annihilation they come,

And then the sky is clear.

We will sit upon the floors of paradise,

Or fly to the cliffs through the clouds

Where each whirling surface brightens,

Where our peaceful reality does not roll away.

The light has come, it is loitering,

It plays in the kingdom of the day,

Clouds leave us with a little sight

Of our paradise to be, under which they are moving.

When the light ceases to return,

And night is unloose in the country,

We clasp the hands of our friends

Who stay by us in the darkness in the end.

- Shay

XLIII.

The revengeful weather is not helping us,

Yet the gloomy night drifts away,

And now there is angelic music in the skies,

The lower people repeat their day.

The highest truths seem impossible

When a heavenly storm is going on.

The bright hurricane of the day

Is diverted again by a high storm.

There is a rocky ground by the ocean

Where thoughtful folk learn strength;

The helpful light outside

Brings an eternal progress to each day.

The icy heavens above are drifting

With many angelic clouds passing;

The eternal beauty brings a healing

As supreme starry paradises slide down.

- Thrikbot

XLIV.

A clear and golden springtime

Is like the pathway to your eternal pleasance

Since it is a victory over gloom and hurt.

It is clear and winter.

In the darkness of the underworld we are free

To beguile our gloom with more drama,

And if we like we can face and glare

At our own beauty alone.

What is there in darkness and water for us to beguile?

To master the drama with a glare

We compound our glare before the morning

To instruct apprehension again of our destiny.

The morning gloom is a drama too.

The beauty above us has a victory over the machine,

Its own potential span we therefore celebrate;

Loose over the fields of the kingdom below

A lost beauty is beginning to light.

- Teresa

XLV.

Together we shine in our home,

To our home we speed with a blessing.

The light of my soul is with friends,

For with that throng to play, my own light exists.

But I fall sore with a hunger

For sunshine, I am selfish.

The light in the kingdom will return

And fall widest upon me.

The years seem motionless and farther ahead,

Tomorrow brings its moments and health;

Through public spaces the traveling day

Goes on to its remembered heavenly home.

The farthest outdoors inspires me,

And I feast on its charity in its kingdom.

I stop in the world for some time,

It is a strong time enough for me to join it.

- Arielle

XLVI.

The brave return to the deep,

Everywhere projected, in the sea they are best.

Heaven's music above is an awesomeness,

People of paradise everywhere

Show themselves to the brave in the deep.

We build up an anonymous power,

And breathe with power or wait for it,

Weather happens in life, to it,

It places its anchor in our deep.

An ample knowledge came yesterday,

And the soul faded a little in the light,

An endless wind was pushing all.

I hope a little for it to go away,

For the wind to stop its furious flow.

We reign forever on the landscape.

- Penelope

XLVII.

A dove is on a branch in the Spring,

Her kingdom span is separated from me.

But I see its reflective gates

From my own branch where I would claim for beauty.

Money can shine like beauty, but is not;

The dove goes into the light of a cloud,

No gloom there can beam on the bird.

Even it has a glare like money.

The dove is a beauty in the light,

Over the peaks of clouds goes the Angel,

The Angel is outside flying in the air

That will clear the day for the dove.

My questions keep the beautiful constructed for me:

Is there a heart always around a soul?

Or is the high weather something for me also to love?

What will the beautiful days ahead answer?

- Thrikbot

XLVIII.

Swelling clouds were falling

In cycles over my childlike soul.

They were loitering with me over day and night

And resting with the country weather where I was.

Like them my sight itself had been traveling for years,

An annihilation of my own happiness was all but projected,

And none of me could brave the world alone,

So I made up the fanciful reality of them.

Some comfort too from the flowers that others celebrate

Was not yet a healing wisdom to bring that spark back,

They could not yet brighten my landscape within

From the pretty paradise where there used to be light.

Parting from these eternities was my dream;

Every day had been an independent tower

Which used to awaken the public from their rest

But my light cannot ever shine again over their land.

- Amy

XLIX.

The starlit sparkle above the bloom,

Over floors of flowers, an unfrozen world,

Is pushing its light into my sight.

Without any happiness, bringing an incident of woe,

Eternally the gloom now is falling over me

Where not even a sunny dream of happiness can exist.

This selfhood of mine once seemed a patience unto paradise,

But the honorable freedom I have is ever falling;

Woe is my flame in this little world.

My questions are rising far away like the sun:

Is this rude gloom a bridge to happiness?

Can the sparkle of heaven ever be mine?

It is a banal impatient dream I have

Falling out of the ample woe;

My flame cannot circle the world anymore.

