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Overview
This book was written for one purpose and one purpose only, which is for you to view your life behind yet through this thin veneer of words and phrases, stories, and allegories. All are created to blend from within (you the reader) with personal considerations of specific recollections of times (ill or well spent) but now content to attempt to climb above your future's considerable mountains of compilations.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781490774541 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Trafford Publishing |
| Publication date: | 06/24/2016 |
| Pages: | 120 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.25(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Angel Cloud Poetry III
The Jasmine of the Night
By David P. Carlson
Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2016 David CarlsonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7454-1
CHAPTER 1
Life Between the Lines
By David P. Carlson
Poetry, a series of written events ad conspiring to force the reader to recall a multitude of people, places and things so remote (yet so greatly inhabited by the beauty of so many painful events) that they so unwittingly paint a portrait of themselves so vivid that reality yields to the divine awareness of a conscious serenity, so complex, that all (so simply put) are sadly mundane; Unforeseen and suddenly this solitary life hurst upon the scene, confronts the risings in his mind, then kneels to the descending light of time and grace, affirms the course, then steps across the line so quickly drawn; With a stuttering gasp and a choking hiss, he speaks the words, "Amen, so he it, so now it is." Now truth has been revived as it comes to light in one dark, corner of his mind: there beneath the shadowed veil now reveals a man couched and pale, clad in a coat of mail; content to shun the light of the poet's pen. So now he stands, now to embrace the waiting hope for a life well spent, all within the realm of the poet's spin on a life within, never to be content to die again, all propelled by the tip of the poet's pen — This book was written for one purpose and one purpose only, which is for you to view your life behind, yet through this thin veneer of words and phrases, stories and allegories, all created to blend from within (you the reader) personal considerations of specific recollections of times, (ill or well spent) — but now content to attempt to climb above your future's considerable mountains of compilations. These poems (as is life itself) without a purpose or a point are as trees without limbs or leaves, no trunk or bark, no roots or seeds to grow, could never become a shade for that next generation — please attempt to read, then bask in some related truth — Take a mental sabbatical and say, "That's what I'd do for the rest of my days" — and so is the fruit of enlightenment of so many trees of truth — ad within your reach upon heaven's special ladders — each rung a book each step a gate that swings forever wider, so as to view the world around and your place in life, three-score and six rungs higher.
CHAPTER 2The Miracle of Transformation
By David P. Carlson
In 1953 the Spirit of God drew me out of the pew and into the aisle and down to accept my Cord's salvation. I don't remember what (Brother ((Rev. Lunsford) said, but I'd never forget the joy of that nine year old boy.
— Nineteen years later —
I often wonder what (Brother (Rev. C. C. Hurst) thought that night when the doorbell rang — probably, "Who can that be at this time of night," or "what major problem am I about to face this time?" Hesitantly he opened the door and I heard him say, "Can I help you?" and then, "Oh, (David, what's the problem?" I had been at his church before (he immediately recognized sister Bozman's granddaughter's bar-room boyfriend — (ME!!) Well, there we were; myself my girlfriend and my best friend, J. B. White, standing there on the porch. We had been arguing about if God was real over a couple of six-packs (or more maybe) I'm sure he could smell the beer on my breath, but believe it or not, he said, "Let's go over to the church and talk this over. It wasn't long that he cut to the chase and said, "David, do you want to give your life back to the Lord tonight and receive him as Lord and Savior?" I said, Yes, (Pastor Hurst, I do." I was immediately completely sober. He then led me in the sinner's prayer and that was that. (My friend J. B. was stunned, to say the least, and, no doubt, highly disappointed in me. (Brother Hurst asked J.B., "How about you son?" J. B. stormed out with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth; I think I even heard him curse a little. We had been friends for at (east ten years, but everything changed that night. We never ready ever spoke again to each other up to the time he died about 15 years later.
