I think they laugh at me
Maybe because I'm strange
Could I be a somebody
Or is that a bit deranged

Can't they see I'm the same
I bleed just like they do
They treat me as if I'm lame
Ignoring me is their rule

So are you picking on the disabled
Thinking we're not fit to work
Because you wonder if I'm able
To be like everyone else who work

I never asked to be this way
I try to forget that horrid past
Not thinking of that terrible day
I wish that memory faded fast

I'm human, I am not someone lower
I'm human, stop knocking me down
I'm human, so I might be slower
I'm human, now put away that frown

So sweet now, my life.
My life.
Held by stronger foothold,
Rested warm with woman,
Goosebumped from kisses fresh
From lips tasting of
Love that longs to outlast itself.
Sweet. So sweet.

I have a shell of angels' wings to
Warm my infant human heart.
A cage of their swords' steel to keep
Any threat of real nature

Off my path. I fear not Sister Death.
Not even destructive criticism.
Leave me. Ridicule me.
Lie about me.

Nothing changes within me, I'll  
Only grow more undaunted.
For I have my eyes fixed on the
Above.

A dome. Of sky. An ever changing
Painting reminding me that rain, thunder,
Rainbow or clearest blue, sky remains
Sky;

I remain
*I.

If you took a razor and with it tore this carpet up.
I'm certain you'd be sure to find a brief but well-worn rut.
For now it's rather shallow, a furrow most discreet.
Time flows only forward though, as do my weary feet.
The days slip through my fingers, like so many grains of sand.
The hourglass is broken, life just wasn't what I planned.
I waste my nights just pacing, my steps fall heavy on the floor.
This rut will be the solemn tale, of the weight my shoulders bore.

Father and Mother Noah both
Sailed away when in wide rushed
Tides to tower over the land,
To cover the mountains high at hand,
Axe-cut planks whereon they plod
Made to float on the waters’ top.

Song of the Aardvarks

In the very heart of us
The most essential part of us
Is our total love of life
To dig in the termite mound alive,
Lie in our burrow with bellies full,
Scratch and breed at the season’s pull.

Front limbs arms like ape or bear
Eight little shovels drive deep in there
Small mouth only needs to take
Termites, with its tubule teeth
Distant elephant our nearest kin
Freaks of evolution.

Song of Mother Noah

In this Ark I cradle safe
My suckling babies free from scathe
Silky kids velvet eared
Little woolly moggies dear
All shall live. None shall die
As the waters rise on high.

Song of the Hawks

She stoops upon them in her sudden flight
The wild mice fleeing at the killing sight,
Her talons long and razor sharp
Drive in with force to pick them up
Meat got, while the sessile male
Scarce a third of a bird is of a look pale.

Song of the Dove

White as a church
Or sepulchre
Blue sea and sky
I rise among
To fly abroad
If land should lie
Where love and peace
May flourish free
In life thereby.

Song of Father Noah on First Releasing the Dove

Because of the evil hearts of men
Out of the sky God sent the rain
The money changers pimps and thieves
Wasted in the oceans’ leave,
Here I put upon the seas
A bird who much more planet sees
With tale to tell of land again.
Go or come just as you please,
Sheltered from the hot Sun’s ray
Safe in the Ark the rest shall stay.

Song of the Sloth

Slow up from lying-down I get
To take my weight on idle foot,
From a heavy, a deep repose
I only stir when to toilet I goes.

Song of Father Noah on Next Releasing the Dove

My clever bird, far off you fared,
The four horizons close compared
Returned to us with bitter word
Dry land had not yet occurred

Song of the ******

All my tendons strong and thin
Stretch to drive a lockpiece in
Hard labour long to make the lodge
Into which to deftly dodge
If danger or else winter threats
The brook closed off as if with gates.

Song of Father Noah on Last Releasing the Dove

Olive tree like ancient man
Ever twisting with your sister
You give us oil for light and pan
And meat; Shade, fruit and timber useful
– Sage bird, a branch to me you bore,
Fly, little god, and come no more.

Song of All the Animals on Being Returned to Dry Land

Ants to hills, cattle to pasture
Birds to trees whatever comes after,
The cleaned land populates anew

Song of the Whales

If a whale come on the land
Put it back if ever you can
Else think it a death parental
Grave, give it respectful funeral.

The last specks of snow on the
Fields disappeared with the parting
Of the clouds.

Now blue, the skies smile
Upon everything.
I spoke to a friend today.

The birds keep picking at the
Sunflower seeds I put out by
My window.

