Poetry

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THE STAND COLLECTION

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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.

Ashen faces

Hollow eyes

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.

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THE UNWRITTEN POEMS COLLECTION

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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 

books bought

lessons taught

dreams wrought

battles fought

 

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

four lines

the patience of the paper

the spaces to place ink and heart

teeter toter

 

a place

the children play and the poet dances

soak in new and remember old

guitar strings

 

melody and song

stories and truths line the straight

the emotions follow the curl

write

 

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

 

 

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THE ANTHEM COLLECTION

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1. Oh Sad One by Nasreen Fynewever

Oh sad one
Oh girl lost
Oh hope
Oh little hands
Take me to great strength today
Stay hungry
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
Calculated
Other centric
Cease this.
Wild
Bold
Fantastic
Say more
Forge ahead

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
    my skin
I have lies to untell and truths that
    have never come down to mortal
    ears
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
    of control
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
    than others
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
    faked slumber
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
    cartography
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
    again
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
    timber,
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

and then
    repeat

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,
    yet beautiful.
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
Bleed a while
Bleed out
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
    They leave
    I still
    Do I dare question
    Question character
    My own character
    But I know I am nothing
    Nothing of what they say
    Human but not that
    My ambition is not clouding theirs
    Never has

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
              it can.
              It has.
              It does.

Not always.

Sometimes life seeps out
    and can not be recovered.
Not all is redeemed.
    Not yet.

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.  

Eyes fell.
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.

Just rise.
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.