The stream (all workshops)
After moribund years of misery
An exerting care cautiously put
To seek fellowship in the sanctuary
And rest my burden with open door
A querying way asked the why
Not obliged to give a try
But for the gratitude and respect
Troubled self bereft of answers
For the tools to tackle the mundane
cargo lithe
this spirit flesh
evolution
excites like a winter surge
rakish falls the day behind
drab torn fountian clouds
cold and pallid
pour the fire from decanters
throat
and let slip ambrosia
passage
Tottensonnetag
let night find us
drowsy with angel touch
let the black winged wind
play its orchestra
and the moon shall ferry
the lost
When men were somewhat odeivorious,
a little less carnivorous,
softer and more chivalrous,
poetry had it's day.
Women then, were swayed by this,
upon such poets, plied their kiss,
which sent them into poets' bliss;
oh those days are surely missed!
In the closet now we hide.
Abandoned is our poets pride.
We now hold it all inside,
lest they catch us as we cry !
I love you
only because angels have wings
and death is too heavy to carry
the remembering,
we fly
you and I,
old soldiers clashing now and then
on the battlefield of perception,
fucking age from our bodies,
wild with monsoons, cherry blossoms
and the savage moon
Death and the soliloquy, turn a blind eye.
Side the heavens till morn, ever riding...
The hills converse a warning;
Eternity’s change of robes, fray,
Friar’s tongue decays to feed the rising earth.
Water of the sea ascend, frothing, vaporising,
Hues to view prismatic reality.
Survival of the fit, write to dust
Which hardens to stone,
Hence weathered lessons and eroded teachings,
Meet the sea, ascend once more and again
I remember Kruschev pounding his shoe at the UN,
the heckler throwing his at Bush,
it's a good thing some folks have shoes
it's a better thing to know the shoes of the fisherman
are on loan to anyone who will wear them.
The scorpion's nature is to sting
the frog that would carry him across the lake,
Both die in the end.
I
He’d sat calmly by her side
while the tulips rotted
and the dust settled.
For weeks he hadn’t moved
the sores did blister
on his buttocks and thighs.
He’d sat sadly by her side
as the worms were born
and wriggled in her eyes.
The open note
lay yellowed next to the Virgin
unread and retired
scattered with dried potpourri
I heard you insulted our kind
We are born like everyone else
Of a woman, to this world
White amongst the black race
I do not blame your ignorance
You say the blacks that pray to God
To reincarnate as Arian white
Will be born as albinos’
You are wrong, very wrong
Things do not work that way
Where we are born and how
A mystery you’ll never know
I cover my head from burning sun
This makes you think I am inferior
I stay in front of the class
In order to see the board clearly
This cliche teenage heart drums in rhythm with the pounding and rushing and whirring of the world surrounding me. Trapped within a cage of skin and bone, throbbing to be free, begging to be let go.
I can't escape and these bonds won't break. I'm stuck within this conforming body and doomed to become just another dying soul.
Crimson on the inside and full of vibrant life,
yet slowly fading, unable to break the rhythm,
my heart constantly bleeding, steadily beating
sending more scarlet through my veins.
slender runs the course
the valley of sun like fingers
on velveteen breeze
raise from the stoney
ground your fertile strive
and let your sighs
tremble with the gusts
that linger and race
glitter on the glacial
stream
oh verdant spirit
let the quiet solemnity
in this glade be your
midnight prayer
like frost upon the
rocky ayre
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