THE STAND COLLECTION
14. Preface of Passion by Nasreen Fynewever
The road home feels autopilot.
The road twists and yet the engine slows and tires turn as they should.
There is an incline and a halt.
The home is sudden and with surprise develops with a new sense of calm.
The anger of misplace or misjudge evaporates to be replaced
by descending fog of why here with no jaded tone.
The fog brings mystery, but the voice is solid and clear.
Hangs in the air like fragrance that will linger until the break of dawn.
Not all moments feel holy, but in this one, the sacred smashed tightly
to the loose of my heart until I was bound again.
Not a roaming wanderer with angst and turmoil, but a pilgrim who had found
a resting spot and tonight shall make home hold the heart it has been void of.
Oft stripped away from the whole because discontent torrents through
or survival belays the intentions of hopeful minds.
Regained and remade, in an instance, home, though found by default, was found anew.
This became the well-spring of glory.
Of stories and laughter, learning and leaning,
my faith would have a place to the call to be wild and a dreamer.
This is the start of the love strong chronicles that have a place to belong.
Famished souls will eager towards morsels and quaking spirits will find warmth in the redemption of it all.
The fury of love, love so divine that ransacked families and stolen innocence
will yield ever so, even now, this side of the veil.
We have a rally that will call us to live dangerously generous and expectantly hopefully.
We will live in our talents; we will see more with our eyes, we will be present where we never have before.
Transformation of ugly with sever away the tangles of our past.
We will stand in our beauty and in that we,
We get to be passionately more and unpredictably unkept
because the constance of love will define and it has to be enough.
My hand swirls when dizzy and my body nearly surrendered to the fatigue,
but energy in the story that should be told even yet,
that is where there is love, there is life. It may fleet, it may get marred.
It may meet sorrow, but to grow, breathe, and win the day, this war is won.
I will walk the path of curdling conviction that providence has not protected or performed promises
to the likeness of man, but I will not cower at proclaiming that how raises the orphan
and mother earth can birth a king. The rise of intelligence, the rise of instinct, the rise of energy.
The spiral and spin until in encounters magnificent, home becomes wherever there is passion.
Passion girded up by justice and benevolence, service and sacrifice.
These as paramount as success and drive, empowerment and legacy.
Leaving the world better demands we return home, to find the way forward with others slide back.
How needful and humble, how gentle and timeless is the good bequeathed by peace alive.
Living with no hesitation and the reserve of minimal allows the story to be told.
Spoken in ways it was not, wayward traveller guided home.
16. When Silenced by Nasreen Fynewever
When the she is silenced, something dies.
When the work of the dreamer becomes abused and attacked, how dare she sleep again. Shall we not erase the moments of our lives or extract the color from our mind’s’ eye?
No, we must not.
We are better as the fusion between the honest recall and the hopeful rise.
She will testify to the scandal of grace and hope.
She will cripple at injustice and let her heart break for others.
She will rise to excellence and see the world beyond herself.
Hold hands. Touch hearts. Bond stories and bind promises.
Destruction and grace.
The recline of body and the lowering of spirit.
And the sharp becomes rounded.
Let me loose. Let me admit something defeated me and see what gets rebuilt.
Let me fall, again and again, because I will rise.
Let me become radical to even myself.
Always different to others.
Quickly dismissed, judged, and left to fend for myself in the wreckage I am.
People drawn in, but they leave.
How quietly they go. Taking my voice with them each time.
Jittery body and frustrated friction.
Silence still makes noise.
Hope is louder still.
