The stream (all workshops)
It was half past 3 am on Sunday night
down on Hawthrone st
I was keeping to the light
just workin’ the old beat
Not lookin’ for a fight
only a fix for the long night
He came for me, all what was left
I am not one who prays
maybe it started as theft
but it didn’t end that way
I remember that I wept
in the few moments that I’ve kept
They found me alone in the alley
lost and afraid of real shadows
they understood I had no family
held me as I shed my deepest sorrow
To seek the red dust of heaven with fistfuls of sky,
to gather impressions and assume lofty position
to imprison the earth
with quavering smile,
to be yoked with untenable chains of solemn regret
and symphonies of sparrow sorrow
in poetic folly,
I bear all unnamed consequences,
walking by signs to the road ahead,
wild wild wilderness,
I.
Big black boots
and a fedora,
low over my eyes.
Black chinos
with black braces
over black t-shirt.
Shuck on the leather jacket,
attach the Raybans
and ready to go.
Can't miss on the eight ball,
can't miss that Miss,
beefcake backs down,
tequila slides down.
This book is its cover.
But of course timeless too,
Sad I know not much,
of poetic skill
But artistic poetry,
I shall compose at
my sweet will .
Rhyme or no rhyme,
It's up to you to enjoy
Or tear my poetry up,
As a child would destroy
An unwanted toy
Maybe like some women do...
Theirs too...
To you who who have searched and did not find
we are one
To those who have been lost
we are one
To you who through searching for love have
lost your identities to a ruthless society
we are one
to you who you would rather ignore
tommorrow call
we are one
To you who lost herself on the pavements of happiness
To those who found a haven in the arms of now ,
we are one
There is a home for us ,there has to be.
Relax and enjoy, believe you.....me
while the plumes waft up through the air;
you quickly will find,
complete peace of mind,
erasing each primary care.
There's two ways to ingest this plant
baking will entice one to "teethe";
but other than that,
hold onto your hat!
Because then, all one must do is breathe.
Whenever I go to my cabinet
I not only think of myself;
I remember the "lot",
of friends that I've got,
and I decide we deserve the top shelf.
I've created scenarios around my eventual death,
sometimes a swan-like Camille in her finest performancec,
sometimes a fistful of shout like Eleni, "for my children".
I know nothing for sure, and each day
brings me to the cold rapture of sky--
Basho's poem and its scorpion sting.
Dying into this. Dying into this.
Splash.
Flip out life's begun
when you're seventy one,
nothing's "not done,"
you can eat how you like, wear what you like,
if you like,
kick all the traces, go out on a binge,
roll all around in the bed,
there's no one to scold
because you're so old,
all the powers that be are now dead.
Horizon
II
this
\
fix
/
to
\
mind
/
of
\
heap
/
steep
\
this
/
up
\
way
/
the
\
make
/
once
\
All somber, those who stand around
this wound cut deep into the ground
beside a box so square and stout
as if they fear you might get out
but from this casket there's no sound.
The preacher murmurs on unheard.
My attention's fixed upon a bird,
a hawk soaring nearly out of sight
within a sky so clear and bright
as if nothing special had occurred.
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