- Kabbalah

L.

Silence in the Universe is weird

Being nothing but idle

While helping me too be calm

About the wild or sad life I have.

In a wild thicket somewhere weeping

Is a spirit for want of roses.

Light is thrown out onto almost everything

Helping us to remember again our world.

Sun and rain are separated by blue,

A clear weather is outside now,

Life makes its voyage to repeat

The cycles for more stubborn wisdom.

Images again perpetually show up outside,

Some are welcome to many poor people,

Above them the sun and day race down

But the friendship of an Angel is forever.

- Shay

LI.

I am wrestling to remember what I had yesterday

Of glory or of knowledge with its light;

The existence of love is the justice

Against the strong gloom that returns to us all.

An Angel is patient with my desires.

Soon some happiness will awaken my spirit

Because I see that kindness returns to the world

And to its wonderful simple people and from them.

Rendering the words of that blessing,

Over many awed hours that have stimulated me,

I am ready and free to sing and forgive,

To welcome a change from my pain.

The beautiful landscapes that I am closest to,

Matter even more than that interesting time I had in them,

Since what I remember of them, and that I remember,

Bring within me a beautiful light when my hours are dark.

- Grouchy

LII.

Another meaningful afternoon was valued by me.

It had closed up halfway during the day

And I saw how it was only afternoon.

Another pain and rage would conquer me

So I rested instead for good

Since the pain went dancing whenever I did.

The simple flowers conquered me

They were welcome and good once at our home.

They were won, every one of them great

Until the weather became mystical.

The wheel of the weather brought sadness.

That plain weather was blank and old.

Love for me had been an eternal matter.

My own eternal weeds had scattered

Across some unseen countryside where they grew

Where a new weather conquered what had conquered me.

- Bertha

LIII.

You figured out some knowledge and spread

It out to end the thousands of questions of the time.

A beautiful country was endlessly wholesome

When you answered the truth in your wisest way,

And the country and your education joined together

When the truth that you sang through the wind was you.

You sang for good that hope can return

To those great thoughts within us vegging out.

Into the silence you shouted and sang

And somewhere your Teachings were heard.

When I was lost in the world wandering as the wind,

I heard your loud yawlp which brought me thither

To these golden tropics to stay at peace.

You were the sun separated from the land,

It was your own wonderful light which found me another.

- Thrikbot

LIV.

Even the disobedient are returning to sleep

Though their widest worry still lurks,

Their appointment has passed with a knowledge,

And some babyish hurt experienced is gone,

A knowledge that sleep will not clear

The stronger state of some eternal worry.

But the flowers are beauties that cure my own guilt,

They are teachings and fanciful remembrances,

Lilies and roses from the mountain,

Flowers esteemed, meaning you love me,

The knowledge working of love with education,

And the valley where I wander you too honor.

If any mountain spaces below are unpleasant

That you would whisper a complaint about are found,

Even in the shadows of monumental days

Where disobedient sleepy-heads like me sleep,

You would still bring your love out.

- Ora

LV.

What others merely say, I have valued,

So again I come for flowers,

They are close by in the weedy day.

To hold the golden daffodil,

To breathe the odor of the outdoors,

I find the weary day is not long enough

To be pushed along relinquishing more delight

From the day as it falls with sunshine.

My body lay on top the water,

I can stand the war that people have with me,

And I stay still while others poke me,

Poorly pushed, I must be feared by them.

When our delight falls away, nothing is valued more

As when the tropics take within their weedy kingdoms

The push of the sunshine reaching through day.

- Shay

LVI.

I lie in the countless grasses in the mist,

In them I find a new patience

With the things that pass by with delight.

People come to listen to me talk

While I feel the sunshine or the rain

That others remember when indoors

When I am not.

The honeycomb is spreading while I work,

In time the day lifts upward orienting me

Like the Angel aiding this vernacular.

I would love to lie all day here

Held in more existence with the world;

To paradise I would fly with the other beyond time.

But I avoid leaping to that awesomeness

Since something is set, I know not what,

And the dawn brakes on the mountain

And everything around me splits into high and low.

- Ora Ora Tiferetot

LVII.

I yield on a rock and hear myself;

Where the flood and the sand meet, I sing,

The meaning goes on at the shore,

The words I give are not so silent.

A day stretches by me and becomes dark,

I call out for waves and they come,

So I leave the rock for the sea

From the harbor and landing wide out.

Everybody would desire this voice of my muse,

Who makes a song out of an eternal trust.

All struggles are handled better by us all

When we ask for help with existence.

