Reach out and tell me  how many stars are in the sky. Count 1-2-3-4 and realize you cannot count that high. Reach out and tell me do solar flares gravitate brilliance Squint to see its hues of variation and realize its beyond your resilience. Reach out and tell me can a thousand moons tug a war at beauty Follow its map through orbits and realize it's only God's duty. Reach out and tell me can a blanket of darkness sparkle in such shine? Silently whisper a breathless affirmation and realize you too, can be divine. -b.r.rivera Poem 23 of 30, April 2012 #30in30 

All hail the Easter Bunny. There are promises of eggs. Little small gifts enclosed in plastic oval shapes, smelling of new chemicals freshly pressed from large manufacturing companies. My gift to the weather. A small token of spring. Perhaps the swiftness and cool eyed crispness deserves better awakenings than Folgers in your cup and effervescence scalding hot in aging fingers. It's all daisies, ribbons, and freshly starched outfits pressed for the deadline on velvety pews, gotta make it on time in the rush of traffic where runways are composed of yellow dashed lines and patent leather shoes pressed to the metal of gas ignitions. Who needs a Bible? We all have our outfits and hopefully unstained chocolate pressed against our lips honoring the risen from a sealed tomb after three days after the cry of vinegar quenched lips and warm blood dusty from a crown of thorns. Let me celebrate once. Once in my life, go to an edifice filled with familiar tunes and paper ...

My plants are dying. Some wither by the wayside. Others, destined in their own chlorophyll psychedelic mindfuck reach out to the Heavens and are Hell bent on finding the sustenance of the sun. I wonder if its the soil. Mixed parts with fertilizer and the such but we all know the grass is greener on the other side. Probably sunnier there too. Warm. The kind of weather where women flaunt their parasols and gloved white hands, pearls dancing off the sunglasses of the husbands that mow just near the picket fence. Maybe its too much water. leaves are perkier with just enough bounce, sturdy to the prickly fuzzy knees of bees. At least the lady bugs enjoy them. They seem to surround themselves near waxy goodness polka dots and dance trots to and fro the emptiness of withered hope. Couldn't be the roots. Oh, God...not the roots. Mind as well rip up the entire earth that surrounds them, throw them in the air and let the silken strands fall where they may. invisi...

Life is not trivial waiting upon someone to take it we are expendable to those whose life is not yet blessed within the soul giver and the life presenter who weeps at the mere thought that someone would take it away. -b.r.rivera-taylor An  etheree  poem. The first concrete form I played with and loved upon sight. In order to become a better poet, we must read, study and write both free forms and concrete forms of poetry. Enjoy.

What is a prayer not genuinely concealed in blackened knees and salty tears Aching backs and quivered voices Hushed secrets and cheeks moistened. What is a prayer not genuinely spoken in shaken hymns and battle scare wounds A thousand hail mary's and jesus-loves-me off tune Seeking light when no one has a candle in sight Finding comfort in dark, hushed corners become fetal positions weakened from a fight. What is prayer not genuinely given in bible proverbs that memories have forgotten new thoughts racing while old history has begotten the sheer will and new testaments made because surely growth endures what life has saved and Jesus take this cross from me cause it seems that it is mighty heavy and I would like a break for a moment a rest in your hand- surely there is nothing like a good old fashioned prayer where you see only one set of footprints in the sand. -b.r.rivera #30in30 9of30 http://beverlyrivera.blogspot.com

I'd rather have Jesus. seems to me that others fall short when he stands tall people run out of words where his silence is comfort and he brings light upon the shadiest of days, I'd rather have Jesus to save my day. Instead of "S" on a chest, I prefer the J surely, if he can walk on water he can fly in and scoop me up when I fail in the worst way And pain is immenent, and baby we all sing the blues But its nothing like seeking the comfort of someone that is always there and truly knows you. I'd rather have Jesus. I'd rather say "thanks but no thanks" to inefficiency, interruptions, indecent and pure lack of logical reason to accept that no one in the pure events that occured recent- have picked up their phones at 2 am wiped my tears at 2:15 and rocked me to sleep at 2:30 with urgency to get to the root of the problem and lay it in their hands so surely, I'd have Jesus than just a regular ol' man. I'd rather have hi...