The stream (all workshops)
I watch the the drear damp din
across the window cill
The weather is gunship grey
An English cliche
As my breath makes mean 'o's
on the pane
I plot
and
seethe with overwhelming
spleen
I resolve to make a plan
plain enough with
pain enough
to punish
I'm buoyed by brevity
audacity in action
he never would have
thought me brave
gumption
A heart laden with hatred
can see nothing even in the brightest of light
for prejudice is darker than the moonless night
I waited as
she ran across walls
of separation,
watching both sides pull
and tear at skirts
made of paper flowers
each wanting a piece
just a smidgen
with her back against a wall
of cardboard parquetry,
ever watching for usurpers
an entrusting look
passed behind her eyes,
but gave away
to the spark of fear
that followed
Paranoia?
or just a good old fashioned
gut feeling …
~~~~~
In the silence of late night,
crumpled papers on the floor,
nothing seems to come out right.
I think I can't write anymore.
What paltry ideas come my way
though well begun, just turn to dust.
Muse comes, teases, but then won't stay,
perhaps my pen has clogged with rust.
Is this the start of looking back
to the old days when verse came easy,
before at last I lost my knack?
The very idea makes me queasy.
The night was lit
by a bonfire.
The cascading flames,
like entwined limbs,
leaped in an ecstatic frenzy
emitting countless sparks
of sweetened desire.
I lay bare
sizzling in summer's dream,
tossing in the heat
of our dying embers.
Your silhouette
loomed large over me
eclipsing the moon.
I woke up
on cold wrinkled sheets
reaching out for your warmth,
but beside your pillow
lay my reading glasses
and upon them,
your finger prints.
Red river is overflowing her coasts
Red river infuses into eternity
So I become the red lake then the red ocean
Planets come to call my name and even then
I'm not able to understand anything
Of what I think they are saying
They simply can't be quiet as they seem
Let's say, that shadow,anyway, isn't more
Important from the body
I know my fingers well
I'm going to write a book in which
I'm going to put an autumn
Entering the night market
i could smell the thick stench of despair,
far worse than vomit and urine
Young girls and women here,
foreign and locals flocked together,
their painted faces hiding tears
Each bound by invisible shackles,
no longer owning their bodies..
Freedom to them is only a dream
But tonight, my presence here
will cleanse this stain from the city
and release them from slavery
A fat man stared at me, frowning.
He barked at me to scare me
but I only reply with a grin
Tyre tire Taiye
tied twin swim glimpse
shrimp accord cord beyond discord
cut cloth pair
Sidon of litho-
sphere Tyre
telegram span sprawl
guilloches flower head
necklaces trailing plaited trusses
perfume burner antique
branches of this type
possibly pair to the offered lot
Sheppard amongst ruined castle
coloured glazed frames, variegated sand
crocheted spires arched tops blaze
mount leaf-cast lack parquetry satinwood
marquetry satin wood
drapery treads garlands of husk
Smacking was a subject close to his heart
Then Yenti, came in to let the fun start
Little Serendipity as a child had suffered so
But grew up and just wouldn't let it go
I was told by friends that knew these folks
It would just go beyond the odd friendly poke
It disturbed our Yenti that as he was old
It was construed as being lewd and much too bold
When I was young,
he could be found
hiding in my closet
and lurking
beneath my bed.
The elders always
told me not to worry.
Monsters aren't real.
There only in your head.
I asked them if it
was the same way with god.
Cause he seems real to me
and this monster
is looking to be fed.
And so it came to be,
just as they had professed.
I found that fucker
living deep inside of me,
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