In a dream, somewhere in other countries, never mapped
a man was speaking, though I did not understand, there was never any plan
and I listened to the wind and rain upon the trees.
With no church bells to ring, and birds were the chorus
I came upon a silent steeple in the forest, standing on it's own,
became a wild bird's home, wrapped in thorny vines
a crown to stain, with berries, bled upon my hands.
Mary was there too, she was looking through
a broken window pane, calling out my name
and too, all the forest called, bathing me in love.
Then with the birds I flew, heavenly into
a deeper dream, til I  awoke at dawn,
to fragrant flowers on the lawn
remembering such heaven.

I don't even have words,
For the ways that I don't feel,
I am not the waving of the fields.

I hold onto songs about the moon,
My tides do not swell with her,
I am more the darkness in this room,
Cold, unmoving, absolute.

I am not the motion of your hair,
As he runs his fingers through it,
I no longer even stare.

I Am not the climbing of tree,
I do not yearn upward,
Is there anything to see?
(or be?)

I am not the warmness of your breath,
Clinging tight to your fingers,
And the inside of your chest,

I am not the dreams you make,
As dragons fly by night,
And sparks flow in your wake.

I am not the whispers,
You feel close to your ears,
I am more like distant echoes,

Ice and hail have pounded their songs
deep into the earth
men have brought fire and axes
torn into the rock with picks
no thanks given
no compassion shown
to the land that bore them
yet the soil will live on
long after they are gone
grow over their towers and bridges
crumble their walls
slowly until not even the animals
will remember their calls
till the trees stand tall
roots buried, gaining sustenance
from their fall

A young Japanese boy
No older than 4
Fell behind his father,
Stumbling over the escalator leading
To our train.

First kid in a long time
To return my glance
With a wide-eyed grin.

He even stopped for a while,

Much unlike the ****** trains.

Does she know the silver chain wrapping
Around her ankle is terminal and deep
As a trans-Atlantic cable connecting the island
And here.

That a single full-breasted pull
On a summer cigarette was
Life altering.
Her body was beach-burned, her hands
Sifted grains of sand
Funnelling beneath her thread-bare towel.

Our silver natal thread contracted
As the blue smoke rose,
Magnifying the August moon.
Three hundred moons have dimmed.

We walked in step from the Village
Through the park with the slack chain
Dragging, scraping on cement.
I have often polished that chain,
Used muriatic acid to untarnish.

We didn't know our brains would
Become onions behind our eyes;
We didn't know towels would become
Patchworks stitched over bones.
I didn't know a chain of being could snap.

Four score and seventy one years ago,
fifty thousand men, in blue and gray
divided, became one, in red united
to consecrate the ground where we
now stand.  From the Shenandoah
Valley, and the Potomac banks they
marched, and fell at Cemetery Hill,
Little Round Top, and Devil's Den.

But on this day, they rise to give
meaning to their sacrifice; they leave
behind their sabers and their musket
rifles, their cannon silent, their battle
done; they rise in peace at Gettysburg,
they rise at dawn with the morning sun.

"Come, thou clear-voiced Muse, Erato, begin thy song, voicing to the tune of thy lovely lyre the strain of the children of Samos." (Stesikhoros, C7th-6th B.C.)*

Upon a dim and distant telling,
Fared a maid of noble dwelling;
Rhadine was so beautiful,
Her suitors fought to claim her hand.

Unbeknownst, her father sold her
To a vile old tyrant soldier;
Rhadine sobbed, but dutiful
She boarded ship to foreign land.

Leontichus, her secret lover,
Swore an oath that he'd recover
Rhadine from the tyrant's grip;
He took the task of a deck-hand.

Many moons would find him weeping,
Ever watchful, never sleeping,
Till the day his mighty ship
Reached distant shore of foreign land.

Leontichus planned and conspired;
Cunning schemes would see him hired,
In the palace of the tyrant,
Where he could be close at hand.

There he watched, and there he waited,
As the nobles congregated
For the wedding, where defiant
Rhadine stood on foreign land.

Songs were sung and vows were spoken,
Then the tyrant brought a token,
Glinting in the bright sunlight
He offered it to Rhadine's hand.

Leontichus was gripped in sadness,
Taken by a sudden madness,
Running forth to save her plight,
He held Rhadine on foreign land.

Anger swept the tyrant's features,
Ridiculed by worthless creatures!
Taking sword, its sharp edge keen
He ran them through with his own hand.

As they lay there, deathly dying,
Midst the nobles, wailing, crying,
Leontichus held his Rhadine
And there they passed on foreign land.

The tyrant ordered their remains
Should scatter over hills and plains,
He placed them on a chariot,
And sent it with no guiding hand.

Late that night when all were sleeping,
Still the tyrant's eyes were weeping,
Knowing he could tarry not,
He ordered search of foreign land.

Days had passed when news arrived,
The chariot had still survived;
A soldier brought it to his door,
And placed the reigns into his hand.

The two were buried side by side,
Their hands were clasped, their arms entwined,
And there they rest forever more,
Two lovers lost on foreign land.

Leontichus and his Rhadine,
The greatest love the world has seen,
True lovers laying hand in hand,
Forever lost on foreign land.

The tired old robot came to rest,
Years of working, left him worn and distressed,
His batteries lacking power, he walked without grace,
The lights dimming, on his dented old face,

Rust makes him brittle, seizing up his hands,
Joints lacking oil, clogged with debris and sand,
His circuit’s burn, as the sparks rattle his brain,
His memory corrupted by electrical rain,

Reaching the end, after all these years,
The robot cries, his battery tears,
Crashing to the ground, falling apart,
As the power slips, from his computerised heart.

There he lay, upon his back,
As the wind covered, his final tracks,
Placed upon the scrapheap, stripped of his parts,
They carefully removed, his memory and heart,

Words read from, the old kindle book,
As they restored his body, with the classic old look,
Wires refreshed, the burning of solder,
Faint light returns, to his classic controller,

One final piece, to power his soul,
The heart replaced, in the mechanical hole,
Twitching fingers, he opened his eyes,
Met with cheer, and emotional cries,

Holding his hand, were Robots restored,
Embracing each other, mechanical applause,
As Light beamed, from behind the seventh,
He spoke..........
"Welcome my son, to robotic heaven"

Gallivanter river, we'll reach there together,
at the confluence, the tranquil ocean iridescent
where every being is together, you, me and others,
transcending  limits, one incessant flow of consciousness.

Somewhere in the lake
of deep sleep
is an island, dark and mysterious,
entangled mangroves here,  resist movements
where I snake in like a thief
excitedly breaking in to own house,
pretending to be an alien
and find
a body double living there
acting out one's secret-
fantasies and voluptuous desires.
I won't dare to speak aloud here,
where, the overpowering smell of
too ripe fruits of indecent passions waft.
The dark chamber,
the smoke filled ***** den of my mind,
is to  take secret refuge and be one
with a dream that flies me
to the border lands of psyche.