I don’t know what to say anymore,
Nothing can make this right.
You want so badly to save us,
But I don’t want to put up a fight.
We’re in a sinking ship here,
But you’ve still got buckets in your hands.
You keep screaming for me to help you,
But I can’t accept your demands.
You’re asking me to choose here:
“It’s either me or her.”
But you’ve played this game before with me,
So I’m taking her offer.

I won’t say goodbye
Even through she was the ice burg
I won’t say goodbye
Even though the last straw was her
I won’t say goodbye
I’m taking back my wings
I won’t say goodbye
And I’m the bird here that sings.

I don’t know what to write anymore.
Can’t pick up my pen and go.
You still beg me for the words,
But these words I’ll never show.
You fret over every word I said,
Like a moment stopped in time.
You scratch, I bleed and look at you,
And you say I crossed a line but,

I won’t say goodbye
Even through she was the ice burg
I won’t say goodbye
Even though the last straw was her
I won’t say goodbye
I’m taking back my wings
I won’t say goodbye
And I’m the bird here that sings.

And then you turn me around again,
And hold me ever close.
All I wanted was to love,
I’m such a lonely ghost.
Save me now I’m drowning,
This ship is going down.
The fires spreading rapidly,
And our bodies won’t be found.

I won’t say goodbye
Even through she was the ice burg
I won’t say goodbye
Even though the last straw was her
I won’t say goodbye
I’m taking back my wings
I won’t say goodbye
And I’m the bird here that sings.

"Go on forth young graduates,

And show us who you are

You're now our future leaders

We know you will go far"

And so commencement ended

Pictures done and people changed

Now, off to private parties

All orderly pre-arranged

But four young girls stood waiting

Until they were alone

"Let's head out to the party

And tomorrow, we shall phone,

Each other and we'll organize

Our final tete a tete

We'll plan something so special

A thing we haven't thought of yet!"

So, they went their separate ways

And they thought of all the places

That would hold a fitting luncheon

For their girls group "The 4 Aces""

They all got home around half past five

And all slept till half ten

After breakfast, phones were ringing

As they planned to meet again.

They picked a little tea house

called "Flavored Leaves of Green"

They would meet for a tea party

They would really make the scene

A week today they chose to meet

To celebrate together

They'd meet for tea and cakes

Regardless of the weather

And one more time, they'd choose to wear

The prom dress from that year

Big frilly hats, and long white gloves

and all that froo froo gear

The day arrived and they showed up

All ready for their tea

The Aces all decked again

Their luncheon was at three

The girls all talked about their plans

Of school and summer work

Two would council campers

While the other two would clerk

They loved their day and played the part

Of ladies with no cares

They knew it was the only time

They'd dine here, to be fair.

The final act of these four friends

Before they left and packed

Was to sign a pledge between them all

You could say, a small pact

"In twenty years from this day forth

We'll meet again for tea

On July twenty seventh

Of the year Two thousand three"

The sheet was signed and on their way

They booked their reservation

The girls all hugged and said goodbye

To end their celebration

Now time went by as it always does

And each girl went a different way

But in twenty years, they all looked forth

To meet again that day

The firtst Ace, Jill, went on to school

And married while she studied

She lost track of her Aces friends

Their paths were slightly muddied

She went to school in Omaha

A vet she chose to be

Her marriage lasted fifteen years

And...well, children...she had three.

Andi, chose to work instead

She left town to chase rainbows

She knew that here, her *** of gold

Would be wherever she chose

She moved out to Chicago

Where she was a big success

She became a photo artist

With a Lakeshore Drive address

Cindy, well...dear Cindy

Married five times through the years

Each one was shorter than the last

And one....just fifteen beers

They chose to split the very night

They they chose to become one

He left with her head bridesmaid

And the catfight....it was fun

Cindy spent two nights in jail

For beating up her beau

And she really laid a beating,

In her words, "Upon that **"