Well, I began to display, at that point, a major change. Church was my life and God began to mold me into a new man. I married my girlfriend, (sister (Bozman's granddaughter) who had 3 children from former marriages already. Before we married in Gods presence, one night he spoke to me to the effect, "I've given you a new life, now will you have a problem with raising these 3 children as your own?" I said, "Yes, Lord, I will do it."
Well things got better and better. We bought a small trailer (my parents were a Bit skeptical about me taking on such a responsibility). But finally they came around and supported my decision since they were so thrilled that I had changed from a bar-room brawler to a Bible-toting Christian. They were totally convinced something wonderful had happened and said "Amen!"
— But the best was yet to come!!! —
One night I took to Jo Ann and Mary (ages 3 and 6) to a church revival That night I told (Brother Hurst, "I know I'm saved and things are going great, hut something is missing. He prayed for me. After the service we headed home. On the way, it seemed the Cord brought to my remembrance an incident that had happened years before my god-drawn conversion. We had been partying, drinking, drugging, etc, on a little beach in Bayside, TX. I had a little boat that me and J. B. had built (a red, all wood, flat-bottom boat). It wasn't real big but it was heavy. At one point I ended up on that boat by myself. Everybody else was up on the shore. I kind of panicked when I realized it was almost dark and I was pretty high and I was drifting out into the bay. (Everybody thought that was pretty funny, but it wasn't. I could have ended up ad night drifting to who knows where. When that dawned on me, I grabbed the anchor and threw it in — guess what? It wasn't tied on to the boat's rope!! I only had one option — I grabbed the rope and jumped in the water that came just below my chest. I began the long, arduous task of pulling that boat back, to the shore which took about what seemed hours. But finally I made it to the shore. Everybody got a big laugh out of that. As I was thinking about that experience going up on the 13th block of N. Ave. D that night, it was like god said, "that boat was all those sins I have forgiven you for" — then I saw God cut the rope!! I was free from that great enormous weight, and friend, I went nuts!!! It was a rush I had never experienced!! I took, the girls home and told my wife what had happened and that I had to find brother Hurst and let him know too. I went by my parent's house and literally burst in and told them that something wonderful had happened!! I think they thought I was on drugs, drunk for just gone crazy again. Next morning I was still filled with that wonderful anointing that has never, to this day, subsided.
Well, forty-two years have come and gone and I've been blessed with 3 children of my own. I've been through many trials including my wife's death in 1996 of leukemia.
Then in 1998 God blessed me with Linda, and life has never been better!! Old things passed away forty-two years ago, and all things just keep getting newer!!!
CHAPTER 3Winter's Hand
I stand in winter's robe, clutching warmth where I can. I reach to feel the cold nigh wind Tears on winters face I touch Her sadness holds me, clutching warmth where she can. I take her hand, I understand Her tears splash, then turn to ice A winters night has found a friend.
— David Paul Carlson
CHAPTER 4Abigail-a Source of Joy Angel
By David P. Carlson
Sweetly silent this tender fife has shipped away, passing peacefully along her days as a springtime song of praise to the Lord of the great beyond This soul-full child, a melody as pure as a gentle wind upon this place of her eternal rest, now left to sway upon countless waves of heaven's symphonic melodies, her spirit strolls through care-free days with her friends, the angels, there to guide her on all her ways. As this resplendent angelic child resides there within her songs she hums a pleasant tune for Mom and Dad to hear there within their dreams. With a perfect pirouette she spins, then turns again to skip along to find a place to count the days when her life will once again meet those cherished ones, her family and those future friends on that bright and sun-bathed day, where they all together can sing as one in perfect harmony the song of the redeemed.
CHAPTER 5Angel Cloud
By David P. Carlson
Misty vapors merge, then mingle as a trailing wisp from her rainbow-laced wedding gown; angel cloud then serenely drifts across in stark contrast to the blues and greens and garnished golds of the sunlit knolls of yesterday, today and forever.
