Deeply rooted, protected by natures's arms.
A heavenly canvas to protect it from the storms.
We all ask ourselves, what is nature?
Caught up in a scientific explanation.
Participating in churches, different organizations.
Listening to the sermons of exploitation.
Our ears don't hear the words of truth.
Our minds are caught up in big hats and Sunday suits.
But the tree continues to grow without the input of man.
Depending solely on nature's hands.
When do we come to terms with the forces of creation,
and realize that there is no scientific explanation.
The Tree Of Life is the God force, there
is nothing in Heaven or Earth that can change his course.
Poetic Verses By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2009
Friday, May 8, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
IMPORTANCE OF ONE"S BIRTHDAY (HAPPY BIRTHDAY) TO MY SISTER-IN-LAW, LILLIAN RANCE. PEACE AND BLESSING ON Y0UR 80TH BIRTHDAY
This time of year, our expectations are high,
especially when we are young.
Family, friends and that special someone,
shares in our special day of fun.
We expect all sorts of things, from
those who share our lives and our space.
We sometime find ourselves reminiscing
about past birthdays in a quiet place.
It is always good to remember and reflect
on happy times and not the things we dread.
But the quilt of happiness and sadness
is woven with the same thread.
So! Always remember that the true
meaning of a birthday is the gift of birth.
Experience it, share it and protect it
while you are on this earth.
Poetic Verses By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2003
especially when we are young.
Family, friends and that special someone,
shares in our special day of fun.
We expect all sorts of things, from
those who share our lives and our space.
We sometime find ourselves reminiscing
about past birthdays in a quiet place.
It is always good to remember and reflect
on happy times and not the things we dread.
But the quilt of happiness and sadness
is woven with the same thread.
So! Always remember that the true
meaning of a birthday is the gift of birth.
Experience it, share it and protect it
while you are on this earth.
Poetic Verses By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2003
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Poetic Verses: An Unjustified Slaughter (Tribute To Trayvon Marti...
Poetic Verses: An Unjustified Slaughter (Tribute To Trayvon Marti...: How many times have we been confronted with a fear that engulfs us from a knock on our door. How many times have justice been misdirect...
Thursday, February 26, 2015
WHILE WALKING
The disparity among the city dwellers
were obvious as I walked along the
corridors of bright and dimmed lights.
The different levels and styles of music
were distinct. The conversations ran it's course
from university masters to street doctorates.
The level of dress was worn by a mixture of
high class hookers, college kids, the hip and the heavy,
those in the know, eager to show brand names, self
style and body culture.
Their rides were message senders, sleek and daring,
expensive and style setting Their daring colors were
trendy,stylish and meant to catch the eye.
There were no evidence of racial division along these
corridors. All different ethnic groups were holding
hands, talking, laughing and dancing to the beat
of soul music.
Drinking the same drinks, sometimes drinking out of
the same glass, eating the same foods, doing the same
drugs. All wanting to belong to this community of souls.
This is a different generation, trying to forget the
history that haunts them. They are willing to bend
one's will to the desires of the street vendors that pushes
corruption rapped up in fool's gold.
In a differrent part of the city, the lights were few.
sad music played, mostly blues. There were very few
cars on the streets. The homeless were competing
against the rodents for food.
Dwellings that were once filled with laughter, are now
filled with the weeping of children and unwed mothers.
Apartment are scarcely furnished, very little food
or clothing.
The pimps and drug pushers on every corner draining
the life that is left, taking the innocence from the
mother's daughters and sons, age don't seem to matter.
Replacing hope with dope.
In a different part of the city, the lights were bright on
every corner and at the end of every driveway, and doorway
of it's camouflage private clubs and homes.
There are majestic homes seeking separation from the
slum lords, deseased communities. It is the same people
behinds these doors that are responsible for the quality
of life, that they seek to avoid
They play their music from sound proof rooms,
smoke their long pipes from ventilated closets, drink
their imported wines, beer and liquors, taste their pure
cocaine. Exchanges sexual favors for political leverage.
In this setting, they make political decisions that are
destructive to the community and it's people in which
they are not visibly a part of.
This community of bright lights, perfectly paved street were
totally silent from the streets. There were no visible pimps or
drug pushers, there were no signs of hunger, no loud music
there were no children crying.
But you can still sense the pain.
