The stream (all workshops)
i keep my secrets .....................................................folded up
in the red of my heart, where there is no boundry.
You can dream until your bones ache
and dream until your vision blurs.
but my ............................................................................secrets
escape to my skull
where they stomp
and yell
where they........................................................................ beg
to escape.
stupid girl,
keep it contained.
Free drops of ink
have forth called
my innate talent,
my inner poet.
They've shown me how
potently they can write
about the unseen and
feelings deeply hidden.
i've read the chicken scratch
on the dirt road like tarot cards
"nothing" it said
nothing of your past
nothing for a future
anticipation for the present
anticipating nothing
this small town will bear down on you
with all its weight
throw its chains
turn the key in every lock
and tie you down
no matter how much you hope
no matter how much you want to fly
your grades slip
your world spins different
you crashed and you start to burn
underneath that blazing sun
Where I am from
there is a man
who roams the streets
doing nothing but drinking
His story a sad one
of a young man
destined for greatness
in the sport of baseball
Fate thrusting him down
a different path
fighting a war
in a far off land
called Vietnam
I do not know
and will never know
what he saw and experienced
But I am sure
it was not for
the weak of heart
Beautiful discussion of God's omniscience,
may I,
ENTER
the reality of the myth of god.
Who is god?
a corrupted form of good,
some guy knew little English
and spelt good as god.
He was thus himself so blessed,
upon his soul all did rest
peace came from within,
if with goodness one did begin
a mutual existence,
with utmost reverence,
co- exist the good god would emerge
from within us naturally.
Then we all shall become
symbols of immortality.
God who?
A man spoke to me on the corner
and asked my to a really great bible meeting.
I replied, enthused
"Does Jesus talk to you too?"
Yes, he said, all the time,
"Oh great I said, when do we start?"
I have the guns and bombs,
we kill the buddhists, muslims and jews
and blow up unholy abortion centers!"
He back-pedalled, dissembling madly and ran,
I was confused, for a moment, then shot him.
'Twas a curious night I sat thinking.
My eyes abstain from blinking.
The night I sat there thinking,
about the quaint and curious shore.
Waves eloquently crashing.
The water seems content with smashing.
The sun obliquely bashing
The daylight it then tore.
For that night I sat there pining.
While my other peers were dining
After their brilliance had stopped shining
While I was thinking about the quaint and curious shore.
Pass me that bloody Sparrow
I will wring words out of him
Let me walk on hot coals to feel the heat
Or walk in the desert to feel thirst.
Why can’t I sleep the hours away
To dream of good things today
I tried to smile but I couldn't win
All that showed was a sardonic grin.
You make me cringe at horrors I see
I couldn't feel sad, or reach out with pity
What the hell do you want of me,
Leave me to languish in my misery.
WOLVES
Who left the front gate open
Who let the wolves back in
Why are they scratching
At my door.
Do they smell my blood
Again.
The devil knows despair
but he will find none here.
My teeth are sharp
and can also rip and tear.
there once was a girl
who liked to watch colours swirl
while dripping paint in a twirl
she would adjust light to compose
the wavelengths of her depicted prose
in shades and hues of an equal dose
to reflect, absorb or replace
when soft bristles tint the white space
her acrylics splash in grace,
the spectrum of her mind
such vivid images to unbind
and esoteric answers she would find
forth from the glass prism
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