///

when I think you haven’t recalled me
and you are wondering to flee
I have discovered myself alone

the evening star is moving under the dark
and the road seems like arc
the time goes underneath the memory hark

I move with the wrong
and my guitar is longing too long
the birds are singing so melancholy song

I don’t know then
why I feel you very
feel you very

when I am coming back to home
and you are running to roam
I have discovered myself again alone

my dreams are floating in bubbles
and I feel you are in so many troubles
dry leaves are falling on the floor

I am walking alone on the shore
and hearing your voice into my core
love moves with so many more

I don’t know then
why I feel you very
Feel you very-

///
@Musfiq us shaleheen

As good as I may be at spitting out poems about injustice and social rage, as tough as I may sound or pretend to be, as cynical and jaded as I may talk and walk, none of that is really who I want to be. I don't want money and fame or power to remake the world as I see fit. Wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility of political power anyway. Honestly I don't even really want to be the person my 18 year old self wanted, and yet have become, almost without realizing it. He would envy me, my younger self, of the life I live now. Beholden to no one, doing basically whatever I want as long as I can afford the rent and make myself go to work after nights full of pointless hedonism. But that entire veneer, yes even some of my writing, is just to make up for this hole that runs right through the middle of me. All I really want, is to return from whence I came. Be a teacher or something, write a bit on the side, have that mystery called true love and family, maybe own a bit of land just for us, somewhere on the edge of a small town full of artists and good honest folk. Coastline or mountains make no difference to me, the language spoken not really that important either. I'll go anywhere and do anything I can to find this dream that I tend to not ever talk about, since it is the one true thing that I have ever really wanted deep down inside, even if my younger self would've denied it.

Please don't look at me the way you do,
with those crystal blue eyes burning right through me.
Don't ask me about people I used to love
whenever we get drunk.

Please don't touch me when you lean close
with perfect hands that I don't think have ever harmed anything.
Don't express such tenderness to me
while thinking you were critical of yourself.

Please don't talk to me the way that you do
reminding me of the dreams that I left a long time ago.
Don't ever kiss me softly
and ask what it is that happened to me.

Please don't think that I might be the right man
for you, because I can't live up to that.
Don't let me start hoping
that meeting you wasn't an accident.

Please stop being the person I've not been looking for
and happened to stumble into.
Don't let me fall in love with you.

So here's the real question.....can I get drunk enough to have sixty pounds of Dutch courage to think I've got the ***** to start submitting the crap I write to these six badass UK Journals that supposedly want "New and Fluid"? Yeah, I can do that. I can be the drunk, no-*****-left-to-give American with a chip on my shoulder and a drawl when I have one too many shots. Especially since that's exactly what I am anyway.

Limoges
the driver said
you can get out
and stretch
your legs
for awhile

so we got off
the coach
and walked
about the place

Miriam beside me
her red hair
in a mess
her tight fitting
blouse about
to explode

you hear
about these places
then you're there
and it all seems
so ordinary
like you have
waited to see
something
and it just seems
so flat
she said

I don't get excited
about anything
I take it
as it comes
sights
views
music
*****
girls
I said

am I
just a girl?
nothing special?
she asked

there's only
one you
only one
red head
with your
lovely eyes
and smile
I said

O yes
of course
what are you
after?

beer and burger
I said

and me
what about me?

you can have
a beer and burger
too

no I meant
what do you
think of me?
you were all
over me last night
in the coach
with the lights low
and that Mozart music
on the radio
flowing out  

I recalled
I had been
and not only
because of her
and the Mozart
and her lovely eyes
and her perfume

but all together
all that and me
and her and life
and her softness

we can
have it here
she said
pointing to a bar

ok
I said

so we entered
the bar
and ordered
beer and burger
and she sat there
opposite
her tight blouse
still waiting
to explode

and a radio played  
some French music
and Miriam smiled
and I wanted
to kiss her

but I didn't
I just sat
and waited
for the beer and burger
and watched
and enjoyed her.

~

Winter’d wind doth cradle
O’ the daylight glow
Found to bend of spilling fragrance
Filtered o’er the earth below

Why the birth of seasons green
Claim yon saplings cast a’ ground
Brought o’er lonely sacrifice
O’ the whistling autumn’d sound

Splintering amidst the bands
Needles o’er the pines they seed
Following lo’ destined path
Of this earthen soil to feed

Days of time, o’er shortened length
Fell defeat O’ final stand
Feel the grasp on captured breeze
*Deeply held in autumn’s hand