I listen to myself shout with delight,

And rise to the time showing patience.

The world can battle me but I am at peace,

The same peace I begged for it to make has come to me.

- Amy

LVIII.

My heart finds the morning's colors again

That pass by me losing light,

Their return is broken majestically

When more clouds go through the heavens.

Knowledge too spreads its early colors,

It too rises as the light in the skies,

But my soul moans at time with pain,

And its knowing stops like a dawn.

Yet again healing aids what is poor in me,

I would give all to love and be happy,

The lights hold me back from a weather within,

And set their anonymous time to return,

Unlike the Universe which goes on regardless of pain,

While itself breaks into simplicities or complexity

As it splits up its light multiplying its rays.

- Elaine

LIX.

Other questions spring out for any knowledge

To set that imagination of mine to work,

Every charming answer sets up its own luck.

Since complexity only dies into the mystical,

Readings spring from those new beginnings,

And the readings are as simple as water.

Everyday this bird of mine fights with the breezes of the sea,

It strives in that Universe for some prize,

The breezes of the landscape roar.

The tree holds together its leaves,

Till the summer closes and they drop,

It holds only the spaces where they were.

The poor spirits toss in the wind

Which came together with the imagination,

The spirits leave spinning through the air.

- Yafah

LX.

The old day removes its light

As the sun waves farther in the air,

It drains the light from the sky,

And I feel happy for what I saw.

A spirit checks the Universe for love,

Love tops that labor,

Every smallest being builds some love in their day,

They tell a kindness to each other.

The child solves what a man cannot,

Long feuds are ending, I see it now,

It is all a person desires from complexity.

When love a child gains,

The shining stars to all become brighter.

- Elaine

LXI.

The mountain shows up in the morning,

The first light of the day bridges another scene for me,

When the sun rolls out of the heavens,

My heart is not as bothered about the world.

As the day loses its colors,

And night breathes from dry breezes,

I test my knowing in darkness,

Still hope hinges the Universe together from ruin.

Dawn follows dawn, healing our pains,

As do the smiles of others weeping with delight,

A sadness can ruin a friendship.

Yet forever itself opens up with much progress

Changing idle despair into eternal love.

- Arielle

LXII.

I meet with adoration the years ahead,

I trust they will enable some rest for me.

A Universe opens when life ends,

I see into it people dancing together and smiling.

But a wisdom can idle into nonsense.

Many of us here still need healing;

Where this river outdoors parts a clearing in two,

They too would smile, if only they could be happy.

Nonsense builds a tower,

Must unstable words leak out?

What good things have I stolen from the Universe?

Will my own halo come if I put them back?

- Libby

LXIII.

The mystical stars arc above the sea,

They make the night matter,

Free from the hours of time

Dimming at last into day.

A silence crawls forth,

It saves me from words,

I lost them out there to gain more within,

They go on within me and clear up a poem.

Any beauty at all is welcome to me,

Light gets itself caught beyond the overcast sky,

I barely can tell if forever can be,

If only this day would be enough to end into heaven.

- Amy

LXIV.

No spirit can ever return from a silence

To feud with the fun still in the world.

Afternoon goes rushing away

Solving again the impossible day.

But nothing can remove what is sad

In those who have lost their own fun

Unless they can remember to build a bridge

Back to this perfect kingdom of ours.

The weather above, free to pass

With the power to change brings darkness.

Here people speak not about ugliness,

They only pair up and welcome more beauty.

- Arielle

LXIX.

Forthward a glow in the soul,

The wishes of a grassy soul,

The light in the soul with silence,

The sphere of light from a charity.

Interesting somewhere is the silence

Bringing more obscurity to the soul,

The banal words of the soul

In an ocean everywhere during the night.

A new sunshine forever,

A red night and another hope,

Answers passing by in the night,

Hidden, return to me with freshness.

- Kabbalah

LXX.

The dim weather is cold,

A paradise is evermore above tomorrow,

A dim tomorrow comes before those years

Of love at the border where we will live.

During a pristine time in the countryside

In order to see an outrageous day again,

Friends will wonder everyday

About the new weather and keep talking about it.

A wetness is shining around,

The sick time projected is close,

Friends themselves are shining in time

For thou, tomorrow with beauty.

- Grouchy

LXXI.

A dove faces a cloud.

Peaks of gloom that flowed above

Come loose in the wind and pass

As its body flies through the light.

A day walls up when lost.

But now its span of shine and beam

Begin to be compounded by a glare,

The reflective morning brings beauty.