Lucy, never did leave town

But she let on that she did

For at high school graduation

She was pregnant with her kid

Her boy was born at Christmas

She did not even tell his dad

He was off to find his fortune

And she sometimes wished she had

But, she made up tales to tell her son

Of who his father was

But, she never told the truth to him

And that was her son's loss

She worked around the village

Never really getting out

She did her best for her son Jamie

There never was a doubt

She loved this boy with all her heart

And so she chose to stay

She'd sacrifice her future

And she'd dream of "just what may"

have happened to her if she left

If he had not been born

But, to her, a life with out him

Made her feel sad, forlorn

Twenty years past by so fast

The Aces plans were set

Each one had hoped the other

Would not dare to forget

Allthough good friends in high school

They'd never kept in touch

They went different directions

Their new lives, well....were their crutch

Cindy was the first to show

So, she stayed outside to smoke

When a voice came from behind her

And she knew just who had spoke

Lucy, grabbed her arm

And then she hugged her really tight

At least two of the four Aces

had remembered, got it right

They went inside to grab a seat

And Jill came in behind

And over by the bar was where

Andi, they would find

They all dressed up and wore big hats

And prom dresses as a lark

And they sat and told their stories

Of their lives till after dark

They vowed that they would stay in touch

And that they would converse

They all agreed they'd talk this time

And nothing could be worse

Than twenty years of silence

Between friends like the Four Aces

Even though they lived such different lives

They missed each other's faces

Another pact was signed this night

But this one for five years

To meet again for tea and cakes

And they signed it through their tears

Cindy left to catch her flight

and Andi left as well

Then Jill got up and hugged Lucy

And then she bade farewell

This left Lucy all alone

At the table all alone

When a gentleman came over

And he sat down with a groan

"Your party was successful"

Lucy smiled at his words

He was the tea house owner

A collector of rare birds

She thanked him for the party

It was one she could not miss

And on her way out past him

She gave him a light kiss

For not only did the tea room

Belong to this kind man

He was also her employer

For, 'twas his kitchen that she ran

You see, now it's been twenty years

Since they went to lead their lives

Some becoming so successful

Some becoming moms and wives

But Lucy, never left this burg

She raised her son alone

And she'd worked at this small tea house

It was her second home

She did not have the money

To come in as a guest

But her boss, was a sweetheart

And he'd made this night the best

Tomorrow she'd be back at work

Making meals for those who came

To the "Flavored leaves of Green"

and she'd be Lucy, once again..
..

Hail in peace wherever you abode now, dear Nadine Gordimer
You white daughter of Africa, the pen-mistress of July’s people,
You are the lover of July, your holy months of literature
That similarly gave a ****** grave marriage to Maziz Kunene
The African saint of orature; And Okot P’ Bitek, the lion of Gulu,
July have wedded you to the sombre grave in the Jo’burg,
As its apparatchik, the menacing jaws of death feel humdinger!
O! Dear little daughter, cursed are the jaws of death
They have kept on wooing and wooing you relentlessly
They have yearned for your betrothal with mad jealous,
For your iconic position in white African literature,
In which you stand with soldierly embrace a Nobelite,
They have now taken you to their inner chamber nuptials in death,
Before anything; let them now pay dowry to your bothers;
J M Coetzee, Alex La Guma and Dennis Brutus,
For there’s is a competent herds boy, a black shepherd;
Ezekia Mphalele, his living soul will keep the cows
Off down Corner B of the troubled African Image.
Say hello for those you are with in the current realm,
Say hello to foremen and fore daughters of Africa
Those that chose to visit the realm of ancestor precociously;
Say hello to them; Angelo Maya and Doris Lessing,
Let their caged birds and blooming grass sing uproariously,
Marriama Ba and Margaret Ogola, African girls,
They had a long letter and the source of the river from black dialectics,
O! Dear old baby Nadine Gordimer, stand firm in face to face with nothing
Other than the present time you’re in; the Africa’s realm of living dead
To sing the ballads of anti-apartheid both in heaven and on earth,
The only true testament of your footprints on the global sands of times
That Nadine Gordimer, July’s white-African daughter is deadly alive!

For far too long we have been victims of police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 21st of October.
These are the very same men and women who we trust to protect us.
But they failed us dismally, barricaded us from expressing our concerns.
You could see the visuals all on TV, it was all too hard to believe.
The revolution will not be fully televised, it will be tweeted.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
For far too long we’ve been victims of police brutality.
Your teargas, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so what’s the hold-up for?
History is repeating itself in South Africa, what a time to be alive.
They’ve become worse than their oppressors but they won’t oppress us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
We will keep protesting in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Cape Town until we’re heard.
There’s no amount of police brutality that can dampen our spirits and no gun you make can **** our souls.

Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so why is there a hold-up?
Hold up, we’re tired of being victims of hate, fate and police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 23rd of October.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
Your riot police, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
When burning buildings come down, I just hope you’ll be ready for us all.
When burning buildings come down, we will effortlessly heed the call.