Poetic Reflections By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2009
were obvious as I walked along the
corridors of bright and dimmed lights.
The different levels and styles of music
were distinct. The conversations ran it's course
from university masters to street doctorates.
The level of dress was worn by a mixture of
high class hookers, college kids, the hip and the heavy,
those in the know, eager to show brand names, self
style and body culture.
Their rides were message senders, sleek and daring,
expensive and style setting Their daring colors were
trendy,stylish and meant to catch the eye.
There were no evidence of racial division along these
corridors. All different ethnic groups were holding
hands, talking, laughing and dancing to the beat
of soul music.
Drinking the same drinks, sometimes drinking out of
the same glass, eating the same foods, doing the same
drugs. All wanting to belong to this community of souls.
This is a different generation, trying to forget the
history that haunts them. They are willing to bend
one's will to the desires of the street vendors that pushes
corruption rapped up in fool's gold.
In a differrent part of the city, the lights were few.
sad music played, mostly blues. There were very few
cars on the streets. The homeless were competing
against the rodents for food.
Dwellings that were once filled with laughter, are now
filled with the weeping of children and unwed mothers.
Apartment are scarcely furnished, very little food
or clothing.
The pimps and drug pushers on every corner draining
the life that is left, taking the innocence from the
mother's daughters and sons, age don't seem to matter.
Replacing hope with dope.
In a different part of the city, the lights were bright on
every corner and at the end of every driveway, and doorway
of it's camouflage private clubs and homes.
There are majestic homes seeking separation from the
slum lords, deseased communities. It is the same people
behinds these doors that are responsible for the quality
of life, that they seek to avoid
They play their music from sound proof rooms,
smoke their long pipes from ventilated closets, drink
their imported wines, beer and liquors, taste their pure
cocaine. Exchanges sexual favors for political leverage.
In this setting, they make political decisions that are
destructive to the community and it's people in which
they are not visibly a part of.
This community of bright lights, perfectly paved street were
totally silent from the streets. There were no visible pimps or
drug pushers, there were no signs of hunger, no loud music
there were no children crying.
But you can still sense the pain.
Poetic Reflections By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2015
"I HEARD A VOICE FROM NOTHING SPEAK"
I heard a voice from nothing speak,
summoning me hither.
Oh! The boldness of
this creature to cheer.
Who has allowed this creature to speak?
For it hastens the tears
in mine eyes.
Over the pangs of death, I agonize.
You shall not be my doom;
For I shall not despair
my soul espies you,
from the darkness of my room,
from the shadows cast by my tears.
Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death,
I shall not fear.
For I shall join my spirit with the light.
The brightness of truth prevails.
Of my life you shall be deprived tonight.
I wrestled with the demons of hell,
but they have no power over me.
For I dwelleth in the spirit of the light,
power I will not give unto thee.
For darkness is your throne,
but my throne is bright.
In the waking hours the chase begins anew,
and then who stalks who?
Poetic Reflections By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyritghted 2009
summoning me hither.
Oh! The boldness of
this creature to cheer.
Who has allowed this creature to speak?
For it hastens the tears
in mine eyes.
Over the pangs of death, I agonize.
You shall not be my doom;
For I shall not despair
my soul espies you,
from the darkness of my room,
from the shadows cast by my tears.
Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death,
I shall not fear.
For I shall join my spirit with the light.
The brightness of truth prevails.
Of my life you shall be deprived tonight.
I wrestled with the demons of hell,
but they have no power over me.
For I dwelleth in the spirit of the light,
power I will not give unto thee.
For darkness is your throne,
but my throne is bright.
In the waking hours the chase begins anew,
and then who stalks who?
Poetic Reflections By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyritghted 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
IMPERFECTIONS
How soon we forget the good they have done,
as they struggled with the demons of adversity.
What gives us the right to demand perfection.
For the greatness of humanity comes not
in it's self imposed strength, but the acknowledgement
of it's weaknesses that the divine strength maybe forge,
and the will of our creator maybe manifested.
As we struggle to stand alone we will fail.
Those who walked by our side when we stood tall,
will redicule and disown us.
How soon we forget how fragile we are, how
imperfect we are.
By what authority do we render ourselves perfect.
Poetic Reflections By Gamaliel Harvey Gooding
Copyrighted 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)