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(Apropos Of Freestyle Rendering)
In the composing of every liberated
Poet of poetic justice, every pen
Is a freestyle composition—irrespective
Of structural rendering of the divine
Birth-wording that has been Given
From the Supreme Conductor’s wanding
Instructions as to where to be and go
In the rhythmic flow of frothing waves
Of awareness shared in the imaging canvas
Of eyes and ears to behold that of the essence
Of freed minds whose souls are as deep empty
Wells waiting to be filled with watering awareness:-
Come—travel with me along the poetic road
Through the shadows of death of those who
Would wave restrictions on the way we would
Have to travel in fear; come and travel with me
In rendering love in which there is no fear
Or chained restrictions; for as a free styling poet,
There are no shackles nor should you be in search
Of laureate accolades of those who agree that you
Have agreed with them:-
On the contrary, be a free styling poet
Of divine guidance and directions of the
Supreme Conductor guiding you through
The high and low bouncing notes of needed
Allegorical awareness of truth’s canvassing;
For you have been chosen to orchestrate
Flowing truth and awareness that reignites
Rest stop minds to restart liberation engines to
Continue the symphonizing journey to its encore.
Remember, the beat is yours and so is the rhythm
Of your flowing message imaged in the playing words
Of the highs and lows in the half and full notes in imaging
Oneness of the onement of the peace and love of truth
That has given each word its guided scriptural awareness:-
Of every belief system that has been penned
And guided to give an ocean upon which we may
Freely style the sailing waves we send flowing
To froth on the shores free minds canvassing
And styling imaging beauty and awareness.
Always know, believe, feel, and rejoice
In the awareness that if our clanging echoes
Are not yet tingling the mind’s eyes and ears
Of present generations, they will be realized In
The due time that the Conductor has deemed to come;
And our greatness will be clanging echoes reverberating
In that poetic concert hall not made by mere human hands:-
Thus, as I sojourn to the conclusion of this symphonic
Rhythmic rendering that will have its echoing encore,
Dwell, if you will, on the ever-present Philippians overture:
“…Whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are honest,
Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good; if
There be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on [this…]:-”
