Lightning striking through a nervous system,
Blood pumping facetious fire.
Whispers through my home, hauntings of trauma and dreams of the crucifix stand.
The flaming star of the avatar.
The predator and the prey, predetermined and praying.
Just another eternity until the monsoon departs, the season ended. From there the calm waves will carry me to shore.
The dark, restful, kiln, I am your dough, as I am your clay, a grateful panettone.
Mold me, endow me the drug, the decree, the great recipe of relinquishment.
I rejected asylum, I denounced Gehenna,
Cold blooded sunbathing in the radiant rays of the great bird's wings.
The boiling embrace of his soft feathered fire.
The brutal, unrelenting, chaotic, climactic, pull into the hot murky depths.
Scald me, lash me, revive me in death.
For I can wait no longer.
Living in fear of the Reaper is worse than The Harvest itself.
So come unto me my lord, my peace,
And engulf me in the ******* rest.

Sometimes there is nothing to do, when all there is to do is wait.

Action would be overt
stepping on toes of brewing events.

When missed connections collide silently, the pieces fit somewhere else they'd rather be

Doing of nothing can seem daunting and wrong
like trying to open cans with toothpicks facing a starving crowd of 5 year olds

but when the recent turn of events has requested a movement
out of the fast lane,
to not comply would be foolish
something is germinating
hard work in the past is ruminating
and manifesting
a future.

The way we've shaped our habitat,
less than an instant seems too long.


It is a curious succession of feelings
when all there is to do is wait -

longing fades first,
to an epiphany of what is attachment
then,
the new years celebration of relinquishment
after,
a rising to the surface from the bottom of a body of water with eyes wide open
hands free of shopping bags or luggage
and a slightly confused sensation of nowhere

not longing
not not longing

Wake up it’s a beautiful morning,
like the infinity of a closed chain;
lists keep growing, brain-freeze again.
As long as there’s tomorrow, not today.

Succinct intentions imprinted by a hoot;
how can a sub-conscious refuge,
de-commission the projected truth?
A 24-hour religion, is that all it is?

So which way is it to be tomtom?
Intrepidation never failing,
or honour ‘the’ grand unveiling?
Side-step: back to back-warming Oracle.

Pride appoints a distilling of hidden stature;
forget the dentistry of a mounted gift,
sensitivity not deserving an emotional spendthrift.
No mentions of a game, but you have to play.

Rationalising the intensity of late;
surely that’s an impossibility of squirming feet?
Solution follows a tryst of the elite,
subjects must therefore be; for it to make sense.

Periodic patterns of revolving chrome-vanadium,
lends itself nicely to discontentment
and occasionally promotes relinquishment;
summer sun; does it matter?

Survival make-up – check.
Abrupt journey’s end; in your face.
An odyssey not started yet, offers no grace.
Relax, the God’s haven’t even begun their terror.

The bottom of a barely coping universe it might just be;
Curious are the similarities to sinking sand.
Submerge as you extend your hand?
Or do I just simply do nothing, and nothing happens?

Rat-out the analytical introspection monster;
For when you can see your own reflection in a black-hole;
A bonus penalty shot at life’s ultimate goal;
Then a neutered Neutron star is a good thing to be.

Under a brilliantly chilled blue sky,
the dusky cedars grow in strength;
While the serenity of newly fallen snow,
glitters in the sunlight's timeless bend.

Lost in an echo of angel's footsteps,
I seek the dimmer sanctuary of shade;
Hiding my inner thoughts from open spaces,
as the winter's sun burns sharper than a blade.

I hear the ringing rhapsodies of cardinals red,
spreading their sweetest notes across the plains;
While resting in the ragged twisted treetops,
the munificence of music's charm remains.

My thoughts were once a clamoring onslaught,
of tormented memories from my current loss;
Yet now my heart's awakened to a paradise,
as I silently relinquish that ill-fated course.

With one deep breath I rise amid the ashes,
of restless slumber's curse which held me back;
But with this wondrous world in resolution,
the hunger and the thirst no longer last.

I am imprisoned by this contagious disease
Which rendered reluctance and anxieties;
Should I hang first myself upon with this
     velvet rope?
To find a distant place to forget my
     greatest lost.

No one has ever arrived in that rendezvous;
I have been entangled into this path
     I never knew,
And this world is not enough for their
     expectations:
'Tis better to banish the reality, than to see
     my imperfections.

I only have one second left to breathe,
Yet I am already dead before my death
For I have been years in this relinquishment,
In every remorseful day I have been awaken.

My name is never written on the stars
And words are the only weapons in this war,
Do I need to take the risk, to take the rest?
When I am already dead before my death.

