Dec
19
1988

Peaceful, Loving Man (Reggae Song)

by Stephen Messer

I saw the colours,
But no anger was aroused.
I felt the peaceful hope,
Of a peaceful, loving man.

I saw the lion’s head,
But no fear was aroused.
I felt all the courage,
Of a couragous man.

I saw the black man,
But no hatred was aroused.
I felt all the love,
Of a peaceful, loving man.

I saw the dread,
But no envy was aroused.
I gave all my loving
To a peaceful, loving man.

I heard the music,
All my love was aroused.
I gave all my loving
To a peaceful, loving man.

I heard Jah’s word
All my life had been aroused.
In his name I gave it,
To Bob Marley and his band.

posted in Social, Songs | No Comments

Dec
09
1988

Simple Agonies

by Stephen Messer

I used to think J. Alfred was a sorry case:
the poor mortal man in search of something meaningful.
I used to think the meaningful important,
but now coffee spoons seem almost appropriate.

Yes, I remember rooms where people came and went,
and looked on in malice, trying to impress
in their masked agony of discontent.

Were they like me, or were they I?
Better still, (or worse yet)
was I like them?

My own agony of discontent was my own.
But my agony was different, I know it was.
I had only to look at their faces to feel their
malice (and for their sake, look impressed),
to know their discontent was not as mine.

Those rooms seem so long ago and yet,
I’m in one now.
The windows show a world that I look out into,
but am not a part of, or at least
don’t seem to be.

I don’t seem to be free.

There is my agony, my discontent.
Though I may sit in this room and lament,
it’d not be for any gain
or satisfaction.
It’s just a humble method of distraction,
to take away my mind from simple agonies,
though for some time I’ve known
(I’ve not fooled myself),
it is an agony all its own.

Simple agonies, a simple malice.
Who am I trying to impress?
There’s no one else inside my room but me,
and I’m not free.
Though I may come and go, as people do,
for now I’ll stay.

But out the window I see such a nice day.

I’d probably get a sunburn, or catch a cold,
So it’s O.K.

posted in Introspection, Kisner Collection, Poems | No Comments

Dec
09
1988

Leap

by Stephen Messer

I had gone in leaps and bounds,
Upward, outward,
But never really knowing where the next
Leap would take me.
I have known for some time
Where the final leap would land,
But in such a checkerboard
Existence, I have
No knowledge of just the next square.

I will go in leaps and bounds,
Onward toward that final leap,
But leaps are getting smaller,
Bounds are getting shorter.

I may even learn the patience to
No longer leap annd bound, but instead
To stride comfortably,
Consistently,
And controlledly,
Onto a final step, to a final leap,
A greater leap, far greater
Than any that may have happened otherwise.

That final leap will reach far
Greater heights,
Than I have ever known.

That final leap will reach far greater heights,
Than I shall ever know.

I have taken the first step towards my final leap, unbound.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Poems | No Comments

Dec
09
1988

Meaningful

by Stephen Messer

My agonies are all my own.
They are mine and they are different from any other.
I don’t care about my trousers,
But am sure to check them anyway.
In my humble discontent I will look outside this room,
To see a world full of malice,
That I was lead to believe was full of freedom.

What once was construed as meaningful,
Is now but a distraction from the meaningful:
The meaningful is a distraction from itself.
From my little room, meanings appear to change.
The meanings do not change,
But my perspective of them moves about in time,
Grows and changes with time.
Through my own agonies, I change.
Through my own agonies,
The meaningful loses its meaning to me.
Meaningful things are my cage, my room,
My prison.

Freedom is meaningless.

posted in Introspection, Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
29
1988

Force

by Stephen Messer

Will I ever get out of here?
Oppression rages and wanders,
Forcing me to force myself
To abandon myself.

There is no happiness here
When in the aggravation of
A time constricted moment
We are forced to force ourselves
To abandon ourselves.

For what good?
For good of those who would force
Us to force ourselves?

For what need?
For the need of power and lust and greed
Of those who would force
Us to force ourselves.

Oppression rages and wanders through the bodies
Caught up in the admonition of
This . . .
This feelingless suffrage of . . .
This cancerous mass afflicting . . .
This oozing sore of oozing diseased . . .
This . . .

These people.

These people who know not their own
Personality.
These people who have lost all connection
With themselves.
These people who force themselves . . .
These people who have lost themselves
Somewhere they never knew they were.

posted in Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
23
1988

Different Person

by Stephen Messer

No more shall I wander
Where I had
Wandered before.
The same places, maybe,
The same things to see, ‘
The same sights now
As before,
But the person seeing them
Now is not the person
Who saw them then.
The same spirit, maybe,
The same spirit is seeing,
The same spirit now
As before,
But the person is different:
I am different.

posted in Introspection, Poems, Time | No Comments

Nov
22
1988

Flock

by Stephen Messer

I had stood on the
Shore in silent
Repose, many times.
Contemplating waves
And Lives and energy,
And never had two
Moments on the
Shore been the same.
Never had the waves
Been the same;
Never had the
Lives been the same.

I had stood on
the shore many times,
had watched the birds.
I had seen the
Flock, one flock
Moving, living, working
As a whole for the
Benefit of the whole.

There were multitudes of those birds,
Every one an individual,
Yet every one working
For the flock.
There were no unhappy birds in
That flock, for they
Worked for the flock to benefit
Themselves.

I had stood on many shores and
Pondered on man;
Men without a flock to work for.
Unhappy men, who
Never changed.
On and on they went,
Until the wave broke,
Then the next wave breaks.

I have stood on the shore,
And wished so many things.

posted in Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
21
1988

Passed

by Stephen Messer

I could have passed at that instant,
Could have passed at that moment.
It was a strange detachment that said
My place was not here,
But feeling more detached
My place was not there.

The illusion around became as an illusion,
From which I could have become detached.
That instant was a blissful one, taking
Away all fears,
Allaying all fears, all those inconsequential fears.
There was no fear in that instant.

Never before had an instant felt this way.
No such feeling of peace, contentment,
And wholeness.

That moment told me I had reached a turning point.
Beyond that point lay the present,
In which I continue to grow into new directions,
Unhindered by former fears.

Unhindered by former lives.
Unhindered by the present.

posted in Introspection, Poems | No Comments

Nov
07
1988

Not Mine

by Stephen Messer

I have felt the strength, but it was not mine.
I have known the wisdom, but it was not mine.
I have had the success, but it was not mine.
I have had the failure, but it was not mine.

I know the feeling, but it is not mine.
I know the foolishnes, but it is not mine.
I know the happiness, but it is not mine.

I know the Self, but it is not me.
I know I, and I am the Self.

posted in Metaphysical, Poems, Social | No Comments

Nov
01
1988

Fit

by Stephen Messer

There were birds,
And the birds landed on the trees,
And the trees grew out of the ground,
And the ground held the water,
And the sun rose over the water,
And the water surrounded the land,
And the land supported the plants,
And the animals ate the plants,
And the birds landed on the trees,
And the trees grew out of the ground,
And somewhere amongst it all
I saw a space into which I could fit.

But I couldn’t fit this life in there too.

posted in Poems, Social | No Comments

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