The God With Eyes That Have No Colour

The God With Eyes That Have No Colour
(October 29, 2010)


I have many brothers and sisters. My brothers are white and my sisters are black. I have many cousins, aunts, and uncles. My cousins are yellow, my aunts are brown, and my uncles are red. I have many mothers and fathers. My mothers are caramel and my fathers are orange. This is my family. We may not share the same blood, but we share the same air that we breathe! We may not go to the same church, but we are all created by the same God. You are my brother. You are my sister. You are my cousin. You are my uncle. You are my aunt. You are my mother. You are my father. We live by the same air. The children of one God.

Come out! Crawl out! Run out! Emerge from beneath the rocks! Disassemble from inside those caves! Disembark from your heavily-laden ships! You yellow man! You red man! Straighten your backs! Lift your torsos upward-bound! Let your voices ring freely towards the skies! You black man! You white man! Run and pick up speed! Fly and abound on new heights! Soar, feel the winds through your feathers! You brown man! You orange man! You man of caramel-coloured skin!

Quiver like the string in the tight-stretched bow! And then let go! Pierce the bull’s eye! Quiver! Quiver! Shake and quiver! For the power within you is great! And then fly!

Imprint. Emerge. Sculpt your face in the winds! You human of many colours! Sculpt your image! Carve it into the air for eternity’s heritage! You human who is not bound and bridled by one borderline! You human who is not traced in by lines drawn onto the map!

I eat the countries’ borders drawn neatly on the map! I pick them up and they slither together as a thing of no form! I bury the limits of man into the sands to watch them slowly die.

You man of many colors! Arise! Unfold your wings! The wings of the Phoenix! And burn your name into the skies of before, of here, and of after and evermore! Burn your name and may it be burned into the air in many colours! And may your colours be your legacy for the coloured eyes of mankind to see! And may God our creator look at you and see – a beautiful flight of fiery dancing wings aflame etching the skies! And may God feel this heat. The God of eyes that have no colour! May your colours burn and He feel the warmth against His face!


Copyright © 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.



AbeBooks Italy              Indie Bound USA               Exclus1ves South Africa  
the-Meirin USA                Angus & Robertson Australia                  Kalahari South Africa 
Fishpond Australia              Waterstone's UK           NBC India 
Infibeam India                   EmporiumBooks Australia                     opentrolley Singapore     
Alibris UK                 The Nile Australia              The Book Depository UK 
AbeBooks en Espanyol                    Fishpond New Zealand                    Amazon US    
Amazon Canada             Amazon UK                 Amazon Japan    
Amazon France               Amazon Deutschland                 AbeBooks Deutschland
AuthorHouse US              C. JoyBell C. -Writer                  The Sun Is Snowing



Blanket

this writing not intended for children


Blanket
(September 17, 2010)

Like the strands of flannel on my blanket
That cling to my skin, I want to feel
You; pull you up in between me and
Have your warmth all over running inside
Me and contouring to the folds of my skin


Copyright © 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.





C. JoyBell C. - Writer                          The Sun Is Snowing



EAVESDROP (on the matter of having a son)

EAVESDROP (on the matter of having a son)
(October 15, 2010)

“What does it feel like to have a son?”

“Having a son is a commitment. But it’s not one that I figure out, or reason with, or rationalize about. It is an instant commitment. A commitment which is made with every piece of skin on my body. My blood, my flesh, my skin— it all runs after my son and takes ahold of him— always. When I look at him, when I stand beside him, when I am with him— there is no difference I feel between him and I, except for the fact that I love him more than myself and that he is more amazing. There are no lines. There is no pretension. There are no differences, there are no separations and there is nothing to be distinguished. We are us. And that’s just the way that it is. We are us.”

“That is powerful. Very powerful. I can feel it.”

“Yes it is.”

“Is this the most powerful thing? To have a son?”

“I compare it to nothing. So I make no comparisons. We are us. This is ours. Ours is mine. Mine is his. We are what we are, and there is nothing to compare, there are no comparisons!”

“This sounds significant!”

“This is significant! This is defiant. This is almost rebellious. It is. And it is on the verge of so many other wonderful things; like an overwhelming tenacity, a complete veracity. To have a son is something which does not fall into a level of anything else which exists. Because there are no levels. It is simply what it is. And this simple matter cannot in a million years be replaced by anything or anyone else.”

“What is your son’s name?”

“His name is Gilead.”



© 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

The Becoming

The Becoming
(July 23, 2010)

I will break this clay jar
Until every drop of the incense
Will flow out of my soul and
Into my veins
And mix and swim in my bloodstream

And I will smell only like it
Every inch of me
Until I am unrecognizable
Until I have become me


Copyright © 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.


Back to Top