THE UNWRITTEN POEMS COLLECTION
no. 2 FREE CREATIVES by asa nasreen
cling and clang, the rattle of metal
jump and jive, the rowdy of young and undefiled
tempestuous energy and calm yet the same
give them space, oh give them space
locked inside or dismissed in error
the heart and mind to clouds would soar
beg back the freedom to be oneself
give them time, oh give them time
stale lyrics and parceled out lines
revive the way to unbridled dreamers
dare not contain their courage, these are giants
give them wings, oh give them wings
how frail the muscle until stretched and trained
grand heights and grounded truths
potential and value, worth and purpose
set them free, oh set them free
dear world, we grow when we explore
we explore when we believe
we believe when we are affirmed
give them now, oh give them now
no. 4 EVEN NOW by asa nasreen
yesterday I showed my might
tomorrow I shall write
today I shall enlight
tonight I free of fright
be near to the hollow
listen carefully for the swallow
steer clear for the whimper and wallow
turn eyes to keep the follow
until Him who is able
grace and space at the table
potential not a lie or fable
be you not just the label
time now to be true
this your dance, this your cue
move to eh music that’s beautifully new
less of the talk, more of the do
no. 5 NEVER AGAIN by asa nasreen
“f— off” she said
the lash was strong, the pride disproportion
don’t speak like that the other room echoed
don’t retaliate my heart begged in the corner
to fear of mammoth
and survival of life and love
no, the narcissist does not get this soul or story
no, the stupid and shut-ups can’t meet mimic in me
break the chain, the cycle, the plan
be the humble, the fortified, the girl who outran
keep away from thieves and swindlers, the anger and hurt
keep away from clowns and jesters, fake light and dull distraction
never again does hate live higher, the ground swells to crest above
stand there and do not back down
restrain the urge to delete your posts of words and hope
restrain the taunters from the front row seats
never again pull breathe away from these lips
never again require angels of earth and heaven to fight and cry out
say it is well, say you chase hope, say what hurt like hell and say it out loud
and then promise, never again
no. 6 WRITER’s AGONY by asa nasreen
click tap knack
pitter patter pat
of keystrokes and raindrops, penstrokes and tear drops
scratch scribble, doodle
splish, splash, oh confoodle
the screen catches the offering
the storm leave such suffering
blink, blank, flicker
rumble, rattle, roar
the words appear and erase
thunder clasp and frustates
click, tap, knack,
pitter, patter, pat.
no. 10 DESTRUCTION AND GRACE by asa nasreen
Take me and wound deeply
Pierce me and make the destruction seem commonplace
orphan me away from love and truth
This is how you are to treat me
Cast me aside
Feel better, superior, stronger, and smarter than I.
Disgust at all I bring to the world, surely it is sour
Acid my skin and drain my eyes of all tears
This is hellish
Paint the skies with something other than blood and pain
Bring them to the edge of the horizon and let the separation be but a thin line.
Don’t insert grace because the preacher shouts it from the front
Don’t teach forgiveness just because a man of old spoke of it.
Don’t play the us and them, the me and you, and then take sweetness to saltless shunning
Bring me something of heaven
I cry out against the destruction that ravages
I anger at the beauty striped from the corners and bleeding to the center
I hollow at the innocence that is a myth and fable
No quiet holds, no cymbal resound.
But unbind and place grace of the beloved upon my soul.
Oh earth you can damage and ruin
On heaven, you can save and soothe
I will not take what you offer earth because you are tormenter and the undoer of my peace
I will rise to the heavens because the dismal ashes are not where I must stand.
Destroy for now
Grace will restore someday
no. 11 FOUR LINES by asa nasreen
the patience of the paper
the spaces to place ink and heart
the children play and the poet dances
soak in new and remember old
melody and song
stories and truths line the straight
the emotions follow the curl
no. 14 CRY FOREVER by asa nasreen
Anger wrangles sadness
Though the sun splits the heavens
So no agreement is loosed from above
And I take my cue to damn and dance
Be my bed, oh seductive depressed
Take my spirit and pin it to the corners
Create a cell and free me only for false hope
I am wrecked from the always broken, never whole
The alone caves my sturdy walls
The courage wanders to others and abandons me
I surely have a sign that begs such
The golden sun warms others and I plead
Spikes and daggers only win today
Tomorrow the sadness stands sober to feel hollow
The smiles come quickly enough to fool
My ankle clipped from speed into truth
Erupting torrent and passive silence
I climb down to the low ground and sit
Cower and blank stare, the empty becomes a familiar friend
This, the tearless, we cry forever, shaded from nothing but freedom
no. 15 paralyzed by asa nasreen
On the way down we sing spiritual hymns
On the way down we recount the heroes and the giants
On the way down we cast our vote for who can stand when we can not
But then run down lower than we predict
We paralyze, our legs lose function.