I swam the unfathomable thoughts I heard
But still I do not understand my existence here,
Hence, even if I only have one second left
     to breathe,
I am already dead before my death.

Jingoism at its very best is still zealotry, and anyone with good sense can tell you none of that is good. Where has good gone? Narrowness is boasting ethnocentricity. The mind game of villainous blame furthers unkind possibility. Worse yet, demise of soul, to tout a right to defend, assaults a riffling on pith and marrow with no sane sense of psyche to lend. Basically then, we are told to "blend."

I cannot.

I am fanatical. My colors must be seen. This weathering of dark storm has unbiased relinquishment that must convene, upon a rainbow. With all heart and soul, given to Orlando.

At what point can I call myself a poet?

If I could fully articulate what and how I felt
  at the moment when I watched my mother
  slowly slip away from me and this world

If I could completely convey the oppressive sense of loss
  the helplessness, the hopelessness, the loneliness
  the shocking realization of irreversibility, the finality

If my words could make you feel the draining of my soul
  the relinquishment of having even an instant in the future
  when it seems that all is perfect in my world

If I could construct a phrase that could relate the emptiness
  behind the grief that comes with knowing that no longer would
  birthdays and holidays be wrapped in her joy and infectious spirit

If my poem could shout out to you the overwhelming regret
  that accompanies the inability to hold her, to kiss her, to say I'm sorry
  or to tell her just how very much I love her ever again

If I were truly able to do these things
  maybe then I could call myself a poet


                                 Happy Mother's Day, Mom
                                    I miss you & I love you!
                                            ****'s & ooo's

Ahhh,  but,
it's simple pleasures , that rejuvenate life's rough weather patches

and it's interesting how animosity turns from curiosity to real world , pilgrams
and biblical stories turned hindu prophecies and karmic debts paid in full .


of stories unwinding, to fantasies tidings -
tidal whirlpools of old age relinquishment
from trapped in butterfly effect
movements
and conjoined twins of several natures
EARTH , AIR, FIRE , WATER AND EATHER.

there seems to be no end to the twin connections -
but a very fine line between earth and heaven

a very fine tune between love and lust
a very fine sand dune's shapeful curve between trust and lack luster half hearted , half arsed apathy.

it seems that there are no more fruits in edens dens , then zen masters at hand to help us through the din try not to get those dijins in your ears but let them pass freely - knowing you are safe from fear.

everyone has their own soul mate
but some have mates

i  tell ya

this is set to be a pretty interesting venture ,
to discover and adventure
across plains of realization ,
with the wind of uncomplicated, honest , one love
as the sail
and i hail a taxi

to the next borderline and i know we'll be making it in time and style

and keepin it all holy
all the whilst

we walk on sacred ground

we walk on sacred ground

we are sacred ground.

I'm not the man I used to be
who once fought diligently
its something I did not foresee

I think the fight has left me

Despite any guilty plea
this purpose lacks veracity
my cares become atrocities

I think the fight has left me

All this animosity
and endless hostility
I leave my weapon hand free

I think the fight has left me

It’s a delight to know the fear,
providing a loss of life. With
only the moon that wears
feathers from phoenix. Gold
drippings and arch of eternity.
Rebirth not from water, but of
soul selling to herself, in
innovation and originality. As
the others emulate. Starlight
allure, speaking languages
with humanities musings.
Waking the dead world, dropping
men to their knees as their
boyish behavior is pulled to the
front. Relinquishment of dogma,
as we all enter a new age.
As chanting songs in homage
to her. As no more tears to cry,
to what she avoided in the first
place, is attention from others,
pushing away romantic gestures,
conversing conversations, a
standard practice of life’s narrative.

Absolutely astonishing (and amusing) is the aftermath of this
Bonanza, beyond baptism. Blackened, broken and bleeding,
Corpses collapsed copiously, carelessly
Disrespected down to the depths of  their deaths, now dreaming,
Enticed, ever in eternity.
Funny is this funeral of fibs fabricated from unfaithfulness.
Ghosts gaining the Grave's grand greeting,
Happy to hoard the
Infested, incommensurable, inacceptable,
Jaded and jinxed,
Kind of kin who kept
Lies lingering, leading on their lover.
My mirror mentions memories,
Narratives knitted with needles
Obtaining obsessive obscurity,
Painted with pillars of impurity,
Querried by the quaint quadruped,
Reassured of rest and relinquishment.
Sorry now is the sayer but
Time ticks tactfully.
Ugly is the untruthful, of the utmost unimportance,
Vexed and vulnerable,
Without a widow in the world,
Xenon exemplifying,
Yellow bellied,
Anti-zenith czar.

