The stream (all workshops)
Someone whispered something in my ears,
I felt it very close to me,
looked around to see its source,
found nothing but the sweetness of those words.
Someone said something in my dream,
Those beautiful eyes were looking at me.
That sweet voice had said something,
When I asked it said nothing.
And then someone did something,
Something I never ever expected,
A downpour of water on my face,
and those sweet words repeated,
"Good Morning To You Son".
A man for all seasons
He's cool as a breeze
He's colourful as fall
He floats like a cloud
He can like thunder be loud
He's fast as lightning
He brings summer with his smile
He can scold and be cold
He can have a dry wit
He has eyes that can freeze
He'll spring to please
Whatever the weather
You won't meet better
The stolen rivers of desire,
where have they run to?
To the valleys where shy birds sing?
Branches quiver with their hopping.
Leaves give shadowed cover there.
And I will always, always love you
now and when I die.
The rivers run to pools of light,
reflecting stillness in the morning
when all expects
the day to bring on fire.
And I will always, always love you
now and when I die.
sex lust and love no sin
virgin
there is no sin
but the sin of condemning others,
out of love,
lust and sexual
innate desires
comes out a newer creation …
if sex were to be sin
or for that matter lust
only masturbate then all humans must
just leave all sins closeted ….
but by the way
who in hell,
if not on earth is to decide
what is sin?
what is a free ride
both enjoy at the hour of secrecy,
they try to maintain
yet you call it sin
Oh! O what a shame
i.
Yesterday
I was arguing with you
about love and falling in and out
of love.
This morning, like sunlight
the golden Buddha rises, laughing. The sound
of laughter like sunlight
Sometimes we laugh together. It's
the best we can do. I don't know
why.
ii.
Bring to talents most prestigious
be it Baroque or religious
French Huguenot craftsmen bring
London's SoHo flotsam's ring
My wealth is displayed on platters
it's conspicuous and bold-it matters
to the cognoscenti's parties
to 18th century Gentry
Argent is my bank
it gives the chosen ones swank
Like mirrors on water
It reflects what you aught to
see
So bright the gleem
so bring to a sheen
Polish my silver
Polish my silver
On my face an undulation
the start of ruination
beauty's arch enemy
should I resort to surgery?
Its the vain person's nemesis
causes them a lot of stress
I'm not going to worry
get myself in a flurry
going to think of each new wrinkle
as another memory I sprinkle
on my face, another trace
of each day I'm lucky to embrace
saffron chrome
her yawning perfume taut skin zone
the melliferous scandals
dusted arch
in keeping
the resting lie
beneath the wafer storm
pass
winters dead bride come to ride
like an angels corpse
and the engine runs
idling outside
Black October
it rained and rained
drowning anguish
gushing sorrows
down the gaping ruin
tragedies worth
Enfold me in your loving arms
and mould yourself against my chest.
I've long been captive to your charms
which far exceed all of the rest.
Let me smell your silken hair
like perfume of late autumn wine
which breeze sends flying everywhere
a halo burnished by sunshine.
Then thrill me with familiar form.
I've memorized each swell and curve
which in cold nights help keep me warm
a warmth I know I don't deserve.
A small boy cries, bird calling into the air.
I’m heart helped by his flower delicate face,
bamboo smooth then raw as meat,
his emotions entirely there.
Mums are preoccupied, abundance is a list.
Brows creased, they don’t look up,
their beauty worry worn.
I like the Muzak, whistle along,
wide eyed as a canary.
One aisle is traffic jammed.
and a little old man
waits like a garden gnome.
There should be dancing, the music's jaunty,
but no, only muted ‘excuse me’s’
as trolleys clash.
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