I saw the small bird move to the side
The false step before the flight was taken and fear seared
I watched until it left the horizon and prayed it carried all my troubles
I am ready to be a new soul
Outside the gate of beautiful
Ravaged from the battle and tired from the scorn
I ask the winged to revive and heal
On the way down we lose faith and rely on the grip
On the way down we curse and need others to beckon the courage
On the way down we find that we are tired of persevering
So all energy drains out
And the heart dies a piece at a time
We paralyze, our spirits stop talking
I saw the snowflake fall gently
The swirl and confusion of season, it landed softly
The chill comes in small pieces, but how frozen it is
I watch it melt and pray that warmth would come soon and deep
I am ready
Ready to be un-paralyzed
THE ANTHEM COLLECTION
1. Oh Sad One by Nasreen Fynewever
Oh sad one
Oh girl lost
Oh little hands
Take me to great strength today
Find your way
They will celebrate
You will cast the stone
It will reach ripple
Hold on and live
Hold on a while longer
Hold on a while longer
Watch the clock for
you will surely fill
minutes that can hold pride
Smash the clock
for hours lost
for years damned
for lies repeated
for hurt multiplied
Oh beautiful one
Oh child held when grown
Oh hope indeed
Oh hands not your own
Play big and capable
Grow fervor again
Oh sad one
2. The Limericks of Faith by Nasreen Fynewever
Wild and unkept
Bold and brash
Sanctified and swearing
Pack the full fantastic
next to the weeping wrestle
Say it how it is and
forget that there is a price
Spent to near empty just to hold caution
3. Will There Be a Day that Holds by Nasreen Fynewever
Will there be a day that holds strength from rise to slumber?
A day that does not bid these bones collapse
A day I run like the wings of eagles to mountain high
to the dwelling place of divine
Will I cry more or less when I am
free and will I captivate
that which holds me captive?
Can I free and then turn to free others on that day?
Is that why people beg me so
will they beg me to say what they have not and
what they can not
Might I just hold the taste of richness that sparks
genius and high hope.
Will I regret not learning more or doing as I must
Can I tarry off into the regret and
lose myself in the words and rigors of it all
Why am I ignoring the bear within me?
Why am I so foolish to think I will have more
life in suppression?
Will there be a day?
4. Alleyway by Nasreen Fynewever
walk with me a while, she whispered
find the alleyways that don’t have lights
or lamps that will shimmer tears
that can’t be seen
the ones that hold dark blood and the
wretched fight to end the
ugly before it sank underneath
I have lies to untell and truths that
have never come down to mortal
I want the perfection of overcoming
to be dismantled to ruin
Leaving the song to the corridors of
sinister thieves and shrill mind screams
that never told
Walk, not today because tomorrow holds
too much promise
but soon, we will walk through
the valley of the shadow of death
and fear no evil
Lines and lyrics have planted notes and
chords already and they broke
the bow and string flared out
No one knows how to hold
the warbling sound of a young
soul dying too soon
Is there a bird that still sings and still
flies with broken wings, beneath
the scorn of shaming others,
might I just free me
A hope to remove the sharp sword
that still severs my side
The death that graffitied my shadows
and was never escaped because
they nailed my coffin in the rescue
Will the dark scare us to never
journey long enough to get to the
light in a full moon of midnight
There was an echo of a
storm that was not mine
to weather any differently
Who had not been kicked, stolen
from, despised, blamed, taken,
and left for sweet dishonest
temptation of a belief that
healthy was now rather than
a distant land that held
misfortune compared to this
disgusting formula for perfect
I don’t want the rug burns or
bruises. I don’t want the
medical tests that will show
fault to my story and blame
for a woken body when the robber
I will not endure critics whose
voices will bleed the hate of those
who did not keep love where they
promised, pledged, or predicted
Knees cross and the circus knows
the curtain falls to allow mistakes
and we must simply just watch
the show and applaud the
Lucifers that make us laugh
and land monikered in religion pure
I will watch the ship fall over the
edge of the flat world and read
historians claim we
must be brilliant because we
changed our thoughts and maps
before we sailed.
But we didn’t. We don’t. The walk
behind the city will show us the
sins of a small town that
declare we didn’t write new
We must simply let others go
go to the same demise
The tune doesn’t even sound
melodies but others symphonies
are grossly out of sync, too
So we play on, grabbing achievements
and success, damning the poor in our
take of the wealth and leaving it in
banks for rainy days that are far less significant
that the monsoons of the storm
Hate and death were not feared
rather life and love
I can stand by hope because
hope admits that the
masked will miracle again for
new life and freedom.