I spoke to a friend today.
Now my windows are eyes to my
Soul as I watch mud and dead

Grass kiss the sun back with nothing
But themselves. This spring, as every.
We are not beautiful yet.

But we love you for making us
That; green and alive. Spring is
Spring to everything.

Spring to everything, and not only  
The words of my friend's
Linger, but the feeling does too; that

When all is as beautiful as this,
I'm not the only one
Seeing it.

Blue is the boulder overlooking the bay
Loosely pocked by weather-worn stains
Unwavering guardian of all that lay
Enigmatic yet silently screaming its pains

Blue is the reflection dancing playfully
Laid generously by the twilight moon
Upon the vast canvas of the darkened sea
Elated ripples readily accepting such a boon

Blue is the halo encircling the moon
Lavish circlet gifted by the sun
Unnoticed by eyes that slumbered too soon
Evading the sands of time that run

Blue is the silhouette of a lone sailboat
Lurching and bobbing by will of the waves
Unknowingly catching the zephyrs that float
Eluding the fingers from watery graves

Blue is the man; perched upon the boulder
Lapping up the stars mirrored upon the sea
Usurped heart of his had never sung drearier
Ensnared by woeful wonderment...
                                           **that man is me...

For some days they talk about the dead
he was a good man even his enemies say
kind friendly and very well bred
may his soul have peace they pray!

By some magic death bares goodness
hitherto unseen come to the view
you wonder the man made so much place
that when he was living you hardly knew!

All his deeds get a paint of shine
it is said he was a soul to emulate
his manners is seen as highly refined
more than the living turns dead man’s weight!

The ones who had journeyed his life
lived close to his bone and flesh
they wouldn’t know children and wife
how weighed on him his loneliness!

The velvet cover of the book
Where I enclosed my soul
Entangled on the hard pages
I painted the lines
When the heart whispered.

I poured my soul
Like I poured honey in my tea
Yesterday evening.

It flew out and I closed the book
To hold it against my chest.
To immerse it with the teardrops.
To hate the lines and love the velvet.

There was no beginning
And the end had not even started.
But I had so much to say
I could not keep it this way.

There was love in too many lines
The aim of the world
And the sugar of the universe.
When I heard the whisper of my heart.

I put off the candle
To see the stars in my soul.
And search for the love
Between the Betelgeuse and Bellatrix.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the George Washingtons
of my generation.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.

For the Thomas Jeffersons
and the
Benjamin Franklins who
aren't afraid to dream of
words that haven't been
created
and things that have
yet to be
designed.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.

For the
Revolutionaries who
have yet to be
born.
For the Paul Reveres
who have yet
to take their midnight
rides
one if by land,
two if by sea.
one if by land,
two if by sea.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.

For the
modern day
Lewis and Clarks who
explored a land beyond
exploration's eye.
For the Sacagawea guides that
guide from a shining sea
to a sea of gold.
For the immigrants who
traversed waters of salty tears
made solely of their own fears.
I wanta write a poem for the ages.

For the slaves held captive
not by their captors,
but by their own fears,
hopes,
desires
and dreams.
Afraid to pursue a land
just slightly beyond their own
R          e          a          c          h.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the conductors of the railroad
that was unseen.
The one that ran not on
coal and steam,
but the one that
ran on
Dreams.

I wanta write a poem for the ages,
for the Teddy Roosevelt
conservationists
and the Stravinsky
concert pianists
and the Maya Angelou
performers,
and the,
people.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the soldiers battling
for a cause they didn't
even start.
For the lives that gave their
lives for a cause,
because they believed in
The cause.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the Daddy who's still
looking for work,
For the Mommy who has
given up
Hope.
For the widow and
her orphan,
For the soup kitchens
that can't
stay open long enough.
For the failing
Economy.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the mustached
man in Germany
rising to a power
ever Grand.
For the nations willing to
ignore it if they can.
For the day that everything
changed.
December 7th, 1941
will forever live
in infamy.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
For the unconquered Jews who
fought back.
For Anne Frank and her
family.

I wanta write a poem for the ages
For the modern day
Martin Luther King
Jr.'s.
For the ones
who
Aren't afraid to challenge a
System designed to
fight against them.
For the
modern day
Claudette Colvins.
The ones who
aren't afraid to sit down
to make a stand.

I wanta write poem for the ages
For the modern day
Buzz Aldrins
who are
altogether underrated
Just
because they came in
Second.

I wanta write a poem for the ages.
A poem that speaks louder
than words
and goes beyond
generations.

So I wrote a poem for the ages.