Alora Chamberlain

(number one-hundred-and-forty-nine)

Messy,

messy,

messy.

Smeared ink

across your palm.

And still you think,

there is never enough;

it is all wrong.

Every word askew

and never properly informed.

But still, every here

and there,

a perfect one comes along.

And with ink

smeared messily,

across your palm;

a sense of pride.

Messy,

messy,

messy.

-Alora Chamberlain 

(May 3, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-eight)

A courage filled mane,

eyes of brute and fierce-full force,

lay deep inside you.

-Alora Chamberlain

       .for my sister.

(May 3, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-seven)

You see something beautiful,

and you instantly

want to take a picture of it.

Only, everything else

around it, is ugly,

as it seems.

And you can’t seem to get

the ugliness out of the frame,

so you painfully,

or maybe not so painfully,

walk away from it, 

and ignore.

-Alora Chamberlain

(May 2, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-six)

The queue in beauty

of a newborn child.

The wild and wide eyes

that have never seen before.

The delayed awws

in rushed excitement

for such a miracle to be.

The lists go on

for the emotions

to this one being,

and how we all shall hover

in felicity of such a wonder.

The bundles of joy

and the smiles

that come from them.

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 25, 2012) 

(number one-hundred-and-forty-five)

The ever lingering omission

from others that may lay

the soul flat

upon such hard ground. 

With bleeding knees

for every time one shall get up

by his own

and wishing for a helping hand.

To have such apathy

towards the world

for the ways of a rough path

ahead and behind.

But still,

to love ones self is key,

for when there is no one

to stand beside you,

you shall always have what is within.

In spite or by forgiveness,

ways change

and so shall we. 

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 24, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-four)

My creative mind

carry me so,

as he did

with strong heart

through the rain

and down such

long streets.

Remind me of my will

in times of pseudo remissness

as faith should,

in the acts of trust

in prayer

to our God.

Free me,

my mind,

much stronger then the

tears that have been

falling from the malign

surroundings

of what was thought

to never be.

-

As when the moon

is sought in the day

as a child,

and the stars

shall hold our dreams

with illusion in sight

and hope in heart,

so shall you,

my creative mind,

hold steady to me

for the times to come.

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 18, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-three)

How do you say things

you wish

not to be said?

Then,

find in your heart

great approval.

Where must this road

be unveiled,

or veiled,

to keep the company

of good fortune?

Where

in our hearts,

did,

or will,

this road become wrong?

Why

must we feel such panic

in the changes of time,

and being when it

just may truly

matter the most?

-

Questions of the one

willing to listen to

“On Children”,

in Kahlil Gabrans words.

And to be a child,

with none,

makes the ears

more fond.

But does this make it

wrong?

To which is it

in the world we live?

Where shall the right

and wrong lay;

in the sun

or in the shadows of doubt

and tears of joy?

Where shall the heart

swim to then,

when the mind, like a dam,

shall desist all the confidence

from a cloud

made in honesty

and compassion. 

-

To the worried soul,

how we will remember 

these words to wish

had never been said,

and how we may

learn from them

in the duel of yesterday. 

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 18, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty-two)

The great tradition

to traduce

all who do good,

and spit upon them.

To stomp with pride

among those 

who give their heart

to even those

who would gladly

burn it.

The malign words

they shall speak

from rotten tongues

and bitter place.

-

The great tradition

stands with might

far above

the begging commendable

and how their

feathers fly

in the heat

of the day.

The great tradition 

to traduce

all who do good,

and how we all 

stand in line

to join

with our blood,

and hopelessness

and bitter ends 

for only ourselves.

Selfish blame,

and how we all

shall suffer for it.

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 17, 2012)

Anvil (number one-hundred-and-forty-one)

I will make

an anvil out of you.

With might

and encouragement 

from the heart,

for so many ways.

I will make

an anvil out of you.

Form you

to my pleasure,

in great knowledgeable 

leaps of faith. 

A walk

out of the darkness

of bliss.

And you too

shall find filicity

in the light

of knowing.

I will make

an anvil out of you. 

Open the eyes 

of your unborn soul

and kiss them

with the warmth

from the sun.

For you shall

step out

of this darkness

with the hammering

from my will.

I will make

an anvil out of you,

and all the world.

-Alora Chamberlain

(Apr. 17, 2012)

(number one-hundred-and-forty)

To desist 

the love

creating the

word of God

to become one,

is an abomination 

against His

creation,

Mother Earth.

The bond

that shall

continue

should never

be tested

in the ways

that the 

flowers

shall never

test the sun

in moments

of grace

and great comforts. 

Never will the

love be censured 

by the means

of the universe

when there

is all

approbation

by Him.

And never,

should we fall

by the

vehement trust

we hold

in His word,

that we may 

obey

in great

obedience 

to the laws

of this 

beautiful life.

Love eachother

we may,

with or without

calumniation

against us

in the true

ways of being,

in the founding

of love

and bonds

that can never

be taught,

but felt,

in the soul 

of the righteous

with spiritual 

content in this

changeable 

world.

Always,

shall we be

freed,

when our words

speak the vows

of one to be.

Always,

in the protection

we need

and the

confirmation

of what was

always

known,

lived

and celebrated

far before us.

-Alora Chamberlain 

(Apr. 17, 2012)