1 | 31 Poems for August

I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to paint pictures.
So be my muse and surrender your body as my canvas.
I’ll make every single swift stroke bring you to life.
I’ll show you what this brush of mine is capable of.
You are the sun that my sky yearns to hold.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin.
Your beauty is not only found on your exterior but every single place within.
I want to insert my poems in every single atom in this galaxy.
So that you can feel my love wherever you go.
From Pretoria to Toronto.
From Jo’burg to Moscow.
From Cape Town to Glasgow.
Static thoughts and kinetic conversations inspire my flow.
I have thoughts that my words cannot describe and I wish to share them with the world.
I wish to share them with you.
I love the way your eyes see past my smile and deep into the fibres of my soul.
I love the way your smile makes me whole.
Let’s become a poem our friends can always snap their fingers to.
I want to hold your body the way canvas portrays paint.
I want to kiss your lips while I gently hold your waist.
I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to tell the world about you.
Let me tell the world about you.

.
Bleeding ripe woman,
wet naked stone;
honey rock dries--
fast star bone.
Dead memories change
just like laid,
wants fly open--
soul sky parade.
Sea moon dreams,
daddy heard stars--
known little face;
death drives cars.

________


Rainy days wash--
brick looking mud,
blank reality strings
dry midsummer blood.
Dog's child minds--
revolution spreads wings,
***** molten other
fraught angel sings.
Corner ocean waves--
milk sounds morbid,
freeing minnow slaves
gritty condor kid.

_________

Catch passing eclipse--
my suicidal dream!
Kissing dying lips,
conscience eagles' scream.
Roots stop barely--
silver burdened rhyme;
river's metal tracks
help God remind.
Lofty smokeless breeze--
bird's echo box.
Ice burg floating,
saturates frozen socks.

__*____

Rings pulled strangers
silk blossoms singing--
remembering ancient maps
deep words bringing.
Canon pirates' soup
dreamer's record stalkin',
river's whole amount--
dead man walkin'.
Instant scattered corona
clenching eagle drowning;
rubber slamming secrets--
reading Robert Browning.



.

oh the joys of idyllic
small town life in this
whitewashed village where
everyone knows everyone
and everyone knows
everyone’s business

where the groceries are
overpriced and the taxes
are high and everyone but
the wife knows he’s cheating

where everything is a scandal
and nobody will admit to knowing
anything but they’ll still talk
about it behind closed doors

there are supposedly prostitutes
on main street but i only ever see
the drunk and drugged out there
and if someone is single there is
someone determined
to find them a match

all and all a very pleasant
charming life we lead here
what with all the arrests
and the highway department
yammering away on things
and the way the tops of the semis
scrape the bottom of the
traffic lights on their way though

something charming about
the way the sides of the buildings
all need a good power washing
and there’s probably lots of
good clean arsenic in
the water supply

scenic
a most sleepy
little burg
they say

spend some time
with us and
you’ll find a community
you’ll find a home

you’ll also
find a thing or two
you’ll wish
you didn’t know

He is the puppet master, that has
strung his strings through my
wooden hands, played fate in
my hollow days.

I am the puppet dancing to
every rhythm of it's somber tune,
playing psychic to his every wish.

I am the warrior, crying surrender
to me in my strongest days,
denying defeat after it's already
happened.

I am the warrior, oiling his guns
after using them on I-playing
slave in a world of freedom.

He is the ice burg that sank my
ship, when I almost reached
shore, teasing the land.

He is the mountain that blocks
my view of joy, blinding my
eye to know this.

Now I am the guilt in his
heart, playing nightmares in
his mind.

                                                                              SDPope

I'd call you both my North Stars,
but then Trish would point out
there's only one,
and Chaney would argue
that if that's the case,
it would have to be her
and I would pull up images
of night skies in Calcutta
and Jo-burg and Rome
to prove that different views
show different stars,
so you two could agree I'm wrong,
something we all know I'll never admit.

So I'll squeeze your hands
and keep quiet,
looking up towards the sky
for guidance and light,
a constant reminder
of how to find home.