Her presence tolls, enunciating a place in the time where poetic lines will be inscribed upon a mind to reflect the vision there for countless souls, there to he enthralled at the sight of this heavenly radiance of her multi-colored glow; a divine reflection from the promised one who set the how there in creation's days of old, who proclaimed the hopes and dreams of yesterday, today and forever. As he swirled the clouds, he donned his hand with a satin brush to slash the shy with a grand array of illuminated prism shades galore, to forge the supreme depiction of the angle cloud in all her splendid glory. Now I say, "she was a sight to behold in her classic, wind-drawn surrey."
CHAPTER 6Angel in the Cloud — to God Be the Glory Is She (Relevant?
By David P. Carlson
She is relevant because each poem mirrors society, from coal miners to the Boston bombing, from wars abroad to your battles deep within, from the finger of God to the pointed sword at the devils head. With all that this book is, it screams "It's not in theory, it's all relevant!!"
Many books, in some ways, mimic others. This hook, when it was finished (even though I wrote it), made me wonder from whom it was I stole it. But then I recognized the true Author is truly like no other — the Holy Spirit, rightly noted, penned each word because to God I give the glory, and God has deemed that relevant to the angel in the cloud for me to meet the angels of Revelation.
CHAPTER 7A Penthouse View of the Last Days
By David P. Carlson
Since all the encroachments of escalating darkness throughout all the descending centuries since time began, these Last Days still contain, though diminished, a strain of hope I calf the isthmus lane which runs between Veracity's efficiency apartments and the perfidy acute-occult townhouse dwellings along the esplanade of Satanic Avenue and Demonic Drive; this scenic route along the shore is better known to those that dwell there in as the only way to drive through the storms of Christendom to avoid the chance that they might join. Now the by ways have been paved by the terroristic tar of Barbarism, trafficking winds around the curbs and lines of the interstate of human souls. All life has been exploited — Biblical principles — prophecies and all those holy covenants are the only lanes still left to connect this Christian isthmus to the stars — our home and God alone.
This final esplanade along the shore of eternity has turned out to be nothing more than the earth's Back-door, an anathema where fools may dwell void of wit or cleverness. So here, there within their final domain these nimble-fingered identity thieves jeer, then flaunt their ill-gotten gains, having done all they can to authenticate their claim to fame as their name proclaimers, "The defiant ones". So now, as their days wind up and down they slow their pace, and as time expires they settle down in their pre-assigned resting place, there to hang their hats at the tavern's inn, Better known in this world Below as the leper's den, -a cozy little colony growing up in leaps and Bounds with an equally nauseating chorus of groans and frantic sounds. (over)
Limp and twisted so describes their minds, bent so as to embrace the philosophy of Epicurus who believed that pleasure is the chief and utmost aim in life to gain, but unbeknownst to him another wise man said, "put a knife to the throat if a man 6e given to appetite," which reminds me of another tasteless and hopefully the last production of gloom and doom, a box-office hit and its final run at a world premiere.
So — here to proudly introduce this classic play, "The Old Grim Reaper", to describe every scene of a total eclipse of eternal life, day by day. "I, the Grim Reaper say, yes, I will and how glad I am to introduce this darling cast, all draped in various forms of mass destruction; now how about a hand for the devils crowd and their daunting last brigade." 'What a spectacular and memorable, but sad conclusion of a world whose hopes and dreams all hinge, and ultimately depend on (Medicaid and Dairy Queen.
Now as the world returns as it was before the shout, "Let there be light!" you hear the ay of the multitudes all slated to return again to the dark, corners of the universe. Total extermination, total evacuation from this blackened crust we call our molten earth, that's all that's left to entertain the worlds profane, insane, inane, those bound in chains, ad huddled in this bloody field of carnage where hopes and dreams have been reduced to ash and white-hot dust, (a final epigram without the wit), there to ponder in the soot and sludge of the bottomless pit — this finial esplanade you can avoid by a simple choice — so stay at home and serve the Lord — enjoy your view from your penthouse suite atop a higher calling.
