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The stream (all workshops)

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Secret heart (1973)

Clouds of memories drifting by
Shadows of grief like ravens fly.
My secret heart is calling you
Crying out for a love that's true.

We spoke of love and warm desires
Two lost hearts fused by eternal fires.
Soon all my fears were turned to tears
My secret heart calls through the years.

When sunny days have turned to rain
And all that's left is dark, dull pain
I run from life and wish to die
We'll run together, you and I

On my return ---a kiss is due

Kiss Me Painter

Don't die
O poet
life is long
silence is gold
at times it kills
at times it conveys
a million words

like a picture on the wall we stare
till our eyes melt away
stark naked we become
in front of the nude
alone with a diamond
the painter has painted
here I light a candle
to remove all darkness

let me her beauty steal
more than I'd like to feel...

then in dreams
I will kiss thee
O painter beautiful
must also be ye

NAKED TREES (November Contest)

Here is the mountain's vale once clothed in furs
Like a bear in the snow separated only by green
Standing like King Kong gigantic on all fours
Should it turn its face, terror would stroke its grin.

As a boy I wondered what dwelt in such darkness
As the trees bent and creaked in the wind
With the caws of ravens and owls the wood buzz restless
And terror never seemed to free my mind.

Beauty Is

Her profile’s not a perfect silhouette,
she bares no shapely leg or heaving breast;
the voice not of a nightingale coquette
enslaving countless men it has impressed.
She cannot hover like a bird in flight
nor even glide with poise across the floor;
she will not set a lusting world alight
where men are beating pathways to her door.

But she’s a lovely lady none the less,
the winning smile within her eyes one part;
a bubbly nature flowing to excess
shares love and joy that overfills her heart.

ROOTS (Naked Tree Contest)

Bare nerves to the sky,
Limbs twisted to frozen wires-
I could not remember them green
And was resigned to winter.

Came spring, how quickly their fluids
Swirl to flowers and to leaves
Whose palms will hold the dew,
Whose green will be that aroma
Of greenness that we shall breath,
Memorizing the canopies,
For the long and fragrant summer.

Remembrances are made of nerves
Half buried in the earth,
The other half exiled from
A permanence of seasons.

Road To No Where

in the dark conclaves of my mind
the premonition of a corridor
blind transparency
clusters of worry permeates
no hand to hold or heart will mend
no one who you can depend
you lapse in the vast expanse between space and time
the screams of primitive beings
creatures in a peril of doom
we go towards the light yet still can't find
awake to what ?

Has Anybody Seen My Good Friend Yuan Ho

Yuan was a good friend of mine,
even though he lived a different time,
he had a dream of flying to the moon,
he couldn't wait, tomorrow wasn't too soon,
he built a chair for space travel,
for questions he wanted unraveled,
forty seven rockets were built to propel this chair,
it was his dream he didn't care,
forty seven servants assisted in his dream,
each lit a fuse, it was extreme,
Yuan sailed up to the sky,
and this is why?
I ask "has anyone seen Yuan Ho?"
Does anybody know?

thin and thick many blogs and a poem

there is a very thin line
love and hate
rich and poor
poet and non poet
spiritualist and atheist
wanker and waffler
know all

there is
there is a very thin line
any two

at times both are one
at other times
are distinctly two
he her and she
but not you

there is always a
between many two

God is Dead

The God, who only seemed to be
When once I thought he cared for me
Had ceased somehow to show or shine
That silent, secret friend of mine

Who once had felt as real as rock
And doubts about him I would mock
I’d boast instead, of faith I’d found
On sacred, sacramental ground

But that was in those days of youth
When I was taking words as truth
That I had read in bible verse
As Reason’s voice I’d found perverse


If the world ends and again,
if the privilege is given to all.
i will prefer the choice of my wish,
may be consanguinity i guess.
albeit, the omnipotent of the
universe determines justly.

As black and white,
stimulate meaning to life.
his identity unveils boldly,
his greatness over shades.
to my likes,
he is the symbol of heroism.
all lingua honor him gladly,
the African poetry father.


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