He will love longer than the night
and you will certainly stride into
the dawn with me
But as you bend to lay
beside the weeping wounded
pretending not to see the tears
your soul flows so that in a
moment you can remain my jonathan
And the eyes that see little warriors
needful of my love to stop long
enough to function and then advocate
enough for rewind, a pause, a pursuit of the offerings to
the world that it can be
Whisper no more
Don’t predict the stroll.
Don’t anticipate the stumble
Don’t beg the struggle
But listen for the heart space
that gives windows enough for
fresh, warm air until I stand
Then we will start again,
a different day
changed by what gets freed
But until then
sweep the alleyway until I invite your side by mine
State over and over again
in parceled delivery that
never will you leave me to
dark, but hold until the
sun comes if ever we shall
walk the alley with no lights
And should my spirit find way to
way to claim freedom without the splintering
of a fortress made of weakened
Shall I be able to
seize passion without anything
catching flame for ashes to be the
construction of new diamonds,
If we can forge, indeed, the person I am becoming
without unlocking all of the past
If we can plank the abusers, misusers, liars, and fear
so that nothing pirates my soul in the
staggering sadness it does now…
then let me.
Beg me to not abandon myself
but don’t call me to a place
that will tie a noose when
flight has been found
We don’t know how and I ask too much,
but I write what the heart taps out
and no saving of the statement will change the truth
that we can dream, alter, shift, pivot
We will need words to be recounted
and also retracted, forgiven and softened
I need you, but I also release you to be human and
you to me must do the same
They say we are allowed to change
otherwise we would all become
cowboys and princesses,
though I never dreamed of such
I get the sentiment.
Grow with me and if I whisper,
just like you do,
sit a while
walk a while
cry a while
touch a while
distance a while
grieve a while
anger a while
wonder a while
dance a while
sing a while
fly a while
run a while
be a while
be a while
with me in the alleyway
5. Night Moon by Nasreen Fynewever
What is the moon above able to see and
hold in its gaze that we can not
How might the expanse of the universe
tend to the woes and wrestles
of this tired warrior
Of nearly collapse in the sleep of the
sadness, but spurred truth with the
chime of another who saw the
light of the heavens
Melting ice and pushing waves
tangos with the sun
and skips along with stars
May the guidance of the Northern Star
not be diminished, but still
rise O Moon to your place in the skies
Trees scratch before, miles away
with a lifetime between the root and the reach,
casting slashes across your beam, yet beauty still
For the constant far beyond that you can hold
old and new, big and small,
daily doings and nightfall truths
Teach, O Moon, let the Day Child see what you see
6. Out of the Harbor by Nasreen Fynewever
Oh ragged edge of battered sail
Oh strengthen beam of mast prevail
Let this blessed assurance control
That whatever the wave
storm near or gale swirl
This, this is truly the well of the soul
The expanding chest with eyes set far
Not to future or past but a
world and throne angels trod with songs renewed
They fear God and live not in their own pride and take
May we whisk on rolling waves
towards the sunset shadow that
glistens pink not dark
Why shall we only paint with fainted hues,
Who dims our hearts with squalor and pain?
How great thou near
How holy yet tender
I dare approach despite my wreckage
I move in silence to the throne
7. Paint by Nasreen Fynewever
Paint, he beckons, paint your story across the
pages of the day before you. Leave your mark
in humor and hope. Leave your tins with
angst and anger, and let the canvas hold
what bursts forth from all you are.
Paint not with tainted hues.
Paint not with measured strokes.
But quick, here, now, with passion unbridled.
Slow when the sun sets, find peace in the still after art lives
While it is day, woman, paint the world with vivid you.
Let your blend, your shadows, your shades,
Let them meet the painter by your side
and create together the backdrop for while your
children create masterpieces upon someday
Be novel, stay original
Be something new and fresh
Hold the reality that the eye of the beholder
is not greater than the artist,
both capture beauty, paint yours.
8. The Creaking Floorboards by Nasreen Fynewever
The creaking floorboards of the house aged by seasons.
The walk down hallways and the recline in rooms feels familiar, yet cramped.
The home has grown too small, too boxed.
And I fear I am the one who must shrink.
But I dare beg fairy dust to enlarge spirit wind to enfold and heat of flame to melt?
There is cold in those hollow walls and danger in the corners.
There is safety for the sane, but scorn for the searching.
Status quo meets acceptance and the wonder with deep beckons thin response.
