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Editing - draft

Lives Lived 1977

She lived a long life
that started quite early
at the age of fifteen
I believe,
when she sipped red wine
and listened to Igor
Stravinsky, that is, the
impossible to dance -
Rite of Spring -
more odd than not
most would say
as she celebrated Ravel's
Bolero, in her own way.
She was lost in self-thought
and enjoyed being strange
always ready to arrange
a good distance between
others and she
always kept her
guarded vulnerability.
Life had been rough before

S.O.S

Deeply rooted in the process
Of putting our weapons down
And dismantling sabotage
Lies a white flag
Steady in the wind
Sturdy in true love

Feel mighty indulgences
Smiling back at your spirit
It turns to a darkness
Depleting the heartless
Until there’s nothing left
Dispirited individuals
Withering in truth
Or blind unto it

Waiting for the Vampire

There’s a gathering
here full of fear.
We all await
our victims' fate
with each meeting
soon to come
with the Lovely One
who wants nothing
but our blood.
She is clever
and deceiving
as She prepares
Her room for feeding,
and She smiles at me
while she pierces
and sinks deep
through my flesh.
My Red flows
into her tubular tooth
and holds it there
to keep it fresh.
After all is said and done,
I part ways with her
and say ‘Goodbye,

Primal Poetry Phase 2 UPDATE

Tunneling through
the smell of earth
the worm I am.
Others move next to me
and break into my furrow
only a little though
I am moving too fast to
stop for them
alone in my narrow row
water seeping in
it’s cold
I move faster now
with no one in my way
I stay moving
through the smell
no hunger here only fear
I need help. No, I don’t
onward to that sound
breaking through the ground
rising up above
There is a light in gold
it’s warm
I found my home

Workshop: 

Masks

Can you see behind my mask?
Can you see my pain?
Can you see my despair?
Do you even see me at all?

I wear a mask
I wear a mask of fear
I wear a mask of pain
But it is invisible
Only seen by others like me
The outcast, the lonely
The forgotten of this world
Can you see my mask?

Inwardly numb

I embrace the darkness
further than emptiness,
I am come unto the night
numb I sit lightly on glass

A lick of fire diminished
on the touch of my skin,
under my cold haunches
slivers slice my knees

As blood surrounds form
gasping reflects nothing,
red colours the correction
and now not a dicky bird.
 
I once lived with devotion
cherishing you like gold
I held your sacred flesh
proclaiming you as one

Leaderless Times UPDATE

A witness or more
are watching
the arrogance that
flows through those
wolves in sheep's
clothes who would
if they could
steal the eyes
from the living
and the dead,
to hide in their
disguise those
conservative right
who lay claim
to their Faith
will fill their coffers
with hate and war
at the expense
of the hungry and poor,
the weak, the sick
and the old.
But try as they might
a witness or more
are watching them
as they sit up on high

Phase ll Primal Poetry

Cycling Being ~ read backward from right to left and reverse ~ continuing rhythm

BORN
is place from
inside out
spiraling
out inside
from place is
DEATH
is place from
inside out
spiraling
out inside
from place is
BORN
is place from
inside out
spiraling
out inside
from place is
DEATH
is place from
inside out
spiraling
out inside
from place is
BORN

Workshop: 

Phase II... Primal Poetry Phase II

Church darkened
Candles guttering
Coffins full
Spirits departed

Garden variety
Vegetable flowers
White butterflies
Good luck

Holes in the earth
Sandy soil
Wet and raining
Fade

French horns
Thrill me
Guitar's plaintive cry
Mixed pleasures

Swirling galaxies
We are apart
She understands
She doesn't like it

Workshop: 

The People... [Primal poetry Workshop]

Rhythmic rattles and soft the drums
The whistles of our shamans
Grey ghosts sitting horseback in the fog

The buffalo drift silent across the plain
Voices of the brother wolves
Singing praises of the Father

Dancing of the maidens calling the Mother
From whom all blessings flow
Asking for the harvest of the land to be rich

The children are full of laughter
Uncle stories of foolishness
The Old Shaman tales of the trickster fox

Workshop: 

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