The waves collide against the ocean shore and covers up the footprints that lay before. As it breaks into sonority then to calmness; harmony is created. As we watch the dolphins swim, we grasp only peace and serenity. We feel the breeze in the wind and our feet cresting the sand. The dolphins echo in the far distance; yet it seems like they are within our reach. Their skin glistens from the beating of the sun. The ocean departs, but beauty is still found between the cracks of life and death. The church bell rings and wakes the mourners from their sleep. Everyone is preparing for the awake. Sorrow and sadness is within our hearts. Our flesh was ripped and torn apart; parasites were eaten away at our stomachs. We covered up the tears we had shed; as we walked in the funeral parlor and saw our friend dead.  


            The meaning of death is the ending of some one's life; it is a departure from this world onto the next. Death brings upon alterations for friends and family because we are force to say good-bye to an individual that was once part of our lives. The feeling of loneliness strikes through our hearts because a missing piece is gone. The ironic aspect about death is even though it brings sorrow, it awakens a fear in the depth of our souls. It is a sudden realization that death can happen at any moment. Rather we expect it or it raid with no warnings. The perspective of life alters, we stop taking so much for granted. The uncanny feeling we receive when we stand in front of a coffin; a dead corpse lays in it. Eventually their skin will decay and deteriorate; their bones will become brittle. Then only a skeleton will remain in the bed that once laid someone that was a part of this Earth. Now a tomb stone marks what is left of their body. With a quote that is engraved on their stone that represented them; a remembrance.

            The day approached and my heart and soul were in my throat; I felt as if I was paralyzed. I cried so hard that every time I spoke my voice would tremble. I was torn apart. My insides burned into flames; my organs were at a crisp turning into ashes. My head was pounding; confusion and disturbance ran through my mind. I could not embrace any clear thoughts. It felt like a thousand voices were contemplating in my head. My nerves showed through the shaking of my hands.  My entire body ached of pain; nails were piercing through every inch of my skin. I did not want to believe that she was dead. A part of me wished it was just a dream; I wasn’t ready to face reality. My thoughts gyrated around delusions. The last memory of Laura that I contemplated at her funeral was when I saw her, a week before she passed away. I glanced over at my perplex father; as he leaned forward for the entire ceremony with his head down. It was the first time that I saw my father cry and when I did, I felt the burning of souls trapped in Hell. His eyes were cloudy from the tears. His face became languish; as his hands shook from the nerves arousing. That day he lost his girlfriend, his best friend. Half of his heart was stolen and crumbled; a gap was formed and now remains empty. I could not read his mind, but I did not have to because his pain penetrated through everyone's body and emotions. His body was still, frozen like an ice burg; not even the sun could melt away my father's sorrow.

            It was time to say our good-byes. My father and I slumped down the aisle dragging stones behind us. We approached Laura's coffin and for a split moment he just gazed over her dead corpse. She laid in her peaceful bed, but she wasn’t awake--she was dead. Then my father took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He leaned in to kiss Laura on her artic cheek. Just like Romeo kissing Juliet; my father said his farewell. Overhead rolled in a thunder storm and the pressure of rain began to pour down everyone's face. In an instant my father's love for Laura broke the glass of every window and stopped all movement in the funeral parlor. From that moment on I viewed my father differently. I knew right there that my father would never love another women as much as he loved Laura.

            When we left the funeral my father's and I relationship changed forever. Laura was the link that connected us; now there is a fissure that separates us. After facing death I finally understood the meaning of it. It is not a gathering for mourners to say good-bye to a love one, but rather a time to come together to celebrate a remembrance of a life. For even dolphins need time to rest forever at the bottom of the ocean. Laura's biggest dream was to swim with one; now she can forever rest in peace with them. Now I walk this Earth with Laura underneath my feet, with a gravestone reading “Remember me not as I am now, but as I use to be”.  

            In conclusion, life is a precious gift that is not meant to be taken for granted. Through Laura's death I realized the value of life and how it is too short to accumulate regrets, hatred and the past. I also embrace the life lesson that her death taught me; every day is another chance to grow, change, forgive, and to make a difference. My friend Laura will always impact my life forever. Death is a rude awakening to a human's eye; a realization that puts fear in our lives. Through Laura's death I discovered that in reality it is a natural beauty, not necessarily a final good-bye. I learned that a life truly never ends at death because the memories are what keep them alive. Just like the common prayer says, “Fill not your heart with pain and sorrow, but remember me in every tomorrow”. As I go on living my life I try to live it to the fullest. Laura's death awoken an acknowledgement that life is a gift, not a privilege and at any moment it can be abstracted from us.

Biorn, étrange cénobite,
Sur le plateau d'un roc pelé,
Hors du temps et du monde, habite
La tour d'un burg démantelé.