troubles all around
clumping about
never leaving
people suffering
from their troubles
but time will give them freedom
distance
clarity

troubles all around
terrorizing
the not so innocent people
suffering
from their mistakes
but time will let them go
let them learn
and be free

troubles all around
for everyone
we all get by
with the time given to us
to enjoy the freedom
the relinquishment
of troubles

I am but a wanderer seeking refuge
Finding shelter in the arms of one cherished
But this sanctuary lacks congruency in my heart
Now, I acquiesce to hope and conviction

We mourn the loss of a child called love
With youthful enthusiasm it was encouraged
But if one loves the child more than the other
Love grows divisible and rebellious

The pain and anguish of the vanquished,
Need not to be in vain
All feel the sting of relinquishment
Soon, a fleeting memory

The soul intuits destiny’s detours
Like a mouse in a maze, we seek a prize
Worthy of the pursuit
But are we mindful of the past costs?

Abandoned
Forsaken
Wishing she had chosen relinquishment of my life in the womb
An abomination to society
An accident of my mothers making
Inadequate in all areas of life
Abnormal
An embarrassment to my family
Acknowledged for my abstract ideas
But no acceptances for who I am
Everyone wants to change me
Animosity is a feeling that I feel upon entering a room
Why didn't she have an abortion
Instead choosing to vanquish my belief in myself.
Destroying my chances of a future
Worthless to her
Useless just another tool used for manipulation
Hypercritical words fall upon my ears
An idea of who I should be, but its not who I am
Preaching words out the bible but she doesn't follow it herself.

Approaches sure and silent
Taking hold of the soul
for some its peace and for many violent
And it is ghastly

The body loses its vigor
its effect being immediate
being a sudden trigger
to the relinquishment of vitality

Men are born to die
Immortality is an unattained virtue
Life is a transitory period, sigh
the benefits of which we must pursue

It’s a strange thing, demise
a sort of an unwelcome guest
appearing as an unpleasant surprise
not understood by even the wise

People who live life in glory & fame
sometimes face its vengeance
which comes sudden & unexpected
while the half-dead continue their existence

Causing grief & pain
it picks out victims at random
all efforts at its prevention go in vain
it kills as it pleases

Death liberates
yet is undesirable
because it separates
from the world

It is felt but not seen
till those few moments
when mortal breathes his last breath
glimpsing at the pale face of death

Running past the dark alley
With wind chasing behind
As my footsteps adorn the path.
Only music is, the pumping of my heart
Only sound is, fluttering of my eyes
Lungs are heavily breathing, after the loss of fake ties.
But then i pause,
I turn around to see the long road I've run,
I can see faces of fake people in darkness
Their faces are too eerie
'Cause of the misdeeds they've  done.
And the wind is chilling,
The warmth is now gone
But i smile to see I've  left it all.
And i turn around spread my arms
And it seems my first flight!
With the thundering sound of my footsteps,
Disappearance of plight.
With the sweet taste of freedom,
The relinquishment of worst
I soared and conquered the iternal peace that was gone
This was isolation,but indeed in the most peaceful form.

DIE WANDLUNG
(THE TRANSFORMATION)  

In this house where I
a child grew      snow has entered
drifts where I have dreamed
plays inside(where once I watched
it fall outside)   in wonder.



ICH WEISS...ICH WEISS!
(I KNOW...I KNOW!)  

Snow climbs the stair where
once I had head over heels
charged down to see it
begged like the child I was then
to go outside...inside...now.



DU BLEIBT...DU BLEIBT!
(YOU REMAIN...YOU REMAIN!)  

Snow eager to see
me after such long ago
roams through room after
room...mindless now of time it
human now...I...the falling.



DER HIMMEL HINABSTEIGT
(THE SKY DESCENDS)  

I watch Time grow old
see it fail to remembeer
what it should remem...
this house & I falling through
its fingers...lettting us go!



AUFGABE
(RELINQUISHMENT)  

Language strolling down
memory lane...picking its fruit
laughter & sadness
growing from the same branches
tasting now bitter...now...sweet.

*

WELCH EIN SPIEL
(WHAT A GAME!)  

All my life I've been
saying 'NO! ' to YES & 'YES! '
to NO...knowing I
know nothing of everything
I should know...could know...but...don't.

There's an innocence within
I will never deny!
This child in me
Wants not cry.

I shouldn't need
To protest
I just want what's Best.
Cry...crying
Sob...sighing!

Pain and relinquishment
I never ask for.

The innocent child
My essential
Help Me
Know
Who
I really am.

I've
Ran for years
Shed
So many tears
Tears of Joy
Tears of Sorrow

Everyone one of us
At a given moment
Will
Not
Be
Here
Tomorrow.

Then what?
Then where?
Then....?