CHAPTER 8A temple's Steeple — Just a Point In View
By David P. Carlson
Temple's steeples spike the shy from coast to coast extending high above, through those glowing redwood cinders, dancing upward from those Sequoia martyrs, backwood mesquite, men of morals, joining in are those piney woods of contemporary forests, steeped in Christendom's (Ridge, But commentaried versions of Christian universities, all ascending from the land below, all set ablaze by a volcano of civilian's civil and mental anthropoidic unrest and resentfulness, to then again be conjured up at a later date in some Backstreet amphitheater to crank and Bend those steeples down, to slash and chop those postulate points that permeate, then penetrate their scale-like shin: now resistance to them has always been excelled By godly men with didactic tack, with such a verbal thrust it unlooses the fetters from the hearts of men and women, Boys and girls who claim "in god they trust".
The enemy's ultimate task is this, to amend those truths within those sermonettes of so-called exhortations by men on high (those gray-bearded ones, schooled by celebrities and their countless groupie friends of anthropology) that probe their lies into the heavens with another set of pernicious temple's steeples of pines and needles. Now the gist of all of this needs not to be revised, transposed, contrived or compromised, so then be deemed a perverted form of veracity (herecisty! so charged in some religious forums of duplicity), But truly this well-documented dominant creed does demand the cross on top should be displayed and plainly seen as an eternal and god-penned theme, for without the cross there would be no point to guide the way, nor challenge for us to tread across that swirling and swollen Jordan River of pride to the banks of Eternal Love, there atop those steeple's peaks there upon the other side, a point well taken to the Cross where there the tip was stained in red by the blood He shed to emphasize our so-called common and mundane steeples pointing to the skies.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Angel Cloud Poetry III by David P. Carlson. Copyright © 2016 David Carlson. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Life Between the Lines, 1,The Miracle of Transformation, 2,
Winter's Hand, 4,
Abigail-a Source of Joy Angel, 5,
Angel Cloud, 7,
Angel in the Cloud--to God Be the Glory Is She Relevant, 9,
A Penthouse View of the Last Days, 10,
A Temple's Steeple--Just a Point In View, 12,
Beyond the Generational Gap, 13,
Biblical Poetry (Glory), 14,
Branches, 15,
Brine Foam Upon the Shore, 16,
Divine Design, 17,
Dream Busters, 18,
Elliptic Rose, 21,
Evil Paladin "The Grand Scammer", 23,
Final Destination, 24,
Flight Ninety-three, 25,
Fool and the Storm, 28,
Free, 29,
Galactic Time Blood Moon's Risings, 30,
God's Way, 32,
Gone in Time, 33,
Guy Fawke's Protege, 34,
King Gull, 36,
Life and Inspiration, 37,
Life Held Golden, 38,
Lofty, 39,
Looking Down into the Pit I Stumbled Into Fifty Years Ago, 40,
Lord, It Ain't So Bad, 47,
Machiavellian, 48,
Matador, Picadors, and the Bull-El Picayune, 50,
Monastic Wind--Insane Branches, 51,
Never Ending Rain, 53,
Ordinary Angle, 54,
Pity, 55,
Salvation's Happy Days, 56,
Soul Searchers, 57,
Summer Rain, 58,
The Arrow, the Archer, the Bow and String, 59,
The Camel and the Fox, 60,
The Countess and the Beast, 61,
The Dark Ages, 63,
The Gray Day, 64,
The Jasmine of the Night Cestrum nocturnum, 65,
The Jasmine of the Night, 66,
The Parachute, 68,
The Turtle and the Skunk, 69,
Two Roses and a Music Box, 71,
Vertigo--the Illusion of Euphoria, 72,
Virginia Lester Bochler Young, 74,
Vision, 75,
Waiting in the Wings of the Final Hour: Chimera, Countess of Terror, 77,
Wind--, 79,
Winter's land, 80,
Within Us, 81,
Youth Plight--Velvet Covered Antlers in the Snow, 82,
Anthracite and Dexterous A Horse and Buggy to Watch for at the Finish Line, 84,
Fallen Leaves- Abandoned Branches, 85,