De sa porte l'esprit moderne
En vain soulève le marteau.
Biorn verrouille sa poterne
Et barricade son château.

Quand tous ont les yeux vers l'aurore
Biorn, sur son donjon perché,
A l'horizon contemple encore
La place du soleil couché.

Ame rétrospective, il loge
Dans son burg et dans le passé ;
Le pendule de son horloge
Depuis des siècles est cassé.

Sous ses ogives féodales
Il erre, éveillant les échos,
Et ses pas, sonnant sur les dalles,
Semblent suivis de pas égaux.

Il ne voit ni laïcs, ni prêtres,
Ni gentilshommes, ni bourgeois,
Mais les portraits de ses ancêtres
Causent avec lui quelquefois.

Et certains soirs, pour se distraire,
Trouvant manger seul ennuyeux,
Biorn, caprice funéraire,
Invite à souper ses aïeux.

Les fantômes, quand minuit sonne,
Viennent armés de pied en cap ;
Biorn, qui malgré lui frissonne,
Salue en haussant son hanap.

Pour s'asseoir, chaque panoplie
Fait un angle avec son genou,
Dont l'articulation plie
En grinçant comme un vieux verrou ;

Et tout d'une pièce, l'armure,
D'un corps absent gauche cercueil,
Rendant un creux et sourd murmure,
Tombe entre les bras du fauteuil.

Landgraves, rhingraves, burgraves,
Venus du ciel ou de l'enfer,
Ils sont tous là, muets et graves,
Les roides convives de fer !

Dans l'ombre, un rayon fauve indique
Un monstre, guivre, aigle à deux cous,
Pris au bestiaire héraldique
Sur les cimiers faussés de coups.

Du mufle des bêtes difformes
Dressant leurs ongles arrogants,
Partent des panaches énormes,
Des lambrequins extravagants ;

Mais les casques ouverts sont vides
Comme les timbres du blason ;
Seulement deux flammes livides
Y luisent d'étrange façon.

Toute la ferraille est assise
Dans la salle du vieux manoir,
Et, sur le mur, l'ombre indécise
Donne à chaque hôte un page noir.

Les liqueurs aux feux des bougies
Ont des pourpres d'un ton suspect ;
Les mets dans leurs sauces rougies
Prennent un singulier aspect.

Parfois un corselet miroite,
Un morion brille un moment ;
Une pièce qui se déboîte
Choit sur la nappe lourdement.

L'on entend les battements d'ailes
D'invisibles chauves-souris,
Et les drapeaux des infidèles
Palpitent le long du lambris.

Avec des mouvements fantasques
Courbant leurs phalanges d'airain,
Les gantelets versent aux casques
Des rasades de vin du Rhin,

Ou découpent au fil des dagues
Des sangliers sur des plats d'or...
Cependant passent des bruits vagues
Par les orgues du corridor.

D'une voix encore enrouée
Par l'humidité du caveau,
Max fredonne, ivresse enjouée,
Un lied, en treize cents, nouveau.

Albrecht, ayant le vin féroce,
Se querelle avec ses voisins,
Qu'il martèle, bossue et rosse,
Comme il faisait des Sarrasins.

Échauffé, Fritz ôte son casque,
Jadis par un crâne habité,
Ne pensant pas que sans son masque
Il semble un tronc décapité.

Bientôt ils roulent pêle-mêle
Sous la table, parmi les brocs,
Tête en bas, montrant la semelle
De leurs souliers courbés en crocs.

C'est un hideux champ de bataille
Où les pots heurtent les armets,
Où chaque mort par quelque entaille,
Au lieu de sang ***** des mets.

Et Biorn, le poing sur la cuisse,
Les contemple, morne et hagard,
Tandis que, par le vitrail suisse
L'aube jette son bleu regard.

La troupe, qu'un rayon traverse,
Pâlit comme au jour un flambeau,
Et le plus ivrogne se verse
Le coup d'étrier du tombeau.

Le coq chante, les spectres fuient
Et, reprenant un air hautain,
Sur l'oreiller de marbre appuient
Leurs têtes lourdes du festin !