Oh weary heart, oh troubled mind, know your heart walls are fortified and foundation sure.
But as smoke fills the living space, the small now leaves time as the enemy.
My lungs inhale and death tastes stale, but it is habitual.
So sit down a while, beneath the air that is thick and dark.
Sit at the floor beneath the window light, it spills sunshine from heaven above.
Mine cheeks feel the warmth. The tock and tick of the clock remind that this is not a dream.
This now is not a visit to home of old, but this is my house. I must forge life here.
I must want to fly, but there is not sky.
So lay, sometimes with love dear, yet more often just alone.
Praying that one more day my skin will feel heat, though my mind teaches me not to hope.
Not here, not now. I wallow and swallow, knowing the this winter plays rover with my soul.
So come quick Spring and grace, carriers of providence stay close.
May the floor and even the roof, song and sorrow, may they hold enough until they sing anew.
My steps pound and quiver, but this too is life upon creaking floorboards.
9. Tears Whisper by Nasreen Fynewever
Tears, they whisper
then fall lightly like the snow to the mount.
How cold and bitter,
Asked to come, to flow instead of well
and I have not recovered.
Tears, why do you plague me so?
Run from me.
Dance back to the clouds and
hold tight to the heavens.
Shhh, quiet now. Stop exclaiming pain
you silly tears. You cry not for what is
now, but for what never was grieved.
So silence a bit, be swept to the sea
of whispers, let the tears fill
until they mark the world and not me alone.
10. For You: Quicken, Come Near by Nasreen Fynewever
Quicken, come near
expand your heart in mine.
This is home for you, friend.
Let your words fall easy
and your emotions find haven.
Who you are and who you want
to become find calm here.
I will not fight you or
belittle your dreams
I believe in you still even with reality near,
My affection for your hopes
is true and unscathed by fear.
I am for you.
This. This is a place of gates to open
and resplendence to make its bed.
The radiance of heaven will walk with our broken spirits
and together we will find courage.
This is friendship.
Quicken, come near.
11. Bleed by Nasreen Fynewever
Bleed a while
Bleed out hurt
Bleed out hope
the world strips
the world lies
the world has been good
this world will not have me
Who will have me
Do I dare question
My own character
But I know I am nothing
Nothing of what they say
Human but not that
My ambition is not clouding theirs
He is angry
He gets to defend
I have to let him
It is his right
He will rescue when I can not
She will fight and be down
She will balance the two and feel with me
She will grow hot with injustice
She will grow cold in the ache within
In this, we can journey and I will not be alone.
But still I bleed.
12. Red by Nasreen Fynewever
in community with Lisa-Jo Baker #FMF
I have learned of love like nothing else.
The season of now.
It teaches of you.
I love you.
It teaches of my man.
I love him.
It teaches of me.
I now do love even me.
It bleeds and stains this season, my loss, my past, my fears.
But with the tragic of life so rains the healing balm of love.
It rushes and fills the places deadened to day
and seals to the night of done that which should not stay.
My walled heart, it screams the tone of stop and halt,
but love will win, because
Sometimes life seeps out
and can not be recovered.
Not all is redeemed.
But for what is, what is red with the suffering embraced,
I will never be the same again.
13. The Gouge by Nasreen Fynewever
There was a gouge in my heart.
It felt slicing and it wielded edged swords to tender places.
There is the recalling and retelling.
The stories not neat and crisp yet.
But in the arching of shoulders and the dedication of the hearer to listen,
I will lower the hates.
The hate of time taken to my tale
and the hate of questioning worth.
The wind picked up.
Muscled horses, power and charge, stampeded into the danger of lies
and truth getting tripped up and confused.
Voice cracked with inconsistency of diction and direction.
Absorbing shifts and sighs from across the table
and watching the thread unravel in my own togetherness,
yet I was well.
Stormy stoned cheek bone began to pull away and disinterest.
Yet a dying inside to the second listener.
My heart shredded and recovered without flinch of festering second.
Finish the story, learn to love well, forgive much,
return to the core and move forward to wisdom.
And as each gouge becomes new canyon,
we traversed into the cavernous space and marvel at the rock so constant.
We see the years and seasons that have endured and excited.
Of rainy pour and dry barrenness.
No archaeologist inside,
but a knowing abides with us still.
The cutting will subside, and low
in the depths, near the healing
we can sprint into the breeze that holds no bitter whip at the end.