a poem

 The Smell of the Endless

The both of us are on the good,

Searching up and down the neighborhoods,

On the spell of God and on the fate of prayers,

To the lives unwound by the beach home stairs,

Making life so long to the window’s sound,

By the flow up her hair that was,

Chasing him up and down,

Along from the collarbone and way down to the juggles,

For one heat to rise up and one more to caboodle,

The mere expressions on the false perceptions,

Were ways of exiting the rise that was endless and in their fate,

On the way they were right in front of it all,

To the time he held his pinky in his hand and knew never to fall,

To the rub that runs off with the romp,

To the smell that’s endless on the clock,

To the waves of sand that go to dunes to France,

To the Miami Dolphins featuring in Japan,

Of course this is the way it foes,

From here to there to Tokyo,

To the sound of Beethoven filled up on caviar,

To the famous children’s museum making playful ones smile. 

By Ben Bussewitz

a poem

The bluebirds sings in glee harmony,

For the spirit that is churching to the willowy thing,

In the heart that’s in yearning for the sound of the speed,

In the love that is never settling into a heap of a tree,

The trees that are bellowing we’re not a heap of anything,

And the foxes that are rattling we’ll chase the squirrels tail ‘till 3:00,

With the heart of a boulder facing out over Jerusalem,

Over the life that is rattling a diamond out a lightning ring, the ringing that spins,

And the hill that never ends, in the life that goes up a thousand steers,

To the love that’s up there. On the way way up the hill,

To the sound of Sisyphus rattling and clinging,

And the way down profitable, end the margins never bringing,

With the heart that is yearning for the life that is steering,

On the way the breads tolling in the sound of the children yawning,

In the mountains of cash registers playing Christmas bells carols,

To the life that’s never ending. All in the fate of a child,

To a love that is unraveling. To the life of the Reaper.

Never settling. For anything less than the love of you,

His children that He is nourishing tenderly.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

The Fate of a Child

The bluebirds sings in glee harmony,
For the spirit that is churching to the willowy thing,

In the heart that’s in yearning for the sound of the speed,

In the love that is never settling into a heap of a tree,

The trees that are bellowing we’re not a heap of anything,

And the foxes that are rattling we’ll chase the squirrels tail ‘till 3:00,

With the heart of a boulder facing out over Jerusalem,

Over the life that is rattling a diamond out a lightning ring, the ringing that spins,

And the hill that never ends, in the life that goes up a thousand steers,

To the love that’s up there. On the way way up the hill,

To the sound of Sisyphus rattling and clinging,

And the way down profitable, end the margins never bringing,

With the heart that is yearning for the life that is steering,

On the way the breads tolling in the sound of the children yawning,

In the mountains of cash registers playing Christmas bells carols,

To the life that’s never ending. All in the fate of a child,

To a love that is unraveling. To the life of the Reaper.

Never settling. For anything less than the love of you,

His children that He is nourishing tenderly.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

Wedding Cases

The window ledge is where I’m from,

Right on, right on, right on, right on,

On the passenger seat to the television set,

Everyone’s guess, everyone’s guess. They got it.

They got it right that’s what I said.

The news it’s coming.

She’s got a jetpack.

Flying up to Kingdom Come.

Along, the savages, go to where they belong.

Along, along, to tons of faith,

A room full of windows of lampshades of grace,

With minute-men and wedding cases,

And butler men bucking to the sound of the stadium.

The spell of her Son,

Going right in time,

The one and true one,

On a moment of time.

On the life of her One

In the center of the square,

To where they all go,

When they all come from here.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

 

poem

Where the Leafs Go

I am so grateful for the way that the leafs go,
blowing through the atmosphere, conscious,
wherever the wind goes.
The wind leads them and reels them
through windmills and prairie fields,
over magic spells with potions,
exactly where where our hearts are heading.
The leafs flow and say, “Do you know?”
on their way to the harvest,
the years was fine
they were fruit on the vine,
and made it home to the harvest.

by Ben Bussewitz

just to improve my blog's aesthetics

a poem

The Way to Yellow

The leaves that

Were on it

Were blooming

Above it.

The clouds thought

It’s magic

Leafs bloom

Tremendous.

The sky mused

It’s heart-filled,

Important,

Imperative,

That the leaf

On the trees

Keep going

Tremendous.

They bloom so

Tremendous

On the page that

Is eyes-met.

And she kissed

Him, his life met

Her life then,

Tremendous,

It’s magic

The way that

The words flow,

Brilliant

Eye’s meet so

Thoughtfully

With soft, slow

Dynamics,

Tempo-roll.

The leafs go

On the yellow

Meadow flow

Amazing

Brilliant

Tremendous

It’s magic.

The life goes above him

On the way to his Maker

The life of his homestead

The willow that kept her

In the life she was said

To his intervening and blessed

To the heart that is willing

And the time that’s in His hands.

by Ben Bussewitz

new song

click for new song

- Ben Bussewitz

three songs

here they are:

O, California

Kiley's Song

Marching Band Parade (Amnesty International Version)

- Ben Bussewitz

a poem

The Crest of the Cadence

in the way of her hair is the sound of the song

hearing light for tomorrow to the reaper that is strong,

to the moon that is having a lighting bolt year,

for the wedding sun harvesting Earth’s two premiers.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

 A King and A Queen

in the heart of day

she is in the marching band parade,

with me side by side,

the horns they ring wild,

the future of our path is home—

it’s in our hearts, that’s the way this is going,

from the moon to infinity to the heap at Wall Street,

that was just our plan and timing.

a king and a queen,

two children of God,

in love and in awe.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

The Way to Land

For the room we have decided

all of God’s love is free,

and He made it for me,

a gentle breeze on His sail.

A tiny speck of Creation,

in love with a women,

and in gratitude He has made it,

faith full for forgiveness.

by Ben Bussewitz

a poem

 Roaring

 

 

 

 

From faith to salvation it’s planted,

Enough for forgiveness,

On the way to transcendence,

God’s children walking steady.

That is the way this goes

From here to there to the heart

Of Mexico City, right down south

To Guatemala and Honduras,

Haiti is dancing beneath the umbrella.

The time it is ringing

For the luck that is ringing,

The pair of the doves,

Came the same way—

By the sun they flew,

Right up to the moon.

 

That is the way,

This is headed,

To the middle of the ocean,

Peace in the Atlantic,

To the sound that is going

On a born again tremendous,

From the time it takes to walk a mile

Down the African coastline,

Just to get a dollar

For doing the jive,

Just to make the ends meet,

By your life so alive.

 

This is the way that it rings,

Away from further in the atmosphere,

That is the way that this goes,

From here to her center stage hair,

From yesterday to tomorrow,

The windows all lit up,

With scenic lamps, all God’s kids,

Children that are blessed,

All the children

With cups on their heads,

Mr. Hat is so spontaneous,

He doesn’t challenge the time for settling,

Away for just see,

Here right with me,

In front, beside me,

Sparrows and threes,

The sound of the queen

Through the stereo calm mantlepiece

Alive with the bells

For the loudest life that just knells

That faith that is soaring

And Earth that is good,

The lives that are roaring,

All of God’s children.

by Ben Bussewitz