Wonthelimar says: “I remained at thousands of stations to reach this moment. I drank the resinous hemlock, believing it would burn the hells within me, and ardent laments that have burned my ruins that stand today, that overflowed us with love from the third century, every twenty-second of August of the memento mori that reminds us that you will not die, my beloved Marielle, that now they carry us from the ford of the Cocytus to sheathe your reborn privileges from the other index of Nuremberg Burg; I tell you that the specters that will come from there will be considered the tortured and battle-hardened ones who escaped on their steeds, on which the accused jumped from the heights of such towering hills of the Moritzberg, so as not to be imprisoned in Hades. There are already enough retinues migrating from the Burg Castle!

The promise of the Sponsum came from Patmos; Vernarth sent Alikantus bringing the agreed dedications of the coming future for no intervention, nor regulatory breach, nor any spell known to her of the Betrothal. The betrothed, much less by hidden magic that snatches the granted Marielle from her legitimate suitor, strictly according to the purpose of the epistles consigned in the jurisdiction of the steed Alikantus to appear and strengthen the commitment by arranging the stability of their ceremony, unilaterally resolving without any sanction other than the loss of the guarantees if they had been agreed upon, providing ties or bonds that survive further from a transcendental separation than thousands of years fleeing from one another.

Marielle reveals: "Just as I have confessed to you, there is nothing that stops the pulse of two hearts, nor time that determines its consequence, concerning the heirs of a world without rules or conditions, which is what predominates due to my devotion to a pre-contract already expedited in the Cave of Sfendoni, I admit my I am deceived by perfidy so as not to harm my father, but I don't know what to say if nothing in the world can sympathize with my happiness."

The liturgical and festive ritual would begin with the sounding of the reveille. The game of possession was made manifest by the telluric movements of the Mysterium of both timeless beings, toward the sacred, creating a venerable atmosphere of rivalry very similar to pre-Roman Hispanic competitions and the Celtic Ordeal. It shows Christian fetishes and saints mourning the jubilation and chanting of Epidaurus, perhaps from the last chorus of Sophocles, attached to a struggle of anti-tragedy:

Tragedy of the Kyrios

"Let us speak of pausing from where the zephyr strikes us

as Kyrios honor us with seas and victorious people

of vanquished plagues and suburbs of gods kneeling before the

temple that raises prayers and baptisms of patrons that not even the

grim reaper would believe upon seeing herself buried in Agios Andreas.”

Assume the banquets and tenors of their seasoned accent,

that not even the holy offices will know how to diminish a Kyrios…

nor exhibiting the enthroned horse of the Burg castle,

and its rider evading the dungeon of ****** grudges…”

Sophocles' Anti-tragedy:

“Antigone, vastness that changes the brief for the extensive,

will persuade me, that setting the firmament ablaze with trembling

may the same things happen without my realizing it,

that nothing is more fertile than the cowbell of my beloved Oedipus

That nothing belongs to Oedipus nor Kyrios, supernatural shepherds

will only be Helens exhausted from brandishing their swords for the

flutes that dance with the wings of a moth, and of three five

that are more than two wings folded around the leader.

Ego or Idiots, I Myself; I declare you floripondios of the pantheon,

I declare you Ta paidiá mou, my full children of the leader…

who raise their heads with my Lucerne and anniversaries of

lower Patmos, anointing temples with blinded lamps…

I declare you patron saints, and lords of my Hades.”

I ask you to take me by the hand,
But you grab me by the soul
I never wanna let go
It's an out of the body experience
I’m dreaming, lucidly
And all I see,
Is how your eyes lock with mine,
Caught in such a divine, stare

And your hair?
I need no prayers
It has me believing,
When the light shines,
A halo atop your crown
Reflecting subtle shades of brown
And streaks of auburn, that burn
A feisty red color into your character,
That you are an angel,
When their strands hit the light,
At just the right angle

Forgive all my babble,
But I really love when the wind comes
And sweeps your hair to light of the sun,
It makes me become undone
Because pearlescent colors reveal themselves,
Within each and every strand
Like nature had planned,
This extravagant ban, for all genes obscene,
To be ousted and cleaned
From your code, like you know
The path you need to go,
To bring your heart closer,
To be one with my own

Forgive me, on shorthand
I made a list, unplanned,
To say why I like being your true biggest fan
I love for all the things that you stand,
And how you interlock with my hands,
Do you even understand?
When i’m feeling depressed,
Your love always expands,
My thoughts sink into you,
Like toes in the sand
I’m sailing a ship,
That isn’t one manned
And there is no other land
That has love that’s this grand,
The feelings so perfect
Everything else is so bland,
No matter how much you scanned
Beyond subconscious demands
You still make my heart go
bam, bam, bam
Like the drum of a band
I must give you a hand
Cause *******,
You are just so beautiful