But destiny can ever jam up the morning,

I care for the light, for what is afterward too,

I celebrate wind, shine,

Darkness, and drama and all

That play for the beauty around.

- Elaine

LXXII.

Show me from obscurity to paradise,

That one can learn something in order to get there,

The blessing of a healthy light,

A hope to figure out its shape.

But now I cannot figure out what this obscurity is anymore;

To do so would light what is not mine in the needed Universe;

Somewhere there is a blessing in this Universe for you, it says,

In the weather on a road to your own resolution too,

But though the wind itself is without answers, I am not.

Wrestling thoughts as I have done for light,

Some luck in the Universe seems to be found.

It asks me if the silence of thousands of years

Will ever be enough for me to overcome those desires

For any such paradise ahead of and beyond what I see.

- Diana

LXXIII.

Peace hinges upon another gladness,

Clouds softly lurk above,

Yet I wish for even more beauty to be flaunted.

The warmth of the day is imperfect again.

Wind drains through the blank air,

Every place where I go enables more wonder,

But Nature herself is a limited curiosity to me

When one must face the violence of her power.

An ocean cuddles the world,

Which works best for us when it brightens,

Its distance opens to my memories

Where the weather meets with eternity.

- Shay

LXXIV.

The weather is lovely and sweet.

It holds out its light from heaven

That we might use its vividness

Not to have to rush again

Out of its own beauty and fall

Into any void.

Any daisy looks like a good subject

To watch over with a childlike wonder

Before the sunset reflects on the sand

Which too claims to win more for my pleasure.

However, a word cannot turn the sky into a heaven,

It only passes over the garden and lawn and not upward;

And my heart would use the sunlight for these things

To power me up to another sky

From another word if only it could.

- Bertha

LXXV.

We rarely need the knowledge

Of how love works to love: Take the child.

Is the child selfish and free

To cry for more love? Are we?

A poem meets with its end.

Could it but turn away pain for happiness

To some who hear, who feel the matter

For a fair hope to come from far for them!

I have used many years to wander,

Light yields a little to more darkness,

Despair would ruin enough of me,

But I am still free to hope for the best.

- Elaine

LXXVI.

Feet claim the sand,

One sits on the ocean floor

And sleeps returning to one's splendors.

The brilliant afternoon is a tale.

A writer places down the pen to make letters

That fit within the lines of a poem.

Words gain to ideas,

And the ceremony feels like a work.

Imagination powers for hours,

It returns to the hills for its paradise,

The late day falls away

When the self solves it with work.

- Thrikbot

LXXVII.

Your weeping shows the throng you care,

It rolls me off the day,

And gets no poppy for sleep,

The soul is not as soft, free and clear.

The soul loves awesomeness,

I think it craves not to break,

Peace makes ado of the poppy,

Some wine lurks for the play.

Money lies in a knock,

In periods, the day is to follow,

I rest ado with the Universe

To face the wine and a show.

- Thrikbot

LXXVIII.

The pumpkin wishes to talk to the flowers,

But wisdom betrays its nature.

Like it, years themselves idle beyond reality,

And the light swishes across the landscape.

Lightning faces the skies,

It is the spark of the wisdom of Nature,

And drains the airy skies from questions,

Questions that come falling into ugliness.

As clouds model the golden skies,

I drink with happiness their reign,

And smile because they are curious and free.

Many of them steal away my golden happiness.

- Yafah

LXXIX.

The garden opens to the day,

I face its wild world

And follow the wind from bloom to bloom,

The day is good for things.

Whispers ring around me in that place.

The world is built out of wood,

The flowers fit in gaps.

Another day is rich for life.

Every shape has a limit,

One wishes to return to childhood for more

To fully follow again each shape around

As if they came from some heavenly dream.

- Diana

LXXX.

The morning is annihilated by the day,

Its shine ruins the reflective underworld

Where darkness lies compounded with fears,

A dark beauty lands at its gates.

I face my eternal pleasance

Which cannot drain away a beam,

Tomorrow hides from the victory

That places me above, a new Angel.

Tomorrow brings the life,

What is dim turns to day,

And enough is not enough of paradise

While every day reigns in silence.

- Bertha

LXXXI.

Land clears the fragile from the Earth,

Clouds sport icy tops,

A simple man uses his kindness

To go far like them to hear of myths.

In the present time there is a sun above,

It sits blessed and old,

It looks peacefully over the land

While that man reads a loved poem.

Trusting brings more kindness with it,

A little rest helps to make us simple,

The new day turns old

As it is lulled into night by those noble myths.

- Arielle