The stream (all workshops)
Grace,
You kept me together when the sky was falling
Some anchor in the sea, a hand that feeds
You said “watch the skyline, soon there will be wine”
And that’s all I’d need.
The ships sank at the center of the ocean
And I was drowning, half way to being free
Some say, at the bottom there’s heat
Others that there’s nothing left to see
Tear a hole in the sky tonight
Pull the stars and place them by your eyes
And lay me by your side
Make everything all right
Dawn- slayer of pretense, usher of youth-
you, born anew as passing season,
wield those luminous swords, sharp and uncouth,
and absolve ignorance of reason.
Are you not the mother of sweet knowledge?
Dawn – light of tunnels, well of Saharas-
You, of divine hue, alive in Dark’s death
when all that’s fair is stripped of myrrhs
And Life’s Eden is, fast as youth, but heath.
Are you not the promise that Hope is nigh?
—Mini-anthology: Hepatica—
the wild expanse
filed with metal baked autos
where the sky is an almond mellow
from parking lot totem lights
the sage wind is blowing
and filled with sweet coyote song
the range is ragged
white tipped
like a beuatitful saw
seratted for a mighty purpose
stars are flowing slow
in their stranges
out here the wind collects
sagebrush
and fills silhouettes with cacti
and josua trees
The unblinking eyes of Killer
glazed with thought in the dark
Thinking thoughts of blackness
of the director of this park
Pre-teens are in favor here
he likes them young and tender
He's supposed to be a good man
Take care of this social-center
Now suddenly, the silence is broken
There are sobs of pain and shame
Whispers of consolation
to a child that will be un-named
In the cover of darkness
no sheets are needed
to cover shyness
the nude postures
provide the clue,
am I the one to do?
what one has to do?
Rise my little friend,
the sunrise is yet far away
let’s into the wilderness of mirages stray
and
let mine not betray,
nor hers go astray.
We shall make hay
under the dim lights
if you so say,
In the cover of darkness
no sheets are needed
to cover shyness
I’ve seen and breathed and felt
The wood-works
The earthworks
The weavings
The paintings
And the writings
Project images of realities
And my heart pounded countless times
And restless like a heated desire
That makes me yearn to journey more
Into the past, and the present
And the days yet to dawn upon our moor
With the beauties of these hands
Mentored by the mind's eyes.
This heated desire
Is a true journey to an origin
Of a magic world hidden inside us.
I reach for the edges to hold on,
faux paint in tawny yellow,
Nordic blue, forever-green and lipstick red, sliding off
my roguish tongue. Rancid now but I
keep swallowing colours and their shadows
off my dining room wall. Some paintings
are framed and never move.
The autumn leaf in me dries
it’s now merged
with the soil of time
under the debris of eternity.
The winds can't upsurge,
nor can earthquakes part,
nothing in life can unite,
torn feathers so far apart,
once they are,
separated forever..
the vestige of hope
like an autumn leaf
in me withers,
now submerged
under piles of memories
once greened,
in sunshine
Night-time stride beneath fair moon-light,
looking left, the ocean rocking,
breaks white sprays on hilly shores.
Endless wavelets course the docks.
Warring thoughts, something’s not right here...
Past the docks I spy some buildings.
Amber lights reveal a scurry.
Dream feet flight, I’m instantly there.
Hundreds flee, in hurried fashion,
signalling to trail their lead.
Dread is heavy, as a sickness;
can’t shake this feel we all may die!
Treading in the mucus of the lungs of despair
A child blindly splashing around
Franticly trying to generate enough noise for any passersby to notice
Alas, no one does
Plummeting to the bottom
Succumbing to this tormented inadequacy
Using the toxic lung butter of fear
To spread on the moldy bread of self deception
It feeds my insanity that no better life exist
I’m dying a slow starving death
Emaciated from a life spent without emotion
It is the bread killing me
But I do not know it
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