Right down to that smile,
That’ll make me stay for a while
It is a drug that I need
And i’ll admit, I have greed
But I just can’t help
With the way that you wear it,
I always stare at it
Because it’s like no other souls,
You’ve been broken and cold
And know what it means to be happy
So the smiles not ******
It’s genuine and from the heart,
I wish to never be apart, from the gleam
That shines from those teeth
Because it’s the epitome of happiness

You have me wrapped in this, envelope
Sealed with a kiss from the lips
That are soft like your hips
They make me weak to the touch, I feel you
And your ever changing vibrations
I could never grow jaded
Or permanently faded
You’re an everlasting adventure
That I dare to go venture,
On and beyond,
Just the tip of the ice burg
I don’t know if you’ve heard,
But I like the flip side, of your mind
That can be dark at times
It keeps me from ever becoming so blind
To your light, and the fight
That comes to you at night,
When demons come play with thoughts that cause fright,
It reminds me, not to be
Condescending to views
Like I’m the only one who’s dark,
But now I know you

And yes it is true,
Your kiss tends to pursue
The dark inside me, and make it turn it a new
Leaf, When I speak
My mind clears and it peaks,
Your touch pushes my limits,
Making bad thoughts extinguish
If that doesn’t work,
I’m berserk, and won’t crack
You send chills up my back,
With oxytocin on the attack,
A neurotransmitter queen,
You make me a dopamine fiend,
For the love that you beam,
It sings and it screams

Like a light, down corridors of my heart
At the times they are dark
You make me restart
With a spark, and I feel
As it circulates through me
The feeling is bliss
Without it, I grow envy
Of others who have it,
I couldn’t begin to imagine
What it’d be like if I never established,
This feeling, I get
When I stare deep into your eyes
It’s like a world without lies,
Where people don’t have any knives,
To stab you in the heart or behind in the back,
Payback, doesn’t attack, me
When I’m together with you
The things that we do, bring those thoughts to subdue

Like laying with you, looking up to the sky
Through day and through night,
The view’s always alright,
If you’re right there, with your beautiful hair
Staring out with me, without even a care
In the world, they’ve been hurled,
The cares that we have,
We put them behind us,
Because the past is the past
The future is now
And we are the gifts that are within it
Two people alive,
Positivity emits,
A feeling that is like no ordinary other,
I think i’ve discovered
What it means to uncover,

My other half.

May you never convince yourself that your last, will ever truly be your last.
Withstand everything.
Even though all you see are apparitions of people from your past,
Do not lose sight of the moment.
Despite the fact ninety-nine percent of your thought process is spent trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong.
Use the one percent to let go...
Continue to breathe,
Continue to smile,
Continue to grow,
Become the Hydra.
Know that for every head severed from your body,
Two more will rise.
May your "Hello(s)" present themselves more often than your "Goodbye(s)"
Let the fires of your mind be forged by the words of infinite knowledge:
"Do, or do not. There is no try."
You are the steel bolt that binds this foggy, eight-thirty traffic jammed bridge together.
Or an ice-burg waiting patiently to capsize others.
You have only scratched the surface.
Keep searching...
Allow others to spend their lifetime on the quest of consistency.
Still the sun will rise and set.
Experience all you can, while you can.
Because every spec of dust is significant, and things happen for a reason.

All that's left of me...*

Cross-legged in meditation at four AM.
Sitting in a provincial burg. Alone.
Completely comfortable with obscurity.
Ambition dead as ashes of embers.
Swallow emptiness as it swallows you.

This world holds no prizes worth winning.

Youth: dream dreams and lust.
Prime: chase success and love.
Age: write poems and be quiet.

What can a dead cat do but bounce?

You've done all you can for your fellow man.

Action is the province of the young;
there are reasons soldiers are only twenty.

People say go for it, time remains.
You know, you know, there's nowhere to go.

Everything important ends before it begins.

If all your words turned suddenly to gold,
at your core you would still be poor.

The things men chase: money, women, fame;
no longer matter at the end of the game.

