The stream (all workshops)
Before the sunrise
autumn colors clearly seen
without the blue haze
All is frosted white
as last stars desert the sky
chased by rising sun
Silence rules the world
no breath of wind stirs the air
the morning stage waits
The still is broken
by the sharp snap of a twig
as a doe drifts by
* seems I can never write just one Haiku lol
I've lived long enough
that everything I've ever hurt
has hurt me back,
and that's just my body talking.
I walked too many miles on stilettos,
ran too long with my back out of whack,
fell on black ice, once too often and been
hit from behind three times,
my vehicle worse for the wear and tear,
my extremities frost bitten for the art of undress.
Your gods are imaginated, your values really suck
I'm everything you've hated and I don't give a fuck
What makes you think that you're so great;
" I'm better than you are? "
Compared to you, a maggot, is a flaming star
Perverted priests of your religions, bugger little kids
Our leaders have us broken, we're on financial skids
You talk about world peace, while destroying other's citys
Blow up little children, while they're sucking mommy's titties
I recall
Years down the ladder of time,
When our maid opened the fridge,
It had moist vapours ensuing
And
She alarmed all present there
Hello all come and see,
The fridge is burning.
We all laughed at her simplicity,
The maid was shunning.
Let past slumber
In the folds of time
Let another sunrise each time
Afresh,
To bring glory
In the name of God
Whom you call Allah
And
I call Time.
My Lady sleeps now,
pale upon a bower
of brown world,
dreaming new spring
on a bed of old year
wrapped in frost
and hints of coming snow.
Her breath is stilled,
slow-measured
in the growing cold
and darkening skies
all left behind
by Autumn's flight
across the world,
his forehead bulges, releasing
a stream of glop through the
popped breaking nose, making room
clenched eyes spew blooded tears, shut tight
against the invading paragraphs and notes
his fists slaves against the relentless shoving
none of the villagers step forward
to stop or hasten this madness
it is not finished yet
some do release a whimper, though
when his screeching chokes, lips clamp
closed while cheeks shiver and bulging
neck expands, shoulders swelling
and skin stretches taut
they all look at him now
he looks to the great scroll
unrolled to the horizon
over a mile of paper, industrial, delivered
in the only truck the villagers had ever seen
it had taken him half a day to unroll it
four years to fill it with erudition
he wanted the answer
he had started his task with what he knew
wrote about all he heard and saw
then villagers helped with stories from generations
old school books and childrens rhymes
night
slender as wings
let them
sleek rest
against the
soul
and winter settles
like a dream
falling slow in motion
I can stay aside with
you forever
watching this city
becoming light
the whisper
of histories
rising
with shadows
For what intention
Do I live
Knowing of nothing
Of pure life
Or understanding death
Can the trees
Hear the music
Of the wind
Without any ears
Yet they dance
As the ocean
Loves the land
To such degrees
It caresses it
Day and night
Am I different
Among these things
I am universal
Connected to all
Yet all alone
I only answer
To my own
Heart and conscious
Can I hear
What is said
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