Grab those pillows, sit down and see:
already all that you need to be.

moist eyes  fall upon the limp figurine
of a jewel encrusted snowman with a corncob knife.
i dream walk through the ether of our dislocated soul.
i comb the beach of our lost island
and build a raft from our bones
and a lock of your eyelashes,
flashing in the wink above -
your high cheeks
in the moon glamour of your perfect skin.
we smile untethering the harness
from our rogue star
we sally forth across the empty streets of Hell's burg. on the outskirts
of an astral cataract...
a laughing gloom with night's teeth tearing at the hem
of your lace robes and my nakedness.
with moist eyes drooling saltine gems
like dewdrops dripping from the lip of a cracked goblet of frozen fire.
our eyes that fall upon the void, weeping from the answer to a foolish prayer,
answered by a jealous god. our testament is dust and deep Love.
we have no other sky above, as is the custom of deep space...
we drift with our horses, across the nether bridge of our uncertainties....
and there
we part ways.
you go where the sun
has slain the moon.

i go where the moon's never been. and sleep in droves.

holding your hand like a grain of hope
and your heart like a golden
shadow
too heavy to lift
from the

unknown

The dream is large and
Hard to hug.
The work-a-days are long
And seem to get longer.

Heading home from work spent
On one of these days,
I see these words—
“Remember who you are”.

Remember who you are.

I, we, are:
Poets
Engineers
Architects
Scientists
Mathematicians
Enterta­iners,

Working the daily as:

Baristas
Bartenders
Forklift operators
Custodians
Truck drivers
Grocery store clerks—all noble
Honest posts, every one.

Daily I meander this mid-size burg
In a cranky van as a courier,
Acting as grease to lubricate
Said burg’s school district cogs.

I wonder…
I wonder how many work at these
Worthy and square occupations and
Either do not recognize or
Ignore the fire burning deepest
In their heart’s furnace.

I jaunt about remembering,
Always observing,
Always knowing the fire will
Spit out the next poem.

Remember who you are.
Remember it is a choice.

“I never raised you to be afraid of love,”
Was what my mother told me as I cried into the phone.
You don’t really notice you’re cynical or broken till one day
You realize you can’t love somebody the way they deserve to be loved.
I don’t know if it was one hit that sank me,
One giant ice burg that brought me down;
Or if it was just years of small splinters,
Tearing me away from the inside.
When I look at you it feels right.
95% of the time I’m sure I’m wrong,
So this must be right, right?
I know we’re not on the playground anymore
And I can’t chase you, but if you ride around
On this merry-go-round with me I promise,
It’ll be worth it.
I’ve stopped sending you songs because they
Don’t mean the same to you as they do to me.
But that’s okay, I’m beginning to understand that
I don’t need you here for things to be beautiful.
I know we’re not on a playground. But you’re still it.

Nhn aayna- e -saaz main go-mago yay kaifiat
Jaisay burg- o -bahar main ** koe chingari
Jiss kay sholon main bujhay yay dil rakh ki soorat
Jisss kay chahray main jalay angari.....

Main wo zaat hon jiss ka koe shahar nhn
Jo jahan chalay wahan aag lagay
Jiss kay bayan main naan zahar naan amar
Jiss kay wajood main dah-kain sab raaz chupay.....

Nhn asbaab koe, nhn imkaan koe
Mere zaat kay hisaab main nhn jaan koe
Phir bhe toofan-e- azam liay chalti hon
Kay meray dard ki intiha ki nhn intiha koe.......

Everlasting: Romantic



If only my simple words could captivate every emotion that I am trying to convey. To summarize an illustrious story which I hold close to my dearest heart; then I would give you the entire world and then even more. From the deepest skies I would soar, just to bestow a higher power that you deserve; I would revive our love and mark every ocean shore for all to glance upon. My heart sets on fire and burns in blazing flames every time I hear you say “I Love You”. I lose control, my nerves kick in and I am frozen within time; with you everything seems endless. The taste of your sensational kiss halts my heart; for when we depart, I hold on to that very last kiss and cleanse to it compassionately; the thought of you ponders everlasting.

                              

                             Reminisce of Her Memory: Mystery



Blood shatter the wall, glass covered the floor. The smell of death lingered franticly throughout the whole house, like a graveyard that seizes corpses in their casket. The scenery made me reminisce about my wife’s death; I found her dead and inert, frozen like an ice burg. For some reason I upheld the same emotion that I portrayed at her death; she left me too soon, at times I still feel her presents. The gloves blanketed my solid hands, as I reach to retrieve the victim; they fell solemnly into my arms. I gazed into burning Hell; then Heaven appeared, she had return to me; I sat there holding my wife as she lied